Flash Fiction: The Worth of Death

This flash piece was written for the 11 July 2014 Flash! Friday competition. The artwork and “friendship” was the prompt.

The Worth of Death

Witnesses of the duel sauntered through the early morning streets. All would swear they saw nothing. John watched them pass and waited for the corpse. The coffin was ready. In summer it did not do to wait.

A cheap watch flicked open in his palm. The doctor would be here soon.

Two men carried the corpse to the back room. Some foolish rich boy whose frail honour cost him everything; his murderer secretly known to all. The murderer could be the one carrying the corpse.

John took their payment. He, too, would be blind to the game, to their faces. He checked the time. The doctor will be here soon.

“Hamilton-Burr Duel, After the Painting by J. Mund.” Illustration from Beacon Lights of History, by John Lord, 1902. Public domain image.

A knock on the door. The doctor strides inside.

“She’s upstairs.”

He leaves the corpse in the back room.

The doctor looks at the faded woman under the sheets.

“Been married forty years. Can you save her?”

“For payment, yes.”

Maybe the boy’s death had some worth.

“Here.”

Flash Fiction: Old World, New World

This flash piece was written for the 4 July2014 Flash! Friday competition. The painting and “include a woman” was the prompt.

Old World, New World

“Who cares what happened on Earth? And, Ferris, I think your painting sucks.” James muted the robotic voice of the museum guide.

“What are you going to take?” Carla asked.

“Nothing. I just want to go live on the new world. Sudden system failures killing half the population wouldn’t happen there.”

 “You still have to choose something. There’s not enough space for us to take everything.”

“You act like these aren’t replicas of replicas. Earth is long dead.”

They wandered through the galleries. “Worthless detritus of past civilizations” his father called it. By now some walls were completely empty. You still needed something to hang on to.

“Just choose something so we can get on the ship.”

James rushed to the La Scapigliata. “I can’t believe it’s still here!”

“A Da Vinci sketch? At least take something with a bit of colour.”

James beamed as he took it off the wall. “My mum made it. Before the system failure.”

Writing the Declaration of Independence. Painting by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris (1863 – 1930). Public domain photo.

Flash Fiction – Shells

This flash piece was written for the 27June 2014 Flash! Friday competition and received third runner up.  The photo and “patience” was the prompt.

Shells

The first mushroom cloud held a sick beauty. We watched as billowing death darkened TV screens. On the beach white foam sparkled between shells. I wanted to hold your hand, but tousled your hair to make you laugh.

Nuclear Winter Recon. CC photo by Paul Hocksenar    

More mushroom clouds. More cities turned into mass graves. More people huddled together to survive. More lashed out violently. I wanted to hold your hand, but made a silly joke.

Darkness consumed the world as we fled to shelters. Death spread in ash and clouds and black masks. I couldn’t see your eyes behind the fogged lenses. I promised you I wouldn’t leave.

One by one millions of voices fell silent to be remembered only somewhere in the midst of the dead or the fearful memories of the living.

Only broken shells remained. Shells of cities, shells of people, shells of souls, shells of prayers for forgiveness whimpered into the dark sky.

I’d waited long enough.

I slipped my hand into yours.

***

Here's a look behind the story - and the song that kickstarted it.