Rebirth

‘Resurrection’ was a potential title for my last blog post which I discarded. At the time, however, I knew of another piece that I was planning to write where it might fit. And now that it’s come time to do it, I’ve passed over the name once more in preference for this one. Such is the creative process.

I originally cracked this ultra-short piece out with a deadline in mind, October 31st, because, as everyone knows, November is NaNoWriMo. And once that started there was no hope of publishing this mini piece until way after NaNo was done and dusted.

Below is the piece as well as the accompanying art. When I posted it on my Instagram account, each sentence was actually a caption to the accompanying latte art that I had poured for the purpose of making one giant latte art. And by giant, I mean 3×3 photos. This was my take on those other Instagrammers that took a single photo and cut it up to publish as 9 consecutive posts, something that is easily done with some app, I’m sure. My version is a far more ambitious twist on that, a reversal, in fact.

It was fun because it was like flash fiction, quick and with little commitment, but refined to pack maximal punch, combined with another fun thing I do in life and in my café job.

Without further ado,

REBIRTH

From the pyre of his rebirth, he rose with a scream triumphant.

Tail lashing, he shot upwards, sparks riding in his wake.

The spectacular plumes used in courting streamed behind, like bright ribbons proclaiming his arrival.

At the peak of his ascent, the phoenix spread his wings, catching the bonfire’s updraft.

The heat lifted his spirit, washing away memories of the twilight years of his previous life, filling him anew with the fresh fire of youth.

Rainbow-hued secondaries flared, sprays of colour that would identify a phoenix to his mate,

Orange and gold wingtips stroked the air, tongues of fire licking, hungry.

He swept his gaze across stars and beach, where the bonfire began to smoulder.

Where was she who had prepared his pyre? Instead of a courting dance it seemed that first there must be a hunt.

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