My station gives me the right to marry three women, so I did; Ofelia, Costanza and Furya. My three wives gave me three sons, birthed on the same day on the same hour, equal in age to the second; three sons, three heirs with equal rights to my throne. Continue reading
Archibald revved up the engine and smiled at the sweet sound his beloved motor made.
‘Good God, man. Are you truly going to pass through the vortex on that monstrosity?’
‘By Jove, she’s coming, Alfonse. Is it ready?’ Continue reading
Freyja sat at her dresser, staring at the rose still lying on its silk wrapping. It was carved out of amber; every petal a perfect replica of the real thing; lifelike veins lined the length of its stem, flecked by sharp thorns, the mere thought of their sting making Freyja’s eyes water. Continue reading
We used to sit around the table, all five of us, every Sunday at lunch. Until the trolls invaded and all my boys left; called up and conscripted.
I harvested the land with the women, and waited at the gate every sundown. Those who returned were unrecognizable. A guilty thought chafed at me; if this is what they came back as, did I want my boys to return?
But the choice was never mine.
Three of us sit at the table now in haunted silence, staring into the fires of the two lit lamps; a tribute to our dead.
For this episode of Friday Fictioneers, I went with fantasy. I hope you like it.
It had been miles since Kevin pricked his finger on the hollow-bone. Now, walking in circles, images of entrails, blankness, remnants of what was, clouded his mind as the woods devoured him whole.