The Dead WoodMy second death was a quiet one. There were no brave speeches, no protestations of cruel fate. There was only my slain lover and myself, surrounded by the steady dripping of water on stone and the scent of crushed mulberries.
Flash Fiction Month 2012
FFM 11 - Cthulhu...Prawns?"Honey, everything looks really great, but I can't eat those."
FFM 10 - ChristmasThe old woman sat in the window, wrapped in a shawl that she'd stitched a lifetime ago, and watched the snow fall. It was night, but as was the case with all snowy nights, she could see quite clearly. It was the first white Christmas she'd had in years. Somewhere, a thousand miles away, her family celebrated by sipping wassail and trading stories of holidays past. She wondered, briefly, if they thought of her. They hadn't come to the house in years. They hadn't sold it, either.
FFM 9 - Eating WordsWe gathered at the bungalow, the air redolent with petrichor, and settled to the feast. Our hostess, it may be said, was lissome and exquisite, though she was perhaps not quite real. All such thoughts were ephemeral, vanishing when she served the aperitif.
FFM 8 - AshesI was alone in the center of a funeral pyre, unable to move as the flames consumed the stacked wood and lashed at my skin leaving it charred and blistered. I opened my mouth and swallowed fire, my tongue withering to nothingness. It was pain beyond pain, so vast I could not even comprehend it. I woke screaming.
Flash Fiction Month 2015
Conversations in the DarkThe knife I’m holding clatters to the counter as thick, red droplets hit the cutting board and splatter over the potato I’ve been cubing. I don’t curse as I might have if Sarah were home, but she’s working late. Again.