Fleas jumped off of the tangled hair, copulated in mid-air and settled back amid the black tendrils.
I stared in disgusted fascination, my nostrils having made peace with the assaulting stench.
My mind was drawn inward, savouring the festering feeling of satisfaction acting like balm against the long-aching depths in the pit of my stomach.
I watched the gaping hole betwixt its eyes, the hole I had just made, rendering its horns useless; unable now to ram at me; its dead legs unable to stalk me; its glassy eyes, emptied of the evil spirit that has haunted me for so long.
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Copyright – Kelly Sands
After days of ceaseless chanting, all the magi have accomplished is this oppressive canopy of rumbling clouds.
Below us, dark legions spread across the valley.
On our side, one hundred remain of the thousand that saw the first dawn of battle.
The chanting paused.
A child now stands among the quarreling magi. Unbidden, he steps forward and lifts a hand over the abyss.
Then, through the clouds, a shimmer.
A silver dragon swoops low among black flags and the spreading tidal roar of terror.
They flee; disperse like an ant colony disturbed.
The dragon soars and disappears and, with it, the child.
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Copyright – Claire Fuller
If a mirror existed that showed us our reflection, not as we appear, but as we feel; a pure reflection of our souls; what would I look like in such a glass? A rumbling volcano? An explosion of raging lava at a word said in a misjudged time? A spluttering of ash at a phrase uttered in a misused tone? But I guess it would be a mild volcano; no Vesuvius. Unsteady, yes, and explosive, but fading quickly; an Etna maybe.
You? What would your reflection be, my love? A statue made of marble, perhaps?
Emotionless, no explosions; cold to the touch, like marble?
All logic, no splutterings; clean and flawless, like marble?
For Friday Fictioneers.
The first time I left home, I managed to get to the front gate before Doreen ran out and grabbed my shoulder. I had walked out in the middle of a talking to, so I wasn’t really expecting to go very far.
The second time I made it out onto the street. She was sleeping that time and I was very, very quiet so I don’t know how she knew I was leaving.
But I didn’t plan it right, you see. I should have done it when Daddy and Doreen were at work.
The third time… Continue reading →
Copyright -Mary Shipman
All I remember from the day the humans left is an all-encompassing, bright flash. They were gone before the night was dawn.
My three little ones are my world now, and the humans’ house is our home. The most recent danger is a lone wolf that roams the woods that have spilled over the front yard. While I hunt, I hide my kittens in the holes up in the wall. Wolves don’t jump that high.
And yet, I return to a quiet house. A claw marks the length of the wall; too high for a wolf; deep enough for a bear. My babies are gone.
For Friday Fictioneers. Football fever has caught me by the throat this season. I write this as I watch Spain v. Chile. Tell me, is football an inspiring muse?
The mummified corpse on Dr Jade’s table lay on its side with fingers clawed and legs crouched, kneeling. The mouth was open, caught in the middle of a frozen scream.
All Dr Jade was interested in were the teeth though; the perfect white teeth on the grey, withered body. Continue reading →
I started this journal with ‘Day 5’ because it feels like almost a week since I washed up here.
A month ago, I boarded the yacht for the adventure of a life time. Breaking the yacht on the rocks was unexpected. Waking up with my face buried in the sand at the break of dawn was a miracle. Continue reading →
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
Tyron smacked his lips happily. The perfect title hit him after two empty hours. ‘Seven mountains in seven years’, his answer to the challenge: ‘Wildest dreams’.
His finger hovered for a hesitating second longer. Then, click; the post was published. Continue reading →
I met him once on my way to work. He was as expected; tall and thin, his figure bent by age, leaning on a scythe. His face was hidden by the black cloak, greening with age.
‘You can’t have come for me!’ I said. It wasn’t a question.
‘And why not?’ His was.
‘Because I’m too young. I still have much to do!’
I stopped and thought for a while. ‘Well, I’m on my way to work. Can’t just leave without notice. How would my boss cope?’
He paused and didn’t speak for a long while.
‘Have it your way then. I’ll take you later.’
He was waiting for me again on my way from work to home.
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