Flash Fiction Edition Three 2020: Time

<p>The Fifth Dimension by Felicity Lacey We walked through the doors of the campus café and into the fifth dimension, where it suddenly became like looking at life through a bubble blown into sunlight. The average world distorted into rainbow hues that oozed and eased into gentle curves. I remember laughing as we sank into [&hellip;]</p>

Creative

The Fifth Dimension by Felicity Lacey
We walked through the doors of the campus café and into the fifth dimension, where
it suddenly became like looking at life through a bubble blown into sunlight. The
average world distorted into rainbow hues that oozed and eased into gentle curves. I
remember laughing as we sank into silliness and embraced the incomprehensibility
of temporal realms. The baffling bubble of the fifth dimension was a space of
whimsical genesis and so, we painted our hands silver to prepare for the art heist.
“Don’t die, okay?”
You lean into me and I place an arm around you.
“I need you,” I whisper. “You’re my creative muse.”
Though this elicited cheeky chortles, here I am creating—because of you.

Vanessa Lee
a girl stands at the edge of the lake with ink stained, clenching fists. for a moment, she dreams not of infection, disinfectant, suffocation, but the cool breath of salt water during summertime. forgets the sight of war in the wards, the eerie silence of her hometown streets. for a moment, hears the familiar sounds of family puttering about, and listens for the whisper of rain against her bedroom window as she scratched the good and bad into her old, battered diary.
a girl looks at the way the light touches the black water and thinks,
it’s about time she swam.

anachronism by caity
She took his hand and time melted away as water flowed through fingers. Centuries rise and fall like a lullaby; love, tragedy and war. Roman steel shatters as crowds roar within colosseum walls, now lying in ruins. The cries of revolutionaries echo through streets lined with the metropolitan thrum of cafes and trains. Warriors of old and soldiers of yesterday lie in red-run fields where grass now grows. They danced, through the brushstrokes of sunflowers, the dip of a pen in ink on the pages of an unwritten novel. And lost themselves, in kingdoms long fallen and civilisations long forgotten.

 
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