Flash Fiction No. 87

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Zealots

Charcoal bags. She flushed her face with ice cold water but they didn’t shift away. Not make up, then; just lack of sleep.

Silver gleamed in sawn-off light. She sluiced the blade in the icy torrent, destroying the evidence beneath the tap. The water ran red before paling as it circled the plug hole. It was important to keep your instruments clean.

Towel on metal rubbed away the damp markers until water stains were non-existent. A slip and her thumb wept crimson, lips surrounding the wound to stem the flow. She put the weapon away. Carefully concealed, it was more useful than any other ally.

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Flash Fiction No. 84

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Shopping List

She stirred the heartache deeper into her coffee, mesmerised by the floating hopes that burst upon the blackened surface. Bags lay around her feet.

She’d bought clothes and pretty shoes and bangles that jingled a sweet tune when they wriggled on her wrists, but none of these things had served to soothe her.

The ache was still there and the ache would not go away.

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#MarchMadness Fiction 2 of 4

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Royal Lip Service

A smile. Black hair. Cool lips. He watched as her pupils dilated close to him in the confines of the school showers.

Her breathing was shallow, just like her.
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#MarchMadness Fiction 1 of 4

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Belial Bairns

He pushed the word around his plate, its sallow skin seeping red essence. His mother wouldn’t understand. She would think they were more of his ‘nonsense words’. If only she could comprehend his great creativity.

Destruction is a kind of creation.

He smiled and pushed the word again until it was perfectly aligned, juice dripping from its gelatinous spine. Inventing was his favourite. Creating destruction… It was a delicious past time.
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