Hard as hard
Hard as hard
I have a confession to make.
I am not worthy of love.
“Everyone can tell a story. A good story needs a hook, a good hero, and something that everyone can relate to.”
Jackson stifled a yawn. An engineer by training, he didn’t know why he had to be in this room, learning how to tell stories. Machines don’t need to be told stories – they’re just commanded, coded, set up and installed. What stories would a machine be interested in?
“You’d be surprised.” A little sharp voice grated behind Jackson. He turned around in surprise – no one should have heard his thoughts! He was also seated at the back of the class for an easier exfiltration should the need arise, especially during tea breaks, so no one was seated behind him.
No one was behind him.
The waves crashed against the rocks, and the gulls screamed as they circled overhead.
The old man sat atop one of the bigger rocks. He cast his line into the stormy waters, even as he stayed out of reach of the salty spray that splashed up against the shoreline. He waited, as the incessant wind plucked at his hat, like the playful hands of a small child. He didn’t have to wait for long.
What is change?
Change is difference, movement, a shift.
Painful, fearsome, a monster in the closet.
Change draws out, draws away, draws fear.
The archer stood still, the wind gently pulling at his clothes, the string taut next to his cheek, his fingers tensed, with the arrow pointing at the target. No one could detect that slight tremble, that slight twitch in his muscles, that minute wavering of his eyes. No one saw the little bead of sweat slowly trickle down the back of his neck.
He released the arrow. With a thunk, it hit the target, just shy of the red circle in the middle.