Just So

7 mini-sagas (chapters) of exactly 50 words each. This was a self-inflicted challenge making this true story somewhere between prose and poetry.

A Saga by Richard Man.

 

Just So

1)

Why I came to be here, is another story. Needless to say I had to get away. Old contacts and favours were sought and called on. At the airport, docks and the railway station, the branch were supposed to be looking for me:This I knew. The road it was.

 

2)

The diplomatic car came to a crunchy halt about half-a-mile from the bridge.

“This is it”, the secretary apologised, “any closer and questions will be asked.”

Wearily, I heaved my sleeping bag and rucksack onto the side of the track. Formally, we bade farewell. A wheel-spin and he was gone.

 

3)

The dust cleared, a moment of silence swept over me before, close-by, a concerto of cicadas in a coppice of wattles and purple-flowered jacarandas continued their incessant rhythm for the night. In the Tropics the sun sets rapidly around six o’clock. Torchless, I urgently needed to find somewhere to camp.

4)

Overlooking the River, I found a leaf-lined ditch, it was bone-dry and afforded me, I felt, some protection. Against what? Little use against lions, snakes and definitely not hyenas but it made me feel better. Star-lit black, I luxuriated in the last tin of pilfered luke-warm peaches, then bed.  Sleep.

 

5)

Sunrise and the heat woke me. Like a log, what a delicious kip. The world was alive and so was I.  Little creatures were out foraging. Close to my head, a stocky iridescent beetle tirelessly wrestled uphill a ball twice his size: He was preparing breakfast. “Lucky bugger”, I thought.

 

6)

My brain ground on, trying to make sense of where I was and what I had to do. That plucky arthropod and his sisyphean plight still filled centre stage.

“That’s a dung beetle!” Then, with alarm bells ringing in my head, I realised that they only eat fresh elephant s**t.

 

7)

In both senses of the word, all around  about me, I’d had no idea of their passing.  Down the gentle grassy slope, at the muddy edge of the grey-green greasy Limpopo River, a majestic herd of elephants were fed and watered. Whilst I remained grubby, thirsty, hungry and quite alone.

Reviews

[AYVID N]

All the seven stories are very engaging...Number 5 was wonderful. "- a stocky iridescent beetle preparing breakfast." - Just loved this!
Loved the plucky arthropod and the majestic herd of elephants too! I love the African safari!

You were in Africa! Which part? I grew up in Tanzania & Kenya in East Africa...so anything African makes me so nostalgic.

Thanks you so much for sharing this it was very interesting!

[Richard Man]

It wasn't quite a traditional safari. I was escaping from the South African special branch (in the fascist days of pre-Nelson Mandela apartheid).... I was mates with Steve Biko and had been arrested for producing a multi-racial show to a multi-racial audience (totally illegal...then) and collecting money to pay for the education of children who had parents under house arrest or who were banned or in prison for their beliefs of equality. I was dropped by the ambassador's secretary (whose son was a friend of mine).

[Carly]

I really enjoyed your "self-inflicted" challenge. Sometimes a challenge is one of the most effective way to get a great story (or at least get some inspiration). Number 5 is my personal favorite.

[Carolann Dowsett]

I loved this, took me right to your camping sight, all the sights and smells and sounds. A thoroughly enjoyable read.

[Gray Witch]

Amazing detail in each and every 50 word 'saga"...I must admit I learned a few new words from this...Great idea and write...Thank you for pointing it out to me

[Richard Man]

You are very kind. I like giving myself a challenge when writing... such as the sagas... or writing about total inactivity..." Change in the weather" or writing and drawing while being read to... next... I'll try juggling table tennis balls in a hurricane or roller skating down a mountain.... blindfolded.

[Gray Witch]

LOL... sounds like the 'new sport' here - Red Bull's Crashed Ice, Niagara Falls --"Take some of the best and toughest ice-hockey players in the world, a sizzling atmosphere, stunning surroundings, tonnes of steel, a huge cooling system and thousands of square metres of frozen water. The result? Red Bull Crashed Ice! Since the first ever race back in 2000 Red Bull Crashed Ice has developed to become the most breathtaking winter sports events in the world. Ice-hockey aces hurtle down courses up to 500 metres in length in groups of four, shoulder to shoulder, as they fight it out for victory. The whole race is held on a steep downhill track dotted with chicanes, jumps and rollers. Pushing, sliding, sprinting and wrangling are all on the menu as the athletes race down the course, but the rules are, in fact, very simple: first to the bottom wins. Shaken, of course, but not stirred …"

[Dinesh Sairam]

I am just begining to read "On the road: The Original Scroll" by Jack Kerouac and this is completely complimentary to that. The 'going somewhere without actually going' (The First Dream, Billy Collins) feeling is persistent throughout the text.

The rich diction and descriptions greatly enriches the reader; somewhat haiga-ish (A haiga is a haiku combined with prose) and real. I don't have any remarks, poetically speaking. There may be aspects of prose that may need improving, but I'm not quite knowledgeable in that area.

Keep writing.

[Richard Man]

I read "On the Road", "The Tin Drum" by Gunther Grass and "A Hundred Years of Solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez around the same time as this particular escape from South Africa some 42 years ago. All give a beautifully crafted view of the world but profoundly detached from it.
I love the taste and music of words as well as their meaning and origins. I love their rhythm and beat. Assonance, alliteration, rhyme and symbolism get me tapping my feet.