Posts Tagged ‘flash fiction’

Move…

Posted: August 4, 2020 in Uncategorized
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The pains would start again soon. Blood and fluid oozed down her legs as she cradled the infant tight to her chest, its warm breath on her sweaty skin. It did not cry.

She knew it was not over but the brief respite gave her a chance to move…

The moment you decide to kill is not what you’d think. You would expect it to be born in anger, a flash of madness that overcomes you and leads you to insanity. Instead, it is a feeling of serenity. When the decision is made there is only peace; a calmness that enveloped you and allows the thinker to be finally at rest.

That was how Sarah felt as she prepared to kill, for what would be the first and last time. She knew it was wrong but, as the decision began to develop in her mind, she felt that swell of quiet composure that she had longed for.

She stood silent.  The wind whipped around her, making her hair tie itself into a thousand knots but she stood…silent.  The world around ebbed and flowed in its usual chaotic manner, never stopping to take a breath as it hastened around in an endless tirade of entropy.   Caught in a whirlwind of unpredictability she had become accustomed to the overwhelming loss of control but had never tried to step away, but now it had forced her to be…silent.

 

The day had started as usual, locked in the normality of the humdrum but longing to flee.  The dark cloud followed her, walking in her shadows, never letting her escape the feeling of dread and despair that had plagued her for as long as she could remember.  Was there a beginning, she couldn’t remember but she knew there would never be an end. It followed her, watched her and twisted her thoughts into blackened images of an inverted reality until it was impossible to see the truth through the distorted lies.    

He looked at his expectant face with sorrow. Tears ran down his little face as the rain splattered against the window and flooded the patio in glistening puddles of water. The rocket ship, once a magnificent monument of papier-mâché and PVA glue, was now a twisted, soggy mess with the painstaking artwork of a five year old dripping onto the concrete.

The father sighed. The opportunity to spend a magical moment with his estranged son was ebbing away and he could hear the disappointment in the child’s voice. “It’s ok son, we’ll build another one next time you’re over. It’ll be even bigger and better than this one.”

The son shrugged. He knew that that could be weeks away but he smiled anyway. “Ok dad, we’ll make it big enough to get inside and then we can fly off to the moon.”

“Sounds great,” Dad rejoiced in the innocence of his boy. Handing him a spoon, they eagerly tucked into the ice cream and watched the lightning flash across the darkened sky.

“Do you think they have ice cream on the moon, dad?”

“Maybe, but we’ll pack some just in case.”

Seconds, maybe minutes passed. His eyes, yellow flecks swirling in grey, deep pools stared at her, burning into her mind with ever increasing intensity. Unable to to look away, her gaze unblinking and focused, like an invisible beam drawing her closer to him. Images filled her mind, his thoughts flooding into her conscious. Bad thoughts, dark thoughts, some so depraved that she felt a sickness fill her throat and she longed to look away but they were inside her head, becoming part of her.

“I can’t…” she murmured, the sound of her voice sounded distant through the cacophony of voices enveloping her. “No more…”

With a sigh he closed his eyes and her body crumpled to the dusty, dry earth.

“Never ask again, this is proof that you are not and never will be ready to know me.” He stared down at her sobbing frame and he was shrouded in sorrow. She should have been the one and if not her, who…

The gnarled joints twisted and jerked as her body remembered the gracefulness of youth, 70 years of memories flooding through her muscles like electricity; the dancer was reborn. With a creak and a crack an elegant line was stretched between hand and foot, although the route was less smooth now, scattered with age spots and varicose veins. But she held her head high; her still dainty neck and delicate shoulders wore the contours of age in gentle creases but her eyes, once tired, now sparkled with exuberance. She smiled. She knew her lines were bent and her posture poor but for a moment she was once again that timeless beauty of 1955.