500 words. You give me 500 words? For what? For your entertainment. You want my story, for your entertainment? You want my secrets as you steal my life from me.
It is a dismal trade thief. Life thief.
And this life, too soon to end, truncated as it now will be, how can anyone fit their life into 500 words?
Subject, subtext, texture, temptation, subtlety, the fractured fractal results of each choice taken at each fork in the eye of possibility.
Sound and fury and event cascades, many not even designated by any deliberated intent but by the law of large numbers clumping their strange fake coincidences ...
muddy soul prints through the flaws of our lives.
And you, I never saw you coming. I’m an A4 sorta guy, curled old parchment, blue biro and yellowed folio, the ultimate foolscap, done to dusty death.
Weathered, weary and now death-noticed of less than 500 words.
So you of the parameters, you of the digital keys to life, this life, now so cruelly demanding computerised computation ...word count (157) ....do digits count as words?
A digital countdown ....does this raised middle digit count? It’s a message I’m sure you’ve heard before. A solo bird chirping. A cheep shot yes, but what other possibility have I been left?
500 words. But I don’t wish to waste them as curses and lamentations. 500 words to encompass a whole life and we haven’t even started to spell out my one truth.
Many decades ago, with luck, with blind skill-less luck, I met the one whom I could love. And she for her whole sweet, wild, fractious, laughing, life, she loved me.
So my story contains love letters magic-spelling words of passion, affection and the lifelong task of love.
You will have me at 500 words but I will cheat you I promise, and I will do it with the love of my life in my hand.
But still Mr Digital Reaper, you of the grim visage, I will accept death at 500 words.
This is where I was fated to end. From the very moment of the now discredited big-bang, there was only one path I could ever take.
Every universal-instant leads inexorably and unchangeably to the next.
How do I know?
Because here I am, time has already passed as I’ve been lying here lamenting fewer and fewer words left, and I am this, so therefore, I could never have been else.
But if any godlike tweaking of some minuscule ancient event path, deep in prehistory, could possibly release me from this fatal countdown, I’d still refuse.
Less than 500 words, ...far less ...I FEAR ....still I would not change.
For all the chance of extra words in that world could not compel me to risk the smallest chance of living in a universe without the one who loved me.
Have I shown you, Death, the photo here of my darling?
...Ah, my love .....a picture paints a thousand words.