Time (Flash Fiction)

Tonight I am sharing a Flash Fiction horror that is close to my heart. It is based on a true event. I wrote it for and about the love of my life, Aeryk. It encompasses my feelings when we have to say goodbye to each other, because we live on opposite sides of the country. Good news is, I get to see him again for the holidays this friday! ❤ 

Thank you, as always, for reading. 

It is raining. You are sharing an umbrella with me. We are soaked, but smiles still plastered to our faces. Your brother holds up his new camera, and snaps a picture of us, says its romantic. That’s when I turn to face you, and you show your dimples and ask, “what?”

I kiss you, in front of everyone on that road. Our eyes are closed and I feel the cold droplets run down our faces, onto our lips that are pushed together in unison.

We are ignoring the world.

This was a wonderful moment, when demons were too scared to come near us because all the light in heaven was pouring over our two bodies, pressed together. Inseparable, we conquered all the struggles that tried to tear us apart. We refused to leave each other’s warmth. Nothing could ruin us.

Nothing, except Time.

And Time came for us, from the depths of the black it crawled towards us. Slowly, and in strides it neared us, and we felt its presence. We looked over our shoulders constantly, its lingering aura growing in weight and size. Time, this horrid abomination arrived, with its yellowed claws it ripped into our peaceful nights when we would lie awake, noses pressed together as we inhaled each other’s exhale. Time reached up from under the bed we lay in and grasped our beating hearts in its palm. It squeezed, and our vessels burst into a collage of deep reds, blacks, and blues. Liquids drenched our eyes as Time hammered nails into our skulls and reached into our minds, sucking out our memories of endless drives through the mountains, and walks under the trees. Time replaced those memories with the reminder that none of this, none of these happy, peaceful, ecstatic, passionate, harmonious, warm, carefree and worry free days would last. Time was going to kill these days. Time was going to rip these days limb by limb and slowly, consume them and consume us and every second that brought joy to our moments. We were no longer the people we had been, because Time had come from the black and turned the light off in the sun, filling our hours with nothing but a dull screen of smoke, our vision blurred so that we had to fight through it in order to see each other’s silhouettes. I could barely make out your face the day Time brought us to the dragons. The dragons that fly over our world. Time had turned them into scorching lizards with no remorse in their hearts, only destination. Time grabbed my arm, tugging it nearly out of its socket and dragged me as I thrashed and screamed with a resisting nature that exhausted me to a point in which my body gave out. You followed behind me, trying with all your strength to save me, but not even you could stop Time. It gripped my neck, choking the life out of me as I gagged and coughed with the sickness that Time injected inside me. It felt like the end, with every muscle of mine inflamed and my bones shattered, to us it was the end.

But suddenly, Time was generous, and as the world went on around us, Time stopped for just you and I. With heavy eyes I looked at you, as my body was sprawled across the cold floor. You stood by me, with an uneasiness I had never seen in you before. You reached out for me, and at one last moment we collided again, and your warmth melted the ice on my skin, and your smell cancelled out the rot of my organs, and the honeysuckle on your lips moistened my crusted mouth. You saved me, and that’s when Time brushed against my shoulder. A reminder that Time was still there, still ticking.

With that, a glimmer of hope flashed us a grin, and Time unfroze, and reality struck, and I left your arms, and the cold air filled my being, and I turned and you were gone, and Time would not stop dragging me, and I wanted to go back, and I looked again and you were still absent, and I stretched out my arms but you did not take my hand, and I looked to my side and you were not there smiling, and the dragon was there waiting to take me away.

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Behind You (Flash Fiction)

It is standing right behind you.

It is always standing right behind you, or near you. It is taller than you, and its head hangs down over yours. Mouth gaping, tall, boney limbs dangling. Sockets empty and fixed on you, always.

It inhales, little by little and exhales, bit by bit. You sometimes feel a touch of air sweep over the skin of your neck, and you turn.

There is nothing there, ever.

In the night, it looms beside your bed. Staring at you and staring at you and staring at you as you sleep and wander into a state of restful unconscious, fooling yourself into security and safety.

It regurgitates your nightmares.

When you are traveling alone, it is sitting beside you. Your eyes on the road, its sockets fixated still, in the direction of your being. You think nothing of it, because your ignorance gives you piece of mind.

Its head is crooked to the side.

In the night, when you wander your residence, it is lurking close behind you. It thrives when the sun is absent, and feeds off the dimness that falls over your home. The shadows cast by objects within your residence are just more places for it to breed.

It reaches out to touch you, but you always take a destined step forward.

And when you find yourself in the most lonely of states, without companionship, without family, without friends to bring warmth in an empty space with no pounding heart but your own, that will be when you turn around and you see it.

The thing that stands behind you.

The Scarecrow Ball (Flash Fiction)

One of the first Flash’s I ever wrote, got published in my college’s Flash Fiction journal! Thanks for reading (: 

Every year, about this time when the crops don’t need guarding, the ballroom is emptied and the spider webs are swept clean. The scarecrows from nearby farms get together with their scarecrow families and help each other off of their wooden posts. It hurts a lot to pull each other from the stakes, and screams of pain echo out into the night, but they know it will be worth it.

The ladies help each other with their dresses and fix up their stitches. The crows had picked at them through the summer, not frightened by their visage. They would do the best they could, but sometimes their faces ended up lopsided or dented.

The men steal the farmer’s nice clothes at night. They slip into the farmer’s bedroom, sneaking towards his drawers and the closet in search for a nice suit or bowtie. Sometimes, the scarecrows find nothing, and they get angry, so they strangle the farmer and his wife in their sleep. After that, they leave the bodies (because no one would suspect a scarecrow) and they check the next farm for nice clothes.

Once they are dressed, the scarecrows walk with each other, hand in hand to the ballroom. It’s an old abandoned building off the side of the road, and no one uses it on this night, because they know the scarecrows might be having a party in there, and humans are not invited.

The lights and lanterns are hung up inside the room, but they have to be cautious when handling fire. There is a big circular dance floor, and the scarecrows spin and twirl with each other to the sound of silence. There is no music at this kind of thing, scarecrows cant play instruments and they don’t have a radio, but they don’t mind. They are happy in each other’s arms, just spinning and moving and jumping around freely, for only one night.

When the rooster crows, they know its over. The scarecrows stumble back to their posts, kiss goodbye and hug their children. The light of the morning shines on them, and they stick the stakes through their holes, bleeding sometimes near the bottom. They wince in pain, but they know it’s their job, so they endure.

They endure because they know in a year from now, if they haven’t been torn apart or burned alive, they will be able to dance freely again.

Weight (Flash Fiction)

I wanted to share some of my flash fiction with you. I tend to write horror, or haunting pieces with imagery. I also use personification a lot. Here is a piece called “Weight.” 

Creaking under the weight of the house, our branches ached. No one warned us of the metal bolts and nails that would be pounded into our veins. The wind used to come as cooling, breezes, a relief to us. Now every gust made only the ends of our limbs tingle, as our bodies were stuck still under this new responsibility.

We felt the heaviness, but we did our best not to fall.

We had heard the children talking under us, and we remembered their father’s promises. Then the metal ladders came, and the truck bed filled with pieces of our fallen brothers. We wanted to cry for them, even topple over and crush their murderers, but it was not our place.

They smiled, and pointed, commanding their father’s on what they wanted. We felt the warm bodies in our lower limbs, calloused flesh running down our sides. They jumped on us and climbed like primates through the mazes of our bodies. We shook only in the wind, we never shook on our own.

The hammering and the pounding would last from morning till dusk, and when it was over and the last of the nails had been shoved through our bodies, we felt the burden on our shoulders. The children would climb up their dingy little ladder, and look down through the windows of the small hut in our arms. They would scream and laugh and we heard every sound.

One afternoon, when the sun was its hottest, the children talked about the end of the world. They talked about how if anything awful were to happen, they would be safe in the house in our arms.

They didn’t know we would collapse under their weight in two weeks.

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