It all leaves

Walking forward, podcast in her ears, she was distracted, thinking about the events of the day. Things were going as planned, and not as planned, and sideways, and all in all there was a lot to think about. Stay, go, stay, go. A lot to do. But not right now; right now she was out, walking, thinking, on autopilot, one foot in front of the other

And then, suddenly, she stopped, looking ahead

In front of her was a long corridor of trees, all of them bright with color. As far as she could tell, they had all picked that exact moment to start letting go of their leaves, a veritable rain of colors falling as far as she could see

It was, she decided, something to behold

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Key moments

And so it happened. He was stuck. Could not proceed. Unable to move on. Obstructed by an insurmountable obstacle. In a pickle. Stuck

The situation was thus: he was on his way to the store, and as usual he locked the door upon exiting his domicile. After having turned the key, however, he found himself having forgotten which pocket he usually put it in. Left pocket, right pocket. It had to be one of them. He’d done this hundreds of times, thousand, always placing it in the same pocket. Today, however, for some reason, he simply could not remember

He stood there a long time, paralyzed, perplexed

Fighting words

The fight was on. He needed a win. In fact, he had needed a win for a long time. But his opponent – relentless, indefatigable, sneakier than two foxes on velvet sheets – gave him no quarter. This time, however, he was sure he had it. A grand plan that would set things aright, one moment of triumph amongst so many moments of defeat

Unsteadily, he wobbled towards his nemesis. Not five steps into this heroic wobbitywabbity did he turn around, surrender himself to gravity and fell back onto the bed

The nominal nemesis, sensing another opportunity was at hand, taptaptapped onto the addled heap of a man, whose fever delirium expressed itself in mumbles about fighting and winning. Nemesis, not one for fighting, curled into a ball and purred at the extra body heat

Fast asleep

Something tapped at his cheek. It was a gentle, lingering touch. Then it faded. Then it came again, only to fade once more. This process repeated itself a multitude of times, increasing in pressure ever so slightly each time, every iteration bringing his that much closer to awareness. With a slowness that would make scientists of an empirical bent question whether it happened at all, he regained consciousness

At long last, he came to the realization that it was, in fact, the rising tide that poked and prodded him. “I don’t mean to impose, but I am the ocean”, he thought wryly, and at long last got up

When moments strike

He was well and truly, completely, utterly, unequivocally, irrevocably and irrefutably stuck. No matter how he thought about it, looked at it from another angle, rephrased it, kicked it around conceptually, or tried to divine it using easy to reach occult means, the stuckness remained. He mused that this must be how Faust felt right before entering into bargaining mode

At that very moment, a gust of wind blew open the window. Strangely enough, the only thing that seemed to have been moved significantly was a book, which lay open on a very peculiar page

Cautiously looking at the page, he slowly nodded to himself. Yes. This was indeed it. The thing that unstuck everything. “Is not chance and accident the bearer of the greatest gifts?” he thought, before proceeding

How to break a leg

She had practiced and rehearsed the role for weeks. Months, now, she realized. Soon, the big moment would be upon her. Soon. But not quite yet. There was still time for another round of rehearsing, practicing and going through the routine. Just to make sure it would all come down perfectly. These hours before going live would not be wasted!

Just as she thought that, a would-be well-wisher dropped by, to offer words of encouragement. “Good luck”, he said, not knowing better

“How could you say that in front of кошка?” she exclaimed, half in, half out of character. Truly, this was not going off to a great start

Inked, armed and ready

This was it. There was no going back now

As the whirring process started, she felt a small pinprick, then nothing. Was this it? Nothing more than this? This opened up a great many possibilities

Mind aflame with implications, she thought about future themes, motifs and combinations. Truly, this changed things

Alas, like so many other things, only one possibility could be pursued at a time. Reining in her eager anticipation of the future, she turned her attention back to the present. Her tattooist, hard at work, showed off her excellent motor skills. Which – now that she thought about it – was entirely appropriate, given the motif

Soon, the word “Mechanic” was written on her arm. The arm of a mechanic, and a mechanic arm

She could get used to this