The Fiction-Box

This little tale bubbled at the surface of my brain this morning and is based on my perception of my favorite WordPress family member and friend, Eric Alagan. I advise you to follow him and you can thank me later:  http://ericalagan.net/
 
 
 

The Fiction-Box

 
Eric grew tired of keeping his nose to the grindstone. Day in and day out, he worked as an aerospace engineer. He was of superior intellect, but often,  his mind wandered off, far and away from his elevons and ruddervators. He’d lift off into a world supported by zero-gravity within his imagination, where, at his desk, he’d create works of fiction, so powerful and light, that readers are left weakened and heavy by the beauty of his words. 
 
At his desk on an early evening, he drew plans for an idea that came to him in one of his lucid dreams. He, sitting behind a small desk, encased by glass, with glowing lights, reminiscent  of his childhood days of popping coins into a jukebox to hear the songs highlighted within a post-war epoch. The boss, a kid he trained up, would come befuddled that Eric wasn’t digital blueprinting with the state- of-the-art computer programs available at his fingertips, but applaud him for creating the top-treasure born of Eric’s mesmerizing imagination. The young manager, while knowing Eric is a gift to the aerospace technology world, also sees a storyteller whose talent rises beyond the stars.
 
The evening passed into night, and many evenings and nights went by, as Eric progressed from his blueprints to his masterpiece, the fiction-box. It was a sturdy, 1950’s American Diner-Nouveau jukebox, with a spin: a place for him to write a story for a bunch of coins. The design was alluring, eye-catching, if you will. There, enclosed, sat Eric, behind a desk with a computer, and for a pocket full of rockets, he’ll lift your imagination to new heights. The stories would be printed at the front of the fiction-box.  This magical enclave sat in a family eatery near the coast, just as an old-fashioned jukebox. Here, drawing worldwide fan-fare, Eric spent the remainder of his days enveloped in his mind’s eye.

 

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Schuyler Smiles

A tear slips from my eye
As a dying star’s goodbye
And casually traces my face
And the glow it seeks to erase
A brisk prayer of hope
Done with such scope
That she’ll always love me
Giving a hug and a smile for free
Pondering this beauty I’ve known
Looking almost fully grown
In our pool, a splash and a twirl
She said she’s still a little girl
Then her honesty cuts right through me
As she says “I love you” to me
The tear dried in the sun
A mother’s heart, fully won

Arcane Affliction

Tormenting rain beats down 
And cautions my shrouded pain
With each lashing, I’m unbound
Polite actions merely feigned
Distant memories I cannot treasure
Remain still through awkward uprise
Reluctantly in regret I measure
Every day’s blistering sunrise
The sky cloaked in drab attire
No matter how majestic the sun
First you, now I am a liar
Disguising this dying that’s begun

Chasing the Horizon

Between the hands of the clock,
That’s where my sunshine exists.
The comfort of taking stock
In the moment is hard to resist.
A tear traces the lines of my face,
And trapped within its fall,
Time we cannot replace,
Rewind, pause, or stall.
I reach out for your hand,
As memories lore me back
To the pink Bermuda sand~
Tick and tock neatly stack.
Our forever is a blue sea.
I travel it in my dreams.
So near, a distant memory,
But clouds diffuse the sun beams.