Tag Archives: flashfiction

Line Dancing

Friday, April 1st, 2011

The lines danced as they sung, an ever evolving wave of green. They read the music by its scent, heard it through its shape, and saw it through the vibrations in the earth. Impulses shattered their conscious, rebuilding it a moment later, yet they never missed a beat.

The earth sung with them, the stones a bass accompaniment, the trees whispering vocals in faint colours. Rocks cracked and sheered away, and the thumps as they struck gave a form to the sounds.

The lines twisted, writhing about the aromas of sound, reformed each instant in new phantasms. Yet static was seen, for in each shattering of their conscious, they lost a tiny part of the music.

The dance became frantic, the gestures wild, and the green shifted hues until it was a malignant orange note. Rocks crashed with greater frequencies, and the bass became a roaring perfume, suffusing life.

Vibrations shattered, a sun in the sound. A tincture of death spread with the noiseless light, and each who was caressed by its hand fell away, until a flat white plain was left. Barren of all sensation, it waited until impulse existed again.

The Great Device

Sunday, March 27th, 2011

I have within my possession a great device. It has been said that, if used, all of those who reside upon this sphere will perish, and ascend to Heaven. Others place suppositions upon its ability to render us unto a Hell unlike even that of Lucifer. Yet I believe none have discerned the truthfulness of its usage, even myself. For despite my many years with the device in my possession, examining the mechanism has proven quite difficult, for to remove the casing and make a thorough inspection would render the great device inoperable.

I have contented myself for the passing of these decades by postulates and theorems, a hope that a rational mind can discern the purpose to which it was built. Yet despite my ponderous researches into the life and history of the machine’s creator, a M. Friedrichs. I believe him to have been born in the province of Alsace-Lorraine, yet I have found precious little of the details of his existence. It is almost as if, having made this device, his history finishes, and what came before was of such irrelevance that it was never recorded.

I find this truly a pity, for I would very much have liked to examine the mind of the man who had created this infernal device. Or perhaps I should refer to it as an angelic device, as some do. In truth, I do not know, for I find there to be equal cause for explanation on either side.…
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Weekly Ritual

Friday, March 25th, 2011

Marcus went blind on Wednesday. Deaf on Thursday. Friday he lost the ability to taste. Saturday, scents no longer appealed, and Sunday, he could no longer feel even the breath of the wind. Monday, they all came back.

He still worked the full forty hour week, of course. Hardest on Monday and Tuesday, when he could see. Memorize everything he could before Tuesday midnight, and then use Braille the rest of the week, typing away in blissful silence until Monday rolled around.

Thursday and Friday, he was the most productive person in the office. It’s amazing how much you can get done without even the possibility of being distracted.

There were drawbacks, of course. His wife cheated on him, twice a week. Thursday and Friday, between noon and two. Sunday he had to lay in bed, eating nothing. Too much risk otherwise.

It also meant he could never see his children play sports as they grew up, or spend time with them on the weekend. Marcus cried over that, when he thought no one was looking.

Someday, he was sure he’d find out what the affliction of his meant. Doctors certainly didn’t know, they just waved their hands. Oh, they’d been helpful at first, trying every cure and treatment they could conceive. But if you heard of a product with a 99% success rate, well, Marcus was that 1%. Everything failed on him.…
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Things Unsaid

Monday, February 28th, 2011

There are things better left unsaid. There always have been. I’m certainly no different. I have things in my closet that I do not speak about openly. I think we all do. But given what is about to happen next, I think today is the time to speak of them.

When I was young and our family pets were old, I’d curse and shout at them for no longer being able to control themselves. They’d give me a sad look, like they wished they weren’t growing old, but they couldn’t do anything about it.

I wet the bed when I was older. For some reason, my bladder never stopped going in the night, and I had to hide it from everyone else. A little thing, but so embarrassing as a grown man.

I stole little things, here and there. They’d call out to me, speak to me, and I’d slip them in a pocket or under my shirt, and then be off with them. Nobody noticed, or at least I never got caught.

And well, there’s the reason I’m writing this. I slept with your wife. For years. And then I killed her and ate her. With barbecue sauce. Very tasty, if I may be so bold.

Anyway, that was what I wanted you to know.

Thanks again for being my friend all these years.

The end of the letter was splattered in blood.…
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An Old Friend

Friday, February 25th, 2011

Fire flickered against the steel, a deep crimson glow in the dark tunnel. Ice rimed the wood and bronze, a counterpoint to the crimson. Lýtling chuckled, and held his axe high, letting light bounce off the worked stone.

He had come here for treasure, like so many before. But he had come better prepared than the others. The thief had seen their corpses scattered about these ruins, some cut apart, others burned, each death a gruesome testament to their folly.

Lýtling would not fall into traps such as had caught them, and indeed, had not. He had survived pits, poison, and even the odd undead. The last one had been a particularly recalcitrant zombie. Now it was a small pile of ash. It really shouldn’t have let itself dry out.

The light revealed a glimmer in the dark, and he strode towards it. The tunnel emptied him out in a spacious room, and around him glittered rack upon rack of arms and armour, all ornate and adorned in filigree. One of those suits was the right one. The rest would kill him.

A clanking sounded from deep in the racks. Lýtling turned to see three armoured figures step forth, each brandishing a claymore. “Well now, life could do with a little excitement, eh?” He hefted his axe and shield, and stared down the foe. …
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