underneath

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


She’s doing it again. Sitting there. Sitting on my old bones. She comes too often to stare off into the distance. I hope she’s thinking about me. Wondering about me. I’m right underneath her.

A mountain top in love with a woman. Such a silly thing really. Here I am, thousands of years old, crafted in the heaving and shifting continental plates, pining for a woman. A woman who walks all over my pathways and rocks but never sees me underfoot. She’s always staring out into the distance, like something more stable or substantial will come along and lift her up from her mundane and mediocre life; like some, human. Ick. Such an irritation.

This woman though. She is something special to me. She climbs me nearly every day and sits. I do what I can to make her comfortable. The wind is never too harsh. My rocks are never too sharp. I keep the paths clear and the pebbles out of her shoes. She is quiet. She’s quiet like me.

I’ve never heard her speak. I wonder if she speaks my language. Would she even know it if I told her how I felt? I’m sure she doesn’t. No one speaks mountaintop any more.

What is she looking for in the valley below? What is there that she can’t find here with me? How can I let her know that I’m what she has been searching for, that I’m the one that can keep her happy and at peace? I’m the one to hold her up, to be stable under her feet. I can keep her on the highest of pedestals and I would never crumble under pressure. Rumble.

A mountain in love with a woman. A woman in love with the view.


Submitted: July 02, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Michael J. Hebel. All rights reserved.

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