Frost: Primary Succession; Atom Bomb: Secondary Succession- Flash Fiction

A parallel-pair of flash fiction stories- for clarity, on the topic of 'Ego and Decay'; an abstract in the principle of Weimar Classicism

Frost

  The tears of her vitality are forming frost. Rivulets and dunes mark points of impact in the snow: a frozen wasteland to the fungal biota seeking refuge in her corpse.

  Fleeting and precious was her kindness, like a warm day in winter that melts the snow. In desperate life we drank of new streams- keenly aware of our fate in the returning cold.

  Now she is the frost and the forest floor. Fleeting streams and deep red platforms, on which vestigial bastions of life defy the surrounding grip of cold.

  Her dancing steps are craters in the snow; tremors echo fading seismic bursts- from which her life's convections slow. On heat and light and joy she gorged: a bacterial culture now forms on her newly liberated bowels.

 

  Primary succession: a myriad of tiny life-forms, eating the shell from which they hatched.

 

Atom Bomb

  Deceptively calm, there is a silver pool, a homogeneous catalyst that is the eyes, absorbing fleeting wavelengths of light with callous discretion, filtering admission to the naively benevolent brain that is Her.

  She sings and wants all to hear, adopts with passion every neuronic impulse to a fleeting identity. When her doors shut, and no new guests are received, she caresses and embraces with an earnest impartiality, she loves and owns, consuming entirely the visitors of the day.

  In her melting pot, warring apparitions are pacified, holding their daggers and hatreds in their sleeves, instead preferring subtle poisons carefully distributed to her subconscious. When ingested, their incompatibility ignites; fears as catalysts, dreaming apparitions draw their swords.

  She is overwhelmed, helpless guards observe, unable to source the infiltration. Teeming with  rage, she is an atom bomb, consuming and displacing without discretion, indefinitely absorbing her decadent hallways, her naive infinities.

  When those doors open, silver pools of fallout twinkle, a homogeneous catalyst that is the eyes, rehabilitatively absorbing every fleeting wavelength with discretion-  rationing guests to their precious child that is Her.

 

Secondary succession: to live forever is to forever realize your inability to die.