The Ms. Adventures of Indie Anna Jonz

Enjoy Flash Fiction? Sci-Fi? Teen Lit? Poetry?

Catch a snippet from "Dian and the Sleepy Soul Surfer" below at my Wordpress Blog, as well as excerpts from A Muse-ing. Simply click here or the banner above.

Dian and the Sleepy Soul Surfer

There is a beauty in the supernatural mundane which humans often tend to overlook. We’ve become so accustomed to it that our eyes often glaze over its wonder and direct themselves in frenzied distractions towards some perturbed automation and miss the magic right in front of us, and call it natural. It begs one to wonder if this is what accelerated things- taking everything for granted. It is nothing short of amazing that we are a creation whose mere existence reflects a divine synchronization of heartbeat and breath, and yet our every thoughts are often desperately selfish cries for, “more.” Dian couldn’t understand what he was crying for. The cool wetness of his chin startled him as Sera stared blankly back at him. It felt as if she’d been waiting there for years for a response and yet it had only been seconds. This was the first time that Dian had ever cried. His mind raced for the swiftest and most appropriate response to these tears and the more his mind raced, the more tears welled warmly in his throat and walked their achingly long strides towards his eyes where they fell in steaming surrender. “Do you know?” Sera looked at him , hopeful and assured that he could answer her question, and his only response was to return her wanton gaze with disappointment. It was clear she knew something- or perhaps the same thing that he knew the first day he’d seen her at the cafe- they were not strangers. “Um,” Dian’s tenor voice searched through the sparse wisps of air in his lungs and raced around the humid room and back into his head until he whispered , “I don’t. I was hoping that you could tell me.” “All that I know is this,” Sera whispered as she raised the sleever of her dress to reveal what at first looked like an unremarkable birthmark that Dian was too afraid to stare at, but couldn’t help but be intrigued. “Its OK. It doesn’t hurt.” She invited him to lean in closer to examine what seemed then to be delicate laced interweavings of scar tissue which had healed from a burn, but instead were layers of fine markings which seemed to naturally appear on her right arm as if they’d grown along with her and not as some trauma which stopped time embedded within her. “I noticed,” she said, trying to hold herself still as Dian remarked at her arm,” that you have the same one across your chest. I wasn’t trying to pry, I just happened to notice.” And as if he hadn’t seen the same pattern for the last over fifty earth years, he quickly lifted his shirt and marveled at the resemblance. He asked Sera, “How long have you had that scar?” “Well, “ she replied, more relaxed, “All of my life, it seems, and to be honest , I don’t believe that it is a scar, no more than you think that yours is.” And it very well couldn’t have been. Xitrulean did not scar.