Now hear this!  I hereby proclaim Fridays of Look Out It Is a Blog "Fiction Fridays", wherein tales of a madeup nature will be told.  If you don't personally know me, let it now be made common knowledge that I am a writer of fiction and plays, and to that end will be practicing online.  Tune in on Friday for a radical change of pace from the rest of the week of Look Out It Is a Blog.

(this first one's just a teeny tiny warmup, a little something I was thinking about today and thought I'd share with you all)



The Things They Left Behind

Romance would have you believe that it was the flag first, but common sense says there had to be more.  The flag you remember though.  You'll always remember.

Before that, there'd be a ladder, moving down cautiously, twitching with trepidation and meeting the ground with the slightest touch.  There'd be a camera, whirring lens buzzing like a mosquito, the ever-present voyeur of modern man.  There'd be equipment:  seismographs, excavators, barometers, thermometers, meters upon meters for measuring, weighing, checking and checking again.

There'd be a foot print.  A set of footprints.  There'd be a voice, not carried on the wind - never on the wind - but instead on a radio wave, speaking to a facility in a city in a country in a world, and there'd be people listening.  And that voice would echo in their memory, calling out "Do you hear me? Come back.  Do you hear me?  Come back." and they'd look up and point at the sky and think "there it goes around again, and there goes that flag."

That ladder pulled up and flew off, those metal bits and pieces grew old and stopped clicking and humming, that camera came home and told its story.

But those footprints stayed behind, because nobody nowhere can step backwards and outwards once they've stepped onwards and forwards.  That voice stayed behind, ringing out to the stars "here I am, here I go, I was here."

And that flag, you always remember.  You'll always remember that damn flag.

Lucky sod.