It’s not quite surreal. But it’s surreal. Life. This story. “Notes on things which spin.” Just when we think things make sense, they don’t make sense. Why? Because we try to lay maps over the world and they don’t quite fit. Here’s a story that shows you that. Read it. Understand it. Don’t understand it. THINK.
When you finish thinking, write it down impressively (and then edit it and then edit it and then edit it) in about 500 words and send it to email@example.com
Coming soon: The Best Of Flash Fiction
in print, no less.
Flight: A Theory, the Problem by Roni Castaneda
“Do you have a theory for wings?” she asked me. “Because it seems you have a theory entirely,” in which she paused to line this up: “for the cultural inclusion of jelly, the supervision of dirt, and the necessity of dumbbells. But I ask you a simple question, and you fly into paraphernalia.” She never used the word paraphernalia, she said things. Things were often, entirely my concern.
I kept my notes in her house simply because she had three extra rooms and a system of appraisal between notes whose disposition required portraiture, notes in general which required sedatives, and notes on things which spin. Notes for a possible working theory. She was the marshal in this problem. She stationed my room with lotions and suggestive curtains, although when asked “what exactly they suggest” I responded on the aftertaste of saccharin, and the hostility of pink. Notes of non-uniform flight.
Wings are intended for non-random squadrons. If one were to rely on only his rigid body, inertia would cause a level flight to choose in the state of perfect fluid motion, in which estimations can only be observed in cases of random simplicity or random exaggeration.