‘Private Disclosure’ — Flash fiction

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With news of Babylon burning around the world, I ventured out with my dog onto the bleak winter marsh, Christmas hat on. 

Unexpectedly, a wind arose; Carly went crazy, barking, leaping, whilst I cowered on the ground, unsure of what was happening. There was an eerie light around us, a spinning disc above, descending, flashing multi-coloured beams in all directions. I made out symbols of a man, a lion, an ox, an eagle, emblazoned in gold light on the side, fixed signs of creation; Carly went quiet, whimpering between my legs. Suddenly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen stood before us, dressed in flowing silver raiment, her eyes a penetrating cyan. 

“Why me?” I asked in my mind. 

“Why not you?” she replied, smiling faintly. “Simply understand — this Christmas is like no other. I have to show you, not tell. Now you know.” 

With that she was gone; Carly began to bark and leap once more, feigning attack on the craft which rose silently, before zipping rapidly away towards the gelid north, higher and higher, until it became a tiny point of light among revealing stars.

An extra terrestrial, or some inter-dimensional being? An angel could take any form, I figured. So was I some latter day Ezekiel, primed for changes, a release from this lower dimensional captivity? Either way, in my heart all fear and doubt was gone; this one incident encapsulated the time: The new age of disclosure had begun.

Copyright Francis 2020

Poem ‘Fugitive’

fugitive

for so long you said nothing,
you let it all well-up inside.
It swelled like some geyser beneath you,
or some vast unstoppable tide

but clearly the choice was yours;
to sit quietly and safe in silence,
or face the dangers of disclosure.
what use was there in pretence?

so you told those cowards straight,
to carry on with ignominious lies,
because you knew the whole truth –
heck, you saw it with your own eyes!

so now you ride trains in the night,
mingle quietly in busy queues;
the world doesn’t want to see you
nor cares of the state of your shoes

and then one day, maybe quite soon,
you’ll vanish with barely a trace;
at least you knew your rabid enemy
defined the justice of your case

© copyright David F. Barker 2012