She sat in a small, dark, rancid corner, left to rot for all of time. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest as she slumped her head where the two walls intersected, stringy brown hair tumbing over her shoulders. Her pointed feet were nearing a sharp right angle, encased in weathered slip-ons that looked like two gargantuan beetles. The shreds of a white beach dress hung around her, exposing mud-caked and grimy skin. I was disgusted. The weak whimsy, the audacity! I should have let her go long ago, but still in that room I permitted her stay. Why? Why did I think that part of me could be of use in the first place?

#flashfiction #story #short #mind #twist

the cinched tight corners

of the upturned crescent

on the face I see an imposter

plastered over hidden upwellings

those tepid surface waters

smothering chilled oceans

of frigid transparency

you have hidden

I can only dip the edge

of my smallest toe

into the shallow warmth

sensing the swirling tide

but, to closely fathom it

they have to submerge themselves

in the darkest depths

of that wicked agony

(this is an actual dream I had, slightly modified)

I stood there, hands shaking, sweat dripping, clenching ever so dearly to the weapon in my hands.

Silvery pistol, glinting from some unknown source of light in the distance.

The crunch of foliage beneath my feet ever so softly.

A hissing voice in my ear, perhaps in my mind.

Do it.

I looked at the trembling form in front of me, gun unsheathed but vacant of ammo.

I knew them.

I had seen their face in my life many a time.

But I had to follow my orders without hesitation.

A trickle of sweat from my palm made the gun in my hands slick as sleet.

Muscles twitched. Fingers tightened.

The hole in his head, ever so suddenly, began to spill thick red remnants of life.

I hadn't had but half a second to process it.

Tears leaked, salty waves crashing across my mud-caked face.

Mission complete.

Je veux être populaire

mais je ne suis pas trop sympa . . .

Je veux beacoup de l'argent

mais je ne peux pas travailler . . .

Je veux le monde en mes mains

mais peut-être je vais casser il . . .

Je veux avoir l'amour

mais je suis trop seule . . .

Translation

(I want to be popular

but I'm not likeable

I want a lot of money

but I don't want to work

I want the world in my hands

but I might break it

I want to have love

but I am too lonely)