Flash Fiction

The Viking Saw

Iron forged by fire slew the great warriors of yore. I should know; I was there.

Locked away behind stone walls and glass barriers, my father’s blade forms a piece of history. “Here lies a Viking saw used for woodworking”. Lies, indeed. Its teeth were made to cut through flesh and bone, dividing spoils between the victors. I should know; I was there.

The iron teeth ripped into my father’s neck where he stood by the bed, shedding his armor. I should know; I was there.

Final Call

10:18 Four minutes until gate closing.

My legs are cramping. I pick up the pace.

10:19 My lungs are burning.

I suck in more air.

10:20 My vision is blurring.

I run on in darkness.

10:21 I'm almost there.

I will make it after all.

A disembodied voice over the speakers makes the call:

"Time of death: 10:22"

January 1, 2021

One by one, the lights go out in the village. As the new year draws near, the tired succumb to the siren call of sleep. A few souls remain awake until the clock strikes twelve, waiting for the skies to light up in celebration. With a final raking, I extinguish the last remains of the dying embers in the hearth. The village lies dark and dormant, never to wake again, as I head to bed.

January 2, 2021

The letters draw me in, drag me to the places I swore I would not go. Not yet. No more.

And yet. It won't cost a thing, they whisper. Take whatever you want. No limits.

And so it grows. Pouring new ones on top of the old, yet the hole won't fill. The bottomless pit of want simply expands.

New letters come. New free books to order. And so my TBR list continues to grow.

January 3, 2021

We duel throughout the day - a rock relentlessly assaulted by a wave. The tide withdraws, grants the rock a brief respite. But unfailingly, the wave returns. The salt on its talons lashes out, wearing the rock down bit by bit. Slowly, the rock becomes one with the wave, swept away by its cold embrace.

January 4, 2021

It nips at your cheeks, pinching them like an older woman does a child's plump flesh.

It floats into your nostrils and presses past your lips, tickling your lungs.

You cannot hide from its ethereal tentacles, not as long as you remain out-of-doors.

And yet, when the flakes begin to fall, you open your mouth for a taste, sucking in deep, cleansing breaths of winter that will chill you to the bone.

January 5, 2021

One foot in front of another, yet no end in sight.

January 6, 2021

Voices grow louder as they join with others, whipping quiet souls into a frenzy. Lies and falsehoods, like frogs leaping out of mouths. Poisoning the creeks, polluting the waters. Those who drink from the source lose their sight, their ability to think, their heart and soul.

January 7, 2021

The stones remain in place, large boulders serving as remnants of a happy childhood. I recall grilling hotdogs over an open fire, decked out in overalls and knitted cap. The woods and the rocks formed a natural sitting area for our picnics.

January 8, 2021

Glasses fogged up, I reach for the stocked shelves. At the end of the aisle, another shopper appears. Must hurry. Must not breathe too much or I will not be able to find my way out.

January 9, 2021

Wake up with stiff fingers, aching from use. Yet again and again, I return to the keyboard, the screen calling me.

January 10, 2021

Feet sink into clouds

White coats the tops of shoes

Melts and chills the feet

January 11, 2021

Outside the snow is falling

Forming droves throughout the land

Inside the work piles up

January 12, 2021

Breaking through the thick cloak of winter, the sun warms the ground.

January 13, 2021

In the empty halls of justice

Lies echo and fill the vacuum

Truth left behind

January 14, 2021

Heavy lids and dark circles

Eyes twitch and burn

Yet fingers must work

Words forming on the screen

Eyelids heavy

Rolled up by sheer force

Flakes flurry

Add to the cover

Half-speed

Half-hearted

For every essential worker, there is one erratic soul seeking to make his objections visible.

Upon nightfall, the pathogen came alive in the darkened lab. Through the glass, he saw his family across the room.

When the con man met the behavioral therapist, he found her closet quite commodious.

For the annual fireman's ball, a camel was delivered to the firehouse. Due to cutbacks, it would now serve as their fire engine.

I wanted them to face accountability, to rewind the tape and show them their derisive countenance in Technicolor.

The beast towered over us and would have made for an imposing character had it not been for his mediocre thumbnail.