1. Elsewhere, alone, stranded on an atoll, far, Amelia is being eaten by crabs.
The presence or absence of a fire neither attracts nor repels.
3. Day follows night always the same: the sun, the three trees that provide no shade, the search for food and movement along the horizon, signals without reception and a dwindling supply of wood, then darkness, awake and waiting, day after day the same on this sand crescent nowhere visited by no-one except the fading famous aviator and an army of crabs.
4. When she gives in, she dreams of aeroplanes speeding down brightly lit runways and flying over fields populated with rows of pastries, performing loops and barrel rolls in the air behind glass like fish in an aquarium. Every plastic pilot sees another and gives the thumbs up; everyone's grand adventure is cheered on by nuns and napoleons.
When she gives in, she is a machine covered with small moving dials that emits transparent bursts of pain that dissolve immediately into the stasis of afternoon.
5. In the subsequent history of the atoll, Amelia is the name on a lighter among fragments of bone.
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i saw an article in the guardian this past week about locating pieces of amelia earhardt on a tiny pacific atoll far from anything else.
52/250: silence.
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I read a similar bit on the famous aviator. You made it all quite real.
This paragraph is wonderful:
When she gives in, she dreams of aeroplanes speeding down brightly lit runways and flying over fields populated with rows of pastries, performing loops and barrel rolls in the air behind glass like fish in an aquarium. Every plastic pilot sees another and gives the thumbs up; everyone's grand adventure is cheered on by nuns and napoleons.
Lovely language overall and the form works perfectly, the setting up of her end...
Stephen, this is a fine response. I loved this:
"...everyone's grand adventure is cheered on by nuns and napoleons."
What an intriguing opening...and beautifully rendered details. I also loved 'When she gives in, she dreams of aeroplanes speeding down brightly lit runways and flying over fields populated with rows of pastries, performing loops and barrel rolls in the air behind glass like fish in an aquarium...'
Lovely story!
thanks much for the reads and lovely comments.
i had in mind john cage's notion of silence, which stages it as a metaphyical notion that only exists in principle in the spaces between (arranged) sounds. straying hundreds of miles off course and landing on an atoll a seeming infinite distance from everywhere is about as silent a fate as i can imagine. so alot of the piece is about trying to catch something of that---in the stasis, in the in-between-ness.
Conception, execution, effect. Really great.
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Was gonna say love 4 & 5. Then I reread a couple times and realized that would be a grave disservice to every other paragraph. Brilliant, every word, big fav.
Happy Holidays, Stephen!
I have no idea how I missed this, but I want it...and will chat with you about that soon! Thanks again for honoring Thunderclap with this fantastic piece.
Fave.
thanks, robert. i'm pleased that you liked the piece enough to shepard it through publication and even more that it has found such a lovely home among so many other lovely things. looking forward to figuring out how to make an audio version of it. thanks for the possibility!
yay!