Entry #83

Butchers
by Peter Lane


On the first day of the first ever Victor St. Claire Writer's Workshop held within the loose confines of the virtual campus of St. Claire College itself, the keynote presenter signed off with an open invitation for all participants to spend some time over the next few days composing a piece of flash fiction inspired by a photograph depicting a certain ominous nighttime sky.

As the submissions began to pour in, each accorded its customary share of encouraging comments, one began to stand out both for its audacious brevity and conspicuous lack of commentary. It read simply:

In Pittsburgh Pennsylvania there lived a teenage girl born into blindness who spent her days writing haikus rooted in an invisible world. Where others saw an intricate pattern of clouds framed by the dark fractals in treetops she imagined the meaning of the clear sky left in their relief. Where others saw a glowing moon on the horizon she imagined the last days of a dying star regarding its reflection on the surface of a black hole.

The last haiku she ever wrote before disappearing from her home never to be seen again read simply:

Camera shutters
Blades for butchers in our time
Slicing up the truth