Wings

By E.S. Wynn
Posted Friday, November 4, 2011 at 5:59 PM

Contributor: Rodney Horne
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There are times when I look at my life and I forget who I am.

I put my head down beneath the waves. I get lost. Currents of hate and confusion smash against my nose, my face, blind me. Anxieties rise up to cling at shoulders, bite and hook into muscles, dragging, always dragging. Long cords of responsibility and tradition wrap themselves around my ankles, pull me deeper, deeper, until all I can see is the darkness, the murky nothing and the pains of the present.

And then I remember my wings. I stretch them, feel them catch air. In an instant, I turn to light, slip graceful through the chains, the hooks, the cords. Anxieties fall away, my eyes clear, and then I am flying, flying. In a single realization, a single smile, I rise above the waves, remember who I am, remember. . .

And take flight again.

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Dr. Rodney Horne lives on a hillside with his wife and his two cats. Having retired from technical writing, he has been published in Neometropolis Magazine, The Opinion Magazine, and Armitage Hand (AHNR).

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Author: Rodney Horne

Blah Blah

By E.S. Wynn
Posted Wednesday, November 2, 2011 at 12:00 AM

Contributor: O. Leary
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This is another love story.

You know the type. You know the tired rhythms like yesterday’s overplayed music. You know all the patterns, you know where it all comes from and where it goes. You’ve seen it all before, the falling in love, the poems of loss, denied love, crushes crashed and dashed and gone stale after marriages stopped (or unstopped) by desperate admirers. It’s all the same isn’t it? All the same story? Just love in all its forms expressed through repetition, experiences ground through the massive factory of literary humanity. Some say love is dead. I say love is pastiche’, passe’, cliche’. Love stories are the stories we all can tell. They’re the stories we all have read, and there isn’t a shred of uniqueness in them anymore.

Or. . .

Is there?

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If you know anything about me, it is that you know nothing about me.

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Author: O. Leary

Pit of Victory

By E.S. Wynn
Posted Tuesday, November 1, 2011 at 4:22 PM

Contributor: E.S. Wynn
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Already, you know that you are destined to win.

It’s real. You smile as the thought trickles through the meaty elements of your heavily augmented mind, carries you like light to the edge of the pit. Your victory has already been decreed by the seraphim of Solomon’s high holy financial cabinet. Ten corporations are backing you in this fight. The networks have all laid bets on you. 97% of remote-wielding couch-jockeys with subscriptions to the VR feed of the upcoming fight have cast the votes that prove even the mass of the public has laid odds in your favor.

Already, millions of jobs have been staked on your fate. Already, the nanoprinter factories in the industrial districts of China, Nigeria and India are stenciling your name into the overpriced athletic shoes that will flood the reactive social ad-feeds of every high school student in the world the instant you land the first punch, swell in budget bid and keyword spread as you bathe yourself in your opponent's blood. You are the name on every social comment feed, every pair of recorded Vidvoice lips. You are the one who will bring the next splash of hollow gratification to the masses, herald the next tide of cheap, glossy merchandise to wash through the marketplace. You are the messiah who holds the teat of an economy fed by your violence, your hollow successes.

It comes as a surprise to everyone when your opponent lands the first punch, dislocates your jaw with a single crack from his steel-plated knuckles. Three factories file bankruptcy, retool and suck up acres of social ad-space in the same instant that teeth splinter and break. Money flies from betting rings as the blood flies from your mouth, and then he is on you, hurling hydraulic fists at you, cracking open bone and steel with effortless aggression. Conglomerates collapse and are gutted with the same speed and efficacy that your opponent drops you, rips into the meaty elements of your mind and tears them free. In the space of a breath, it is over. Hundreds of accounts sputter brokenly, as hopelessly ruined as your flesh, your armored body. The crowd of subscribers roar with the fury of the fresh kill, the unexpected turn of events. The corporations backing you scatter before bill collectors like roaches, fleas, gather themselves and hide behind the walls of bankruptcy before they are swallowed utterly.

Like a monolithic icon of commerce, your opponent stands above you, victorious, and as the moment of interest passes, he finds himself alone again, no longer the star in the center of the world’s eye. Like a child with a broken doll, he drops you, lets you fall to the floor like refuse, and as the bots patrolling the pit gather your fragments and push you into the nano-recycler for reconstitution into something useful, the world moves on, finds a new messiah to hold the teat of a new economy, one as violent and momentary as you were, as your opponent now is.

As the countless others that have come before you were.

As the countless others that will come after will be.

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E.S. Wynn swims in the mind of the machine

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Author: E.S. Wynn

About

By E.S. Wynn
Posted Monday, October 3, 2011 at 12:00 AM

Linguistic Erosion is flash fiction without limits. It's a place where stories and authors too good to go unpublished shine amongst their kindred like so many diamonds. It's boundless, horizonless, without deadlines, dates, queues, orders or delays. Providing a platform for both new and established authors to reach readers based solely on the merit of each individual piece of writing, Linguistic Erosion endeavors to give unheard authors the voice they deserve, the readership they crave, and the respect they're owed.

Currently, Linguistic Erosion is edited by author E.S. Wynn

If you like the site and want to see more, consider buying a book (or a CD) from the store at Thunderune Publishing. Profits from all sales go toward funding Linguistic Erosion and other independently run sites. We couldn't do this without your support. :)

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Earl "E.S." Wynn is the author of over thirty books, the chief editor of Thunderune Publishing, the sole creative force behind its 20+ imprints, (Including the magazines Linguistic Erosion, Leaves of Ink, Smashed Cat Magazine, Farther Stars Than These, Fractal Novels, Yesteryear Fiction and Weirdyear) the author of over a hundred and fifty articles, several hundred short stories (published under nearly as many pen names) and a voice actor with over fifteen albums of literature and guided meditation under his belt. As of January 2011, he is 26, engaged, and the proud owner of a B.A. in English. It is his belief that everyone is capable of miracles and that everyone is as unstoppable as they choose to be.

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