“She ate humble pie, with honey.”
“She ate humble pie, with honey.”
Stay indoors at dawn they say. Keep safe at dusk. When the time eaters are at work, turning night into day and day into night by eating away the layers in between. Keep still as they slip through the spaces between the seconds, as I’ve heard that sometimes the time eaters can be indiscriminate about their food. Time to them is just time, regardless of its source.
They care not for your attachments or for your affections, only for the time which you are yet to use from your years. They are enticed by your youth, and tempted by its promise. So stay safe in the twilight hours, and pray they don’t notice you, or the time which you don’t have to give.
*on my way in to work one morning, I was asked a rather unusual question by a stranger – which provides the inspiration behind this little piece..
“Yeah, pink shirt. Go!” Freddie nudged him forward. His prey drew closer, weaving through the crowd without breaking her pace.
He stood frozen in place, heart pounding in his chest as he watched her walk past, close enough for him to smell her perfume. Taking a deep breath, he moved towards her, jogging lightly to catch up.
“Excuse me.” She was only a few steps ahead now. “Excuse me, Miss.”
She turned to look at him, hand raised, ready to swat away his sales pitch. “No thanks. I’m in a hur..” She stopped when she saw that he wasn’t selling anything, and he jumped in for the kill. “I was wondering if I could…could I smell your feet?” She stared at him, synapses struggling to stack the words into order.
“Could I smell your feet?” She glanced down, feeling exposed in a pair of flip-flops.
“No. um.. No.” Before she said any more, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, heading back towards his friend.
Ben! Over there! Freddie was on the move, signaling towards a woman in a green dress who was walking towards Town Square. He pulled out his notebook and etched another line on the page. Five.
“So I killed him. So what, he was dying anyway.” He had diabetes. “Yeah well that’s a disease isn’t it?” She tapped tiny embers into the night, the shiny things on her fingers glinting in the darkness. “You know, on average at least one person dies on every cruise? There are a lot of sad people out there, looking for a painless exit.” Or just a lot of cold hearted murderers. “Anyway, what do you care.” She flicked her hair like she did just before a point was about to made, and stretched her arms across the rails. “All that is in the past, now we can ride on the oceans forever on the Sea Princess.” She laughed into her cigarette, drawing on it one more time before flicking the dying butt over the rail. She bent down to pick up her shoes. Black water churned beneath them. Let’s go back in, it’s freezing out here. A soft nudge and she tipped over. “Oh shit. Help me up!” She fell laughing onto the smooth deck. I pulled her up and brought her close, inhaling that familiar scent of wine and nicotine, barely masking the headache inducing perfume. She looked up at me, reaching her hands up towards the back of my neck. I gave her a smile and hoisted her over the rail. Farewell my love. I won’t miss you.
Sometimes our writing is inspired by the least expected things, isn’t it?
I hear you creature. Thudding around up there, clawing at dark crevices in your desperate attempts to flee. Why do you run now, when your invasion was a success? Is it because your plunder is now your prison. Although your prison is in fact your refuge. From me. Because I don’t appreciate my home being invaded, my possessions defiled, my comfort ruffled. Your arrival may have been at your choice, however your departure is very much at mine. And don’t think that you can leave before I have your head for a crumb of cheese.
Here’s my contribution to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, kindly hosted by Priceless Joy.
Gregor stood unblinking against the endless expanse of red, scanning the horizon for signs of life. Crossing the great desert was suicide, they’d known that when they had set off, but they were dead anyway and better it be on their own terms. Amali absently rubbed her tiny belly as she stood beside him.
Humanity’s solution to an overpopulated, drowning, earth was to dump those displaced by rising oceans on Mars. They helped the chances of survival by establishing hundreds of tiny colonies, scattered over an unforgiving landscape. However the architects of this new world had never planned on their experiment lasting this long, and four generations later most of the colonies had been wiped out by hunger, disease, and our innate inability at getting along.
Survival was dependent on scarce resources, and maintaining a strict quota on births was the only way ensure the survival of the colony.
Those who didn’t agree had no choice but to find themselves a new home, or die trying.
It’s been a while, but I’ve finally managed to get a story in on time for Monday’s Finish the Story. And what a prompt – there’ve been some very interesting interpretations on what this actually is!
Finish the story starts with “I see absolutely everything”.
Here’s my attempt:
*a conversation between the Ancient All Powerful Being and his 4 year old son.
“I see absolutely everything” boomed the all pervading voice of the Ancient Seer.
“Can you see Santa?”
“Of course I see Santa, I see all.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s ah.. feeding his reindeer.”
“What’s a reindeer?”
“It’s a large fluffy beast. With antlers. They like snow, and carrots.”
“You mean like Sven from Frozen?”
“Yes, just like Sven.”
“What if you’re asleep? Don’t you have to close your eyes?”
“Son..” the All Powerful Being turned to the boy. “All Powerful Beings do not sleep. Plus, I have no eyelids” he added, scratching the little boy’s head.
“But what if its night time and dark and there’s no ‘lectricity’?”
The All Seeing Being smiled. “Then I will know. Because to see all is to know all. You will understand that one day when you become the All Powerful Seer.”
“What’s an eye lid?”
A scream of parental angst rang out through the universe.
BY GRACE THROUGH FAITH
I open my heart, come look inside
Oh! Take a shit, read a story. - My Mother on flash fiction
Words, thoughts, and snapshots of life.
giving myself a good talkin to
The building blocks of a new world
Magic in Writing
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