A Small Part

Six billion people inhabit earth. Or thereabouts. Solomon was only one person and average in all respects. He represented one six-billionth of the collective conscience of humanity. He was the guy who filled the inkpads with ink; all the inkpads in the world. The only guy. That was the part he played in it all.

In My Head

As a child, it was always nursery rhymes. And then it was pop music, for a short time it was rock. Then, as I moved from my teens, it was jazz, with a slow tendency toward classical, and ever so briefly opera. Now I find myself back once more with nursery rhymes in my head.

Opportunity

From the corner of my eye, I watched as Saladin took his seat. My mind quaked with the thought that I was the only man to lay eyes on him in almost a millennium. Few men root themselves so deeply in history. I sat, hundreds of years and hundreds of miles gulfed our communications. He whispered something to a companion.

I longed to simply meet his eyes, to occupy a moment of his consideration, though had no desire for a swift death in the face of ignorance. I bowed my head as his gaze swept the room. Did he see?

The Other Man.

The man watched; his face whiter than his teeth, his teeth whiter than his eyes. The other man felt his gaze, but sat perfectly still.

“How are we today?” asked the man with the white face.

The other man declined to answer. He stepped around the cold, ivory room, his eyes always watching the other man.

“Feeling well?”

The other man sat frozen as ice, his gaze at the white wall flinched a little. The man with the white face ticked a box on a printed sheet of white paper on his clipboard, turned, and left. The other man smiled.

(100 Words)

My First.

She watches over my shoulder as I type. I sense her expression, curious with a dusting of annoyance. I smile to myself, and click ‘post’.

“That’s it?” she demands, almost instantly.

I nod, and close the lid of my laptop with a satisfying click. I sit back for a moment’s celebration. The background noise dies down as the machine switches off. All is at rest, well almost. I turn to look at her

“It’s not exactly an epic.”

“It’s a drabble,” I reply. “My first.”

She screws up her face and looks at me as though I’m mad.

“I’ll say.”

(100 words)