Up to 125 Words | a little bird tweets

May 25 2013

The Locket

Annabel encased the ancient locket with her soiled hands; and in the twinkling of a second, a silver luminosity radiated through the gaps in her fingers. It illuminated her pulsing ruby blood, reminded her that she was alive, that she was still capable of loving herself.

She pulled the clasp, opened the locket, and studied the intricate hieroglyphics etched inside. She blew away the seeds of earth that had managed to cling to it; in the years since it had last been dug up, opened.

Her steely breath fired life into the locket, and waves of white light encircled her, warmed her soul. She smiled, closed her eyes, and finally released the self-doubt that had, for a long time, devoured her.

Tagged Ancient, Aura, Breath, Clasp, Earth, Faith, Fiction, Fingers, Flash fiction, Hands, Hieroglyphics, Light, Locket, Love, Psychological-thriller, Self-doubt, Soul, Up to 125 Words

Apr 06 2013

7 Comments

Flash Fiction

Miranda

Miranda refused to rummage in her handbag for keys, on dark nights, at her front door. She had watched numerous horror films and knew that someone would likely creep up on you in that second that you became distracted. So, when she found herself wobbling home from parties, too nauseous to take cabs, she would grip the keys in her hand, always ensuring one chub was pointed outwards, so that it would slide into the lock with ease, when she arrived at the door. She had never contemplated that one night the keys would become a weapon, become imbedded in her attackers’ eyes.

Tagged Cabs, Door, Eyes, Fiction, Flash fiction, Handbag, Keys, Parties, Psychological-horror, Psychological-thriller, Up to 125 Words, Weapon

Jun 19 2012

2 Comments

Flash Fiction

Land of the Sappens

‘All beauty is devoured by darker entities, eventually, Ambrellia. Look at this blood-orchid; see how the kernels are crackling in the new Autumnal chill, and falling into the mouths of these young wing-backed mottles?’ Lacharus pointed to the miniscule creatures; their mouths were stretched open, savouring the musky-scented beads. ‘…after several days, several feedings, they will flee the nest to navigate the soils.’

‘So, if mottles eat blood-orchids, then do we eat mottles?’ she asked her Master, curiously.

‘Mottles are our only needed source of nutrition, dear child; without them, the Sappens would surely become extinct. In several days you may eat one whole, but for now, you must eat them pulverised; for your tubular intestinal is not yet prepared to endure such richness.’