Saint Bees Man

Something a little different this afternoon / nearly evening. Having had a good shuffle through my beermats and cigarette packs… sorry, that was yesterday’s story… having had a good shuffle through my electronic picture albums, and not finding anything that matched my mood (and had that vital church-related) theme, I looked up in despair, and there, above my mini mac computer, a framed picture my wife purchased for my birthday a few years ago. This visually stunning picture is called Saint Bees Man: morphing through time, and is by a local artist Dawn Mills. l always thought there was a story in this picture somewhere – and I have written stories based around some of Dawn’s fabulous pictures and paintings before – but it was not until this batch of nearly sixty flash fiction stories that I found this one hundred word story. I hope you find my prose interesting. If only it was as stunning as Dawn’s fabulous, fabulous, fabulous (am I overdoing it?) photographic wizardry. Enjoy.



Kelvin M. Knight

You watch them dissecting your body, trying to decipher your life, so they might determine the cause of your death. There’s no determining necessary. You see them as they do not see you, in this churchyard, in this village abuzz with honeybees. Here they unearthed you, unwrapped you. Here this Priory’s walls crumbled centuries ago. Through crimson silhouettes you feel the monks’ prayers. Amidst the coral shadows of dawn and dusk they traipse before you, chanting, heads bowed, hoods raised. Until another congregation appears, hymnbooks raised, Bibles bowed. You dissect this congregations’ worshipping the same way they tried deciphering you.

(100 words)


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