Nemesis of the Lucid Mind
a flash fiction short
Submissions have been slow of late, so I’ll dig into the well and post one of my oldies. If you don’t like it, send me yours instead! No really. Here’s my guidelines. And tell your writer friends!
Nemesis of the Lucid Mind
Greg stretched his arms wide and crooked his head back to the sky. It was great to be free again. There was no loving wife waiting to kiss him and careen him home. No group of friends to pat him on the back and buy him a beer. No mother or father to place a loving arm around his shoulders and embrace their only son after thirty years incarceration. But there was freedom. And man it felt good!
Greg strode down the walk and into town, never looking back at the prison which he had called home. He passed the court house, where he had been tried and convicted. A statue of some important statesman defiled the front lawn. It wrinkled up its sculpted nose in disgust, but Greg ignored it. Nothing could spoil his mood.
Not even the porcupine crossing before him. Where did that come from? Too strange, like a race of Elvis's disembarking from a space ship. The porcupine stared up at him, and its lips seemed to curl upwards in an uncanny smile, before it scampered into a park across the street. Greg followed. His heart was light, free from obligations, free from restrictions. So he scampered after it.
He slipped between two bushes and emerged into a pristine setting, of Frisbees, jungle gyms, and park benches beneath giant oaks. Up ahead, the porcupine shuffled beside the tennis court. Greg started running, enjoying the breeze on his face, relishing the energy coursing through his veins. He stopped, panted, looked around. To his right, a mime was trapped in a box, and children were clapping their hands with glee. Parents slid coins and bills into the top hat the little pointy-toed elf held out. Greg felt pity for the elf. He had a sour face, one that proved he was sick of his cherry red floppy beanie and his bright fluffy suit. He should go to jail, Greg thought. Then he would be cheerful when he returned to the world. Just like me.
Greg looked around for the porcupine. He saw see-saws, gazebos, a man on a unicycle. But no porcupine. Greg shrugged his shoulders and meandered towards the nearest gazebo. Within were two men in combat at checkers. The one on the right kept furrowing his brow and pursing his lips. The other watched solemnly, intently. Greg observed them for several minutes, but neither made a move. He felt tension building within himself, and disliked it. He yelled. Both men jumped, startled, the hand of one catching the lip of the board, sending a shower of checkers down upon the occupants of the gazebo. Greg moved on.
He strolled across a lawn. Kites and baseballs ruled the air, romping children ruled the grass. But within the grass, amidst the tiny blades, in a world all its own, was the most beautiful ladybug he had ever seen. Now, Greg has seen ladybugs before. Many of them. The pretty red ones, and the drab orange ones. But none compared to this one. It was the brightest, the roundest, the loveliest bug he had ever lain eyes on. He crouched on all fours, immersing himself in the world of the tiny creature. He laid his finger across its path, and it crawled onto his finger and continued on up his arm. It tickled. It felt great. Greg laughed in purest pleasure.
He raised his head. Two inches from his face was a grinning porcupine, bright white teeth like ivory sparkling in his wide mouth. The porcupine turned and dashed away. Greg leapt to his feet, and, cradling the ladybug in his bosom, galloped after the porcupine. He shouted in glee at his hair dancing in the wind. He somersaulted in full stride. He stroked the ladybug with his forefinger, and it whirled its wings in response.
To be free was a great thing. They had said he was crazy. Why? Because he had bludgeoned his wife? Because he had blown the head off his best friend? Because he had stabbed his mother sixty-eight times? Did that make one crazy? Not according to the twelve individuals of the jury. He was not crazy. He was sufficiently sane for a normal trial, for a normal cell. Greg knew he was. Greg knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. There was no saner person in the world.
What do you think? Was Greg sane? No spoilers for the next reader! Comment below and win sick prizes*!
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*sick prizes interpreted subjectively to include return comments, conversations, thumbs up, etc
What kind of sick prizes? 😀 I want a prize!
He seemed certifiable to me for sure. Lol