It was utterly silent until the wind started to blow. Alexis jammed
his fingers in his ears, then his socks, and finally some melted wax from
the candles he ringed his tent with at night. The seal over his ears gave
every sound an oceanic tinge; Alexis envisioned himself pushing forward
against towering waves, but when the heroic fantasy faded he was alone, with
the wind deafening him only slightly less for his efforts.
     Legend had it there was paint to be found in the area--real paint,
whose color lasted more than a few hours before fading. Legends said all
sorts of things, of course, but Alexis's family tome had already led him to
treasure troves of metal tools and well-preserved food. A few days lost on
a featureless plain weren't going to break his trust in it.
     As night fell on the first windy day it struck him that candles
wouldn't light. The plain might not be warm enough to harbor enemies, but
the risk and the break from tradition bothered Alexis.

     Without sleep to soften him he had the distinct feeling of digging
into the ground as he walked on.

     At sunrise with the return of vision Alexis noticed two lines of
animals flanking him. He took an erratic step to the left, imitating his
blind nighttime wanderings, and the creatures ran sideways in anticipation
of his new course. No wonder he hadn't stepped on any of them.
     After he tired of meandering just the watch the living pathway shift
itself he walked another full hour before reaching its end. One giant
turtle (surely too large to have run back and forth all over the plain for
his convenience!) sat staring northward. Its back bore an X of deepest
blue: deep, flat, artificial blue.
     Alexis scraped what few paint flakes he could off the turtle and
followed its eyes back to his home.

by Aaron for Professor Pfoam * eVille, Tuesday, 2002

I arrived at Burning Man this year with grandiose plans to write a lot of stories. Like, a lot. I even had three typewriters so I could enlist other people and spread the project.

One must not make plans this precise for Burning Man. Despite (or because of?) the amount of time I've spent explaining the project to people, I forgot how much explanation was required. With constant breaks to talk to passersby and the hot sun beating down, I was writing monstrously slowly, nor very well.

That said, these were deceptively useless words. There's a nice mix of nouns and adjectives but not much to hang a story around. This is not to say that I shouldn't have done better! One bit of laziness that I don't feel bad about, though, is the fact that the physical circumstances of Burning Man were noticeable in the story... it's hard to avoid and probably makes people feel a little more at home with their story; so be it.

This was just a little too short to have any pacing; nothing really ties it together. Not sure what Prof. Pfoam thought of it -- I handed it to a mailman for delivery and never heard back.

- everything is by Aaron Mandel; please ask first if you're about to steal something -

<< back to more fast custom fiction<<