I do like a good challenge. Once again, Ray hit one out of the park. I liked this challenge. It was interesting and made me flex my creative muscle somewhat.
Use the words ‘finite-infinite’ or sentence ‘Some think that the grains of sand cannot be counted’ in your text.
To participate: post a story, poem or flash on your blog, tag the post – #coolprompts, pingback to Ray’s post (or any last post on RayNotBradbury’s Blog), if you want me to come over, read and comment. Any genre/style is welcome! No boundaries at all! It’s OKAY to bend the rules. Have fun!
So, without further dialogue, ado, or anything else, here’s my two cents titled Zoso and Three More:
Some think that the grains of sand cannot be counted. I say to those people they haven’t been on the beach under the influence of mescaline. I’d like to think it was my conversation with God. So much went through my mind that the infinite turned finite. It was like wisdom itself struck the top of my noggin. And, I tell you, if lightning had shot out of my eyeballs, that fact wouldn’t have surprised me.
I’d been in a bad car wreck the month previously. So, a vacation was in order. Well, when I hit the beach in the Bahamas and a tour guide, of all people, offered to get me drugs, I figured what the hell! You only live once and this roller coaster ain’t off the tracks yet, despite the previous car crash.
It was like my conversation with God I was having included the algorithmic information to determining just how many grains of sand were on this beach. Unfortunately, someone began playing a favorite Led Zeppelin song in the distance and my concentration went to shit and Kashmir. That tune is the bomb, and more so under the effects of mescaline. I couldn’t have calculated for crap when Page’s thunderous guitar and Plant’s vocal range began to ring out.
I looked to the sky and saw four dramatic symbols in the clouds. They mimicked the four symbols off the untitled Led Zeppelin album – three interlocking rings, the ring with a feather inside, the word Zoso in a funky-shaped script, and the single circle with a triquetra over it. I was so flabbergasted. I came to the conclusion, which no one has yet to disprove, that my theory of the music at the center of the universe is in fact every song that Led Zeppelin ever recorded.
I don’t know still how many grains of sand are on that beach. When I came down from my mescaline high, and subsequently bailed myself out of jail for streaking on the same beach which I don’t recall having done, I realized maybe infinite ideas are that for a reason. Some mysteries are mysteries innately, and debunking or solving said mystery would no longer make them mystical. The solving would take away the very thing that grabs us about that mystery. Maybe one day I’ll know this algorithmic function that went into solving the riddle of “how many grains of sand”, but something tells me I might be dead when that comes about.
So, that’s the tale – a drug-riddled romp on the beach. Until next time . . .