Flash Fiction No.2

Flash fiction statement was provided by Andrew McCluskey (NALGames). If you would like to contribute a flash fiction statement then please comment below.



I’m standing in a world of immortality. Everyone else is dead.

The sky rippled red thunder and golden lightning. Shadows speared and stabbed the rocky land. Nothing moved. Dust smeared the rocks like paint. The body lay in the middle of the sand, untouched by the grainy wind except for a few dark curls that wriggled around her head. She lay there without breathing. Cracks of thunder burned the blazing sky.

Everything on the planet was dead but the wind.

The sun raged behind the distant desolation of the mountains. Its dying pulse of life seared like the molten wrath of hell. The mountain bubbled and frothed, spilling its molten anguish over the barren lands. Trees like sticks fizzed and moaned when the rushing rock ripped them from their roots. The ground shook for miles around as the dying sun cackled with deep veined fire. Clouds rolled and choked overhead, flaming dehydrated skies with their crimson colours. Dead grasses rustled in the orange rocks, their greenery murdered to black.

Life closed its eyes and slept.

Dust blew over the still planet, lodging and dislodging objects. Beside the dead girl, a glint of silver appeared beneath the sand. Hours tore by in dying agony, tearing sand from the silver blade below its surface. It looked as though it had just been forged and set ready for the girl to pick up when she awoke. Her dark eyes remained shut and her chest neither rose nor fell. Her pulse was still.

The scarlet and gold sky dimmed until it was put out by the velvet black of night. The icy moon rose and illuminated the still earth. The wind settled like a beaten dog, whimpering every now and again.

Ebony lashes opened.

The girl reached for the sword hilt. Her pale fingers found it exactly where she’d left it. She slotted it into its sheath and sat up, dusting herself down. Her attire took the form of a silver and black tunic that was intricately embroidered and styled in the fashion of a warrior. She eased her black hair off her shoulders, glancing up at the moon. Her dark eyes turned an eerie blue in the luminescent gaze of the moon.

It took her several hours to reach the foot of the burned out mountain. Its molten pain had settled in ferocious boils of black on every surface. All else was covered in grey snow. The young woman rolled her neck as she surveyed everything. It had all been destroyed by careless human hands. She wet her lips and glanced skywards, eyes pitching blue for a few brief moments. She was the last of her kind left. She was the last of anything left.

All had died.

She had been alive centuries – long enough to see the human race rise and fall to spectacular effect. They had taken everything but her along with them to their graves. The last living creature had died a week before. Her only companion had killed it, his thirst for death to potent to comprehend anything beyond his next meal. They had fought and she had carved out his heart. The expression on his face had been something to behold when she’d disposed of his rotten carcass.

The young woman breathed in the air, stealing all of the scents she could from the deep inhale.

Her tongue ran over her teeth as she remembered the vivid scent of blood and its taste on her lips. She would have to wait until a new species somehow came to life. Immortality was more of a curse than a blessing. She pursed her lips.

“Where are your gods now?” she murmured with her lilting Russian accent to what phantoms of the human race that could hear her. “You destroyed everything and hoped to live through it.” The woman sneered and brushed the back of her hand against her lips. It would be centuries before she could taste the blood of life again. Everything was dead. She closed her eyes and felt the cold slivers of desert rain bleeding over her pale skin. “And they thought we were the monsters…”

This was an existence to loathe. The source of all pleasure was stone cold. There was nothing to love and nothing to consume. She felt stronger than she had in days. The rays of the bloody, broken sun had recharged her body if not her ancient soul. That was what her companion had not been able to understand. There needed to be life for there to be pleasure. Without life, all was barren and hard.

He had stolen the last life force on the planet. How was she supposed to forgive that? It made them no better than the humans. He had made her wish that she was not of the same ilk. He had made her wish that she had never become immortal and was still one of the weak-minded murderers that had destroyed the planet.

And now she was alone.

This gave her two choices. She could stay and watch over the withered world until Nature restored the wrongs that man had inflicted upon it. Or she could use her flying ability and her immortality to explore other worlds for a time. Other worlds might not be as fearful of immortals as this one had been. Other beings might not realise that she needed to drink the life force from their veins until it was too late. If she was careful, they would never notice. She had managed for years to remain overlooked on this world, but on this world they had murdered each other without hesitancy and had justified it to themselves. The worst kinds were those who had justified it because of their gods. “Your gods allowed you to slaughter yourselves. Stupid creatures…” She flexed her shoulders and sensed her silvery wings unfold. They felt rusty from being trapped in this world’s ignored subconscious for so very long.

The only immortal that walked this world was her.

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2 thoughts on “Flash Fiction No.2”

  1. Yeah, agreed – very nice! I'll come up with another statement at some point because you've got some great stuff from the first two (even the first, daftish one :P).

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