Flash Fiction No. 89

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The Prophet’s Secret

Ink swirls from my veins in a manganese flood that scores the page and tears the paper. I wish I could write it better, but the words burn and flail in my mind, dying to embers and ash if I don’t get them out fast enough.

And I have to get them out.

He watches from across the desk as my eyes melt with gold. The pen shakes in my hand, blurring words and soul. I grit my teeth and continue. This is the only way to make it stop. The only way to salve the voices.

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Crimson Sheets

I don’t like people often.

What I mean to say is… I don’t like guys often.

There’s the occasional fleeting crush that I know won’t work out and that I wouldn’t want to work out. They don’t bother me. They’re usually just a silly giddy feeling that I’m never going to act on.

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Hopelessly Hopeful

I know, I know: Fall Out Boy lyrics aren’t the most socially cool way of starting a post, but they seem somehow apt and after re-listening to the song (I’ve Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth) I can see why they were playing in my head. I know it’s silly, but I find a lot of comfort in lyrics that are poetic or contain complicated thoughts.

Do you ever feel like you’re disappearing or you don’t quite exist? I do sometimes. I feel like I’m dissolving or fading away like the Cheshire Cat and soon all that will be left is a fake smile, but nobody will notice.

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Flash Fiction No. 70

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Better The Lover You Know

It was the last kiss they would have and she didn’t know it.

He played the smile like he had a thousand times before, almost pulling it off. The question surfaced in her eyes but was brushed away as he hugged her close, hiding his face. He couldn’t let her see what he was about to do.

She stroked his hair, fingers clinging at the nape of his neck, and then kissed him lightly, ready to step on the train. He tugged her back, deepening the kiss, their last kiss. Flushed and bright eyed, she pressed onto the carriage.

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