Where Do They All Fall? [Flashfiction] by Issa Dioume

My boiling blood told me they all fall one day, grow stark cold, then roll away, forgotten. Leaving behind a sweet serenade of stupor accompanied by the slow dwindling of memories. My boiling blood told me it would go cold turkey one day, too; simply stop warming my bones and flesh.Without warning. I know yet fear the cold. I can’t yet wish to escape its grasp, but then again, where would I go? I am tied by a twig to the tree of life, dangling in midair and ripe for the plucking.

At night, I hear flowing blood reverberating in my ears, urging me to listen to the beating drum of my heart; a repetitive rhythm slowly coming to a stop.

In winter my blood boils warmer, to keep me safe from the freeze. It’s effective. It cares for me, I think.

The landscape unravels like a fakir deploying his magical carpet and slowing floating toward the sky and off into the sunset. The clouds are pretty today. I didn’t quite like yesterday’s clouds. What will tomorrow’s be like? It’s, perhaps, not something people care for but, I do. I care, for clouds.

And, I care about where they all go when they fall. Those boiling fruits of blood. Hanging loosely from that dreadful tree.

13 thoughts on “Where Do They All Fall? [Flashfiction] by Issa Dioume

  1. Intensely the quick
    the hot of breath
    listening for
    the approach of death

    Issa, you are a most
    inspired writer.
    ~ David R.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Wow! Issaaa!! I miss having a dose of your wit thru such awesome works like this one! This is a mixture of fear, comfort, confusion, inspiration and love rolled into perfection. Well done! I am honestly inlove with this writing style ๐Ÿ˜ keep it up!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I find it interesting that you describe it as “boiling blood”. I interpreted boiling blood similar to the description of “making one’s blood boil” as a sign of intense anger but I feel that anger is not what you’re trying to convey in the first part.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Itโ€™s more of an idea of implosion… ๐Ÿ™‚ of human beings and the blood we carry. Itโ€™s always hot and has to remain at an agreeable temperature of 36-38 degrees. ๐Ÿ™‚ itโ€™s also a play with the sounds. Indeed anger is not part of it. Itโ€™s more of a metaphor on death.

    Liked by 1 person

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