Flash Fiction No. 44


A Kaleidoscope Vortex

He pushed the mirror and watched the ripple spread out from the place where his fingers had been, a million colours swirling in a kaleidoscope vortex. The reflection changed slowly. A bead of sweat popped on his creased brow. It was more difficult to control the molecules in a mirror than it was to manipulate water.

But water wasn’t solid. Water flowed.

This didn’t flow. Its stationary molecules were stiff and difficult to ply, but he was having far more success than he’d had before. He pushed the image around with his mind, distorting the colours until his reflection was dressed in a mishmash of green and blue. He took a step back and smiled then allowed the image to dissolve.

There were others who could do things like he could. But it was dangerous to tell anyone about it. Nobody would understand. And not everybody listening was your friend.

Ella had told him about her power. She’d confessed to him through a veil of tears in the school library, the thick tomes protecting them with their silent walls of knowledge. He thought about it now. Her heavy heart had bled out in sobbed syllables, choking and stuttering with every staggered breath. She had been consumed and she had been afraid.

When he’d tried to embrace her, she’d burned him without meaning to, glittering with a core fire that had nothing to do with sexual desire. In words of sorrow and anguish she’d told him what she was, begged him to keep her secret. Pyrokinesis.

He’d promised, voicing nothing of his own gifts. They were already coming for him. It was just a matter of time. Dark eyes skittered nervously to his reflection from his position on the edge of the bed.

Ella had told him her truth and Ella was gone.

The sound of knocking thundered from the front door. The hairs on the back of Daniel’s neck prickled to attention. He felt like he couldn’t move, praying that it wasn’t what he feared, but the noises splintering the quiet of the small house pulled that hope out from under him.

He rushed to his bedroom door, slamming his chair under the handle like he’d seen in movies. The sweat on his brow found the back of his hand as he ploughed under the bed, flinging his arm out for the bag he’d already prepared. His whole life had boiled down to this: a handful of belongings in a rucksack.

There was no going back.

He touched the mirror, watching the ripples spread. It moved faster this time. He felt the molecules straining like setting glue as he plucked at them with his mind. The crashing and banging on his door threatened to smash his concentration, but he needed to do it. He needed to make this.

The door was giving way. Wood snapped, spraying into his room. They were desperate to possess him.

He closed his eyes and pushed harder, then touched the mirror with his hand. His fingers slipped through like putting his hand in an ice lake.

Beyond the door they yowled as monsters in splintered gaps. They wanted him. They wanted his gifts. Just like they’d wanted Ella. But it was too late.

The last of his backpack slipped through and the glass solidified behind him.

[Dedicated to @ladyaaron]

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4 thoughts on “Flash Fiction No. 44”

  1. Thank you to all of you. I'm really glad you enjoy the descriptions. It's probably one of my favourite parts of writing.

    And thanks Chris. I haven't, but I do use scripting when I'm writing big pieces of dialogue for my novel.

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