Whispers of Turtles
Story Highlights Where Small Moments Rise Into Immortality (Gaby Brogan)
Word Wanderers.
The turtles arrive with a flash fiction potion. A piece that comes from melancholy, deep seeded survival, and love. A place you might want to stay in forever.
But first, thank you for arriving. Amongst the pond we are happy to bring you the words of
. A newer writer that popped out with pen sharpened and heart hungry.She has brought us the wonderful tale of “In Every Lifetime,” which reads like a highlight reel of well — life! Or the many we can experience. It is flashy, fantastic, and very gripping until the end.
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Welcome back to LifeBridge: your immersive past-life experience. You’ve upgraded to premium for ad-free, full 360° sensory exploration.
Please ensure the LifeBridge helmet is secure. Nod once to skip lifetime. Nod twice to go back.
###
One nod.
The smell of woodsmoke from the hillfort makes your mouth water. Hungry. So hungry. You fall to your knees and scrabble in the wet earth. You never meant to defy the chieftain. You should’ve held your tongue. Nothing is worse than exile.
You choke out an apology to the river gods and your clansmen — whoever is listening — and dig until your fingers find the round belly of a turnip. You pull it out gently. The soil smells rich and tangy. It clings under your nails and onto you fingers until you can’t distinguish your own hand from mud—
One nod.
It’s fucking freezing. You shiver under the scratchy blanket, lying on a wooden pallet that sends aches up your spine. An opium pipe rests in the crook of your arm like an emaciated lover.
“Alright.” A portly woman bustles in and waves her arms in shooing motions. “Time’s up in ‘ere. Rules is rules. Streets are bitter cold tonight. Don’t say I didn’t warn—
One nod.
Warplanes groan overhead, and your heart pulsates limply in your chest. You can’t take it anymore; you need to rip the raw flesh and stinking shit from your mind. The pill is starting to dissolve in your sweaty palm. The Corporal gave it to you because he recognized that you’re the same as him. A hound, a scoundrel, a cowar–
One nod.
Your brother herds sheep under the wide blue sky. You saunter beside him, fiddling with a purple-grey pebble you found down by the river. It’s been worn smooth by the water.
“Don’t make any sense,” your brother snaps over the diesel-choked cough of the combine harvester. “You’re the last the farm should go to.”
“Ain’t my fault they chose me,” you reply.
“You’re selfish. Always have been.”
You roll your eyes and remind him that he didn’t even turn up for Nan’s funeral–
One nod.
She laughs–
One nod.
Your phone rings–
Two nods.
She laughs in great, booming peals on the sofa, and your heart swells with love. In the buttery sunlight, you fall down next to her and gaze out the open window.
Everything is dancing. The curtain’s cotton hips sway in the breeze, and the leaves on the young mango tree twist under the expansive palms. She rests her head on your shoulder, and time slips quietly by as you discuss your days, your friends, your plans.
Eventually, she groans and stands up.
“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She holds out her hand.
“Late to Casey’s baby shower?!” you ask in mock horror, allowing yourself to be pulled up. “That woman has never been on time to anything in her life.”
“Well then, I guess we’d better start setting a good example early. Be responsible future-godparents.”
She floats over to the fridge and picks out two beers. You get ready and then call an Uber, which speeds through the city in bloom.
Casey and Nick’s rooftop garden is strung with fairy lights and filled with tables of food. You met Nick in AA years ago, and he shoots you a disbelieving grin. Could life really have turned out so… good? The party is alive, hopping and fizzy as the afternoon unfurls into a blushy, dusky evening.
And all you can see, really, is her. She sways over to you, holding a slice of peach cake and you take a bite. It’s fluffy and sweet—
###
Warning: Your viewing time has exceeded twenty-four hours.
Past life viewership is a form of entertainment that carries the risk of addiction and may lead to a devaluing of your relationships and experience in your current lifetime.
Nod once to confirm exit.
Nod twice to accept risks and proceed.
Two nods.
###
— She leans forward and kisses you. “What a party. I wish we could spend forever like this.”
The Line(s) That Stopped Time
“She laughs in great, booming peals on the sofa, and your heart swells with love.”
This description had me swooning. Laughter is a medicine, outwardly and inwardly. Tucking this away.
EMR’s Moment of Reflection
I love how immersive this short story is. We’re dropped into the LifeBridge and begin rolling past multiple lifetimes. A peek into what may have been, what was, or what is. All with the simple gesture of a nod. Does it sound familiar?
Similar to the endless scrolling one may battle against or the constant droning of what the internet is — it can be a battle lost one day and survived the next.
Spoiler alert, but the ending hits like crack, much like the message warning us of the reality of life becoming warped due to overuse. We read our own addiction unfold and keep going. Great use of second person narration.
The Fading Echo
For eternity, thank you! We appreciate you accompanying us and these amazing works from people here in the pond. Big thank you to
for the words!We ask you to go check her page out, she’s outputting stellar work and a great pace and I am sure still has more left in the chamber. Find more here:
Until next time. We’ll see you outside.
This is a wonderful use of the second person. And the idea and execution are well done.