Tag Archive: flash fiction


Twitchy

It pulled at his attention constantly, and just like the itch you cannot scratch this only made things worse. Nothing seemed to help. Thinking about it, trying not to think about it, and researching it online all had the same effect…none. The twitch, it seemed, was here to stay.

Image by Travis Howell as seen on Dribble

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How much longer?

I’m dying.

That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Hell, it’s the only thought my chaotic mind seems to be able to latch hold of. If I’m dying then the crushing defeat seems right. The helplessness. The desperate resignation. The hollowness just south of my heart and north of my navel.

Is it bad to want this, to smile through the tears in an attempt at grim humor? Will that smile remain once I finally give up, or slide away like so many other things I’ve lost? How long till nothing’s left?

How many drinks till none of this matters? Till the whiskey burn is all I feel. Finally warm where the nerves are shot and the dull ache throbs.

How much longer till I give in?

The spinning stops. The silence is everywhere. The cold seeps back in just as the color leeches out.

As seen on https://www.aubreymarcus.com/blogs/aubrey-marcus/depression

On the 12th moon

Otis looked up, dark eyes as round as saucers, at the full moon. A quick check on his fingers confirmed it. This was the 12thmoon. Knowing that it would only cause hunger pains he walked down the street to the corner bakery anyway. Smudging the oversized windows with his grimy fingers he was unable to stop imagining how the large fluffy bites might actually taste.

He didn’t remember why he had started to keep count, tracking the moons through the years, but Otis remembered when. The snow had been nearly waist deep as he walked through the night, and the biggest full moon he had ever seen had followed his struggle. Now when he saw the full moon he felt strong and 12 in a row meant… something even if he couldn’t quite explain what it was.

Having leaned even closer to the display window the bell above the bakery door made Otis jump as it rang out. The woman who stood in the door way looked terrifying as a backlit and shadowy figure. Otis considered bolting.

“Wait…” the woman said reading the instinct in his eyes. She held out a small box in one hand still holding the door open with the other.

Otis hesitated only momentarily, fearing the trap of easily grabbable things, before snatching it and running off.

No crying over broken cookies

The tension was a palpable solid thing that was slowly filling the room forcing even the oxygen out. They stood locked in place unable to look away slightly out of breath. Maybe it was ice forming between them, crystalline enough to break but too rigid to allow for shifting, she thought. A lot had cooled recently so ice made a poetic kind of sense. He shifted his weight and broke eye contact to look at the door. More specifically the shattered plate of cookies littering the floor just in front of the door.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked slowly, almost defeated.

Stop, she wanted to scream, honestly she wanted it all to stop. Even though she knew it would never happen, never could, that’s what she really wanted.

“People depend on me you know,” as he said the words she could hear his jaw tightening. “If I don’t go… well I don’t even want to think about what could happen.”

“To you or your people Chris?”

His head shot up and his mouth open and closed but no words came out. She walked over to him, eyes bright with unshed tears crunching cookies and platter as she went, and handed him a card. “I’m done Chris. I just, I just can’t do this anymore.” She paused for a moment unsure how to continue. “There’s a way to stop it.”

He looked at the card.

“There’s a clause for it.”

A moment of peace

The day’s rain could still be heard in the leaves of the trees, softly rustling in the gentle breeze, and plodding off the broken drain pipe onto the slate slab walkway below. The sky, however, had been washed clean. The stars sparkled and the moon’s illumination fell softly upon the night. While the easy rise and fall of the nighttime thrum sang of rest and eternity.

It represented a moment of peace, and in that moment everything was beautiful.

Snow Angel

I am a covered thing.

She thought trudging through the snow. I am covered in hats, scarves, and coats, but no, that wasn’t it. It was something more than this. She felt… masked perhaps. The snow had reduced her physical presence down to the rustle of moisture resistant fabrics, the soft crunch of her boots, and the swirling crystals of her breath. It was a sensation that she loved and loathed in equal measure. The quiet lent her false privacy. It made her want to act childish and vibrant, even if no one was watching. However, the weight of the world softly sighing was hard to bear, begging her to shatter the near silence. The crisp white perfection a thing she desperately wanted to mar. The decision wasn’t even a decision. One second she was standing, and the next she was free-falling backwards, arms open wide. Sinking into the snow the thought came again.

I am a covered thing.

It’s quick, the shift from unknowing to knowing. It happens light switch fast, and is just as blinding as light after dark. Trapped is more than the word can portray. Trapped is knowledge of limits, is the feeling of unbalanced, is the need for air. It widens eyes, harshens sounds, lengthens seconds, and crystalizes thoughts. When the revelation hit… the world shuddered, it suddenly held itself between the blink and the breath, both waiting and poised. The next moment, so critical, was drawn thin to the point of becoming brittle. A crackable thing. Fragile but complete.

Then we both moved.

Up thoughts

Alice in Wonderland all rights to Disney


She stood on tiptoe her nose barely reaching over the edge of the table. The treats were so tempting sitting in their cut crystal bowl screaming “eat me”, but still she wavered. Some small animalistic lobe of the brain alerting her to the danger of too perfect an opportunity. Quickly she glanced side to side, sure she was about to be found out for the uninvited interloper she was, but no one looked or noticed. Quick as a flash tiny hand took tiny treat. The jolt of adrenaline added to the flavor making the sugar complex and wonderful. Wildly she enjoyed the stolen morsel, and having eaten her treasure sank to the floor… deflated. No one had noticed or cared. Emptiness filled her stomach and inch by inch swollowed her, mind and all. Everything now felt sharp and disjointed as if it had become over large or ungainly. She sat with her new feelings and confused by them began searching for explanation. She had gotten what she wanted, right? 

Yes, it had been exquisite in both anticipation and reality. So why did she now feel even smaller? 

The thoughts made her want to wipe her hands off, as if this mindset could be cleared away so easily. 

Maybe, no. Perhaps the real want had not yet been met. 

Immediately her searching switched to scanning. The treats were little, the pleasure they brought had been little, and the motive tiny. She would need something much bigger to make the smallness go away. Ruby and amber flashes winked at her from smoky glass decanters daring her to “drink me”. This, she thought, was no little thing this was big. The big action of a big person who people would notice. Decided she went for the decanter thinking only up thoughts. The flush of success, so newly acquired, slipped away as the liquid passed parted lips. It seared and burned on the way down pulling her after. 

Up it seemed was still out of reach.

Today I came undone. It was an interesting feeling akin to screaming from a dream, pointless and jarring. My words were nothing more than pathetic echoes reverberating out of me, attached to nothing, devoid of meaning. Scales fell from my eyes, liquid fire, blinding me to the light. As I stood in the maelstrom, begging it to strike harder, I paid willingly in pounds of flesh. Eased by the warm rush of blood. Calmed by the whiring in my ears.

My masks lay at my feet strewn like flowers, representations of things I dare not name. They are my most and least honest appendage in one. The masks repel and call to me with the same voice. It’s familiar, and my fingers itch to pull them up, obedient as always.

An acrid taste upon my tongue sours my stomach. Perhaps this pill wasn’t meant for swallowing, but the hour is late and I’ve already decided. So while Fate looms chill and shadowy behind me, a shark, keen in bloody water, I drop my arms, stand firm, and adjust my posture. I am ready to continue because continue is what I do.

Spring evening

image
~Hungry eyes by ericadalmaso on DeviantArt~

Fucking spring.

I fasten the toggles on my Gloverall and start up the street. The wind pics up.

Tick…tick…tick tick tick tick tickticktick.

Perfect.

I hunch my shoulders, drop my head, and pull my hood up.

Squelch…skewe….squelch…skewe.

Damn it.

I shiver as a stray rain drop slides down my back.

Braaahhhhnnn! Ding ding ding ding. Brraahhhnn!

What time is it?

The cold wet of my pant leg starts to chafe pulling at my attention, a distraction from the ache in my side.

Slap, slap…shhaaaa…slap, slap…aaaahh…slap, slap. Ding…

I stop running and hold my side fighting for a full breath.

6:21! You gotta be kiddin’ me!

“You got a dollar miss? I need to get home.”

Yah, you and me both.

So this is an attempt at writing a first person present tense story. I became interested in this choice of perspective after I came across Whose skin am I in posted by J.S. Kuiken. This post was thought provoking and made me want to try my hand at a new and challenging story telling mechanism. Well it was very hard to tell the story without narrating, but I hope that I was able to keep you interested in my character and her plight. Be sure to check out J.S. Kuiken’s blog.

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