Rochelle sets us a one hundred word flash fiction challenge, prompted by a photo, every week. Come and have a go, if you think you’re bard enough.
You can never know what it means to be me. We inhabit the same local space in the same universe; we can both see the same bus and agree it is red, noisy, smelly, whatever, but you can never know what red, noisy or smelly are to me. The shared experience is an illusion; convenient for language and communication, but naive in fact. How would you describe a bus to an alien? You could not because you would have no datum; no common starting point. My datum is not your datum: I am just as an alien. (97)