March Madness Flash Fiction: WE SEE MADNESS by Ruzzel Zullo
TODAY’S BREW: Starbuck’s autumn roast, semi-fancy clearance coffee
Ruzzel and I found each other recently on, you guessed it, Twitter, and now I’m just so damn pleased. You find him there, too. https://twitter.com/rmzullo and here http://facebook.com/therzp and also here http://ruzzelsblogspace.blogspot.com/.
We See Madness
By: Ruzzel Zullo
Norman sat cross-legged in the middle of a completely white room. The only thing that adorned the empty room’s walls was a broken clock.
“I see it now,” Norman said out loud to himself.
Ticking filled the otherwise silent room as the clock sprang to life. With each tick, a number fell off the clock face until all that was left was its spinning hands.
“Do you still see it?” A voice asked, filing the room.
Norman looked to the pile of numbers on the ground as they slowly melted into a puddle of ink.
The puddle trickled its way toward Norman as he got up and backed into the far corner of the room. As the ink completely covered the floor, a ball formed in the center, levitating a few inches off the ground.
“How about now?” The voice continued. “What do you see?”
On the face of the ball the geography of the world began to take shape.
Trying to move, Norman realized that what was previously ink was now tar.
“I see it!”
“Are you sure?”
The hands of time began to spin faster on the clock. A whirlwind began to grow, devouring all in its path.
The room began to move.
The tar began to ripple.
Before long, Norman’s feet were finally free, and on the ground in front of him lay a hammer uncovered by the tar.
“I see it!” Norman yelled as he picked up the tool.
Falling toward the growing cyclone, Norman swung the hammer and hit the black globe, sending an echoing crash around the room, not unlike a bell.
“Stop.” The voice said. Everything stood captured in motion. “What do you see?”
“Imagination.” Norman answered.
Norman blinked. He was staring at a broken clock. He couldn’t feel his legs. Looking down, he was sitting in a wheelchair.
A single drop of ink stained his shirt.