Shoot The Moon & Miss Completely

I have a big thing for the moon. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that, readers, but I do. I always have had. I could stare at it for hours. It’s beautiful. And still. And quiet.

It’s like being watched over by something so bright and so calm when all else in your life is dark. Its beauty is so exquisite and ethereal…

Third life post in a week without a fiction in between, right? Must mean there’s something up. I don’t know. There isn’t really. But sometimes I need to write things out so they aren’t cooped up in my head, pulling my mood deeper and deeper down.

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Flash Fiction No. 63


Lying In The Moonlight

There’s something I need to tell you…

The words burnt on the tip of my tongue but couldn’t come out. I watched him from across the room, thumbing the ring around my finger as he laughed and joked. The blonde had a predatory smile. Her hand caressed his raising the bile in my gut until he pulled away.

The nausea remained. It had been there all day.

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Flash Fiction No. 36


Half Light

Petals drifted slowly downwards as spirals of pale tears in the soft blue light. They carpeted the floor, catching like raindrops in her loose hair. She expired, breath brushing the petals gathered by her face.

She felt dizzy as if she’d been twirling around and around before falling from a great height. Memory served no purpose.

Eyelashes embraced with a careless blink. She watched more pink slivers flutter to the silvery ground from the cherry tree shading her fragile body. The tree felt familiar in some way, but she couldn’t understand why. It was like grasping at something that only appeared in the half light.

Her hand moved to her chest, settling above the place where her heart lay. There was something missing that she couldn’t place.

It was lost.

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Flash Fiction No. 30


A Million & One Candle Lights

Scarlet sprayed the walls. He reopened his eyes, feeling the wriggle of loosened teeth in his head. He had to give it to them; they were going all out on this. They said it was a test of his abilities. It was perfectly routine.

But how is beating a man to within half an inch of his life routine?

The scientist in the corner hummed and jotted something down on his clipboard. He nodded to the torturers as he readjusted his glasses.

Pain smashed across Blake’s face. Blood pooled in his mouth, collecting at his lips and falling in strings of thick saliva down his shirt front. He lifted his head with some effort, fixing his gaze on the scientist again.

They didn’t get it.

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