Please check out Al’s page for the rules, and other entries.
I’m trapped in a beautiful prison.
The six walls that surround me are lined with ebony shelves, perhaps ten storeys high. Three are hidden behind silken curtains, and crammed on the shelves are treasures upon treasures. Despite the length of my incarceration, I still discover new things, even now. Strings of pearls, diamonds, filigree gold jewellery, boxes lined with satin, leather books written in languages I don’t understand, china dolls, animals carved from onyx and agate.
Many days ago I discovered a stone angel that seemed warm to the tough, about the length of my palm. It bears a likeness to someone I once knew, a certain prince who was cursed for trying to use his wealth to become a God. My memory of him is obscured and distorted, like someone tried to burn it.
The angel whispers something about a seventh wall.
Sorry that I’ve been neglecting the blog, but I moved to Kent yesterday. Hopefully I’ll have more time for writing now! If you’d like to see the rules or the other stories, click here.
“Who’s the lady at number 17? I never see her talking to anyone.”
“She is Karen Hannah. A wretched woman who isn’t welcome in my home or in the homes of my friends.”
“What did she do?”
“What she did is irrelevant. The point is that she got what she deserved. You might disagree with the phrase ‘An eye for an eye.’ You might think it’s unbecoming for ladies like us. Not in her case.”
“Is she really so bad?”
“Let me tell you, that woman did what she did for attention. If she wasn’t, then she ought to know that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Since she clearly has no conscience, we’re simply teaching her that there are consequences to the things she does.”
“Hold on, is this the same Karen who Susan mentioned? The one who… Oh.”
Link to Friday Fictioneers central is here. There you’ll be able to find more stories and instructions for submitting your own 100-word flash fiction based on the photo.
Tom was fished out of the icy soup of dead souls and tipped, unceremoniously, onto the deck. He looked up in a listless stupor at the hooded figure which stood over him. The silent and aloof stranger waited for Tom to regain his senses before leading him inside and pointing to a seat.
Sodden, Tom pondered all the things he had lost in death, trying to decide which he would miss the most; his wealth, his wife, or his mistress.
Even before the temperatures rose and the shadows of flames flickered through the windows, Tom knew where he was going.
Star would gaze at Sea for hours on end. Sea would stare back, looking on her beautiful countenance. He yearned and waited during the daytime for her to return to his sight.
On the cool, clear nights, Star shared her light with Sea and saw herself reflected in his many waves. On his salty waters, she danced and frolicked. When Sun awoke, he jealously dominated the sky, causing Star to quickly fade. Her brilliance would be visible once more when Sun became tired and hid.
Sea had many tempers. He became frustrated and roared at the sky. He wished to be closer to her, not bound to Earth by gravity. Star hid behind Cloud, who concealed her like a blanket while she cried. When Cloud had absorbed enough of Star’s tears, she let them fall as rain.
When Sea was calm, Cloud would depart and Star would greet him once more.
The slope down to the Hart Street looked muddy and treacherous. I knew that I had to go down it. This street was only a ten minute walk from my home. I didn’t even know where this cycle path led to. I braced myself and took a tentative step off the cycle path’s tarmac and onto the gradient. My trainers slid a centimetre forward and my heart pounded. I grabbed the nearest tree and used it to shimmy further along the slope. I took a leap of faith and quickly jumped at the next tree. My foot skidded as soon as I landed, and all the trees flew by as I slid down the hill on my ass.
I was bruised and dirty, but my mouth was stretched into a broad grin as I walked down Hart Street. The hill had been the final obstacle between me and home.
This week’s Friday Fictioneers piece contains one of the characters from my novel, Fei.
Fei used her magic to cut away the stinging nettles, and then hauled herself over the white fencing. From here she could properly inspect the mansion in front of her. Even the night could not disguise the ugliness of this squat, dark bricked building. Light shone from a couple of the windows; they looked like uneven eyes. She had expected something different from this man, who always murdered his victims with such distinctive style. She wondered if he liked hearing their pleas for mercy, if it made him feel strong and powerful.
Fei’s lip curled. Tonight, this monster would learn what true power looked like.