ninety four

I got an acceptance for one of those >420 character stories. Rather than just let all of the ones i wrote sit around on my computer, i’ll post some here. The rejected ones, ya dig?

She forgot what her shadow felt like after all this time. It ran away, but she knew not when. The light of that day blasted her eyes, near blinding, shrinking the shadow and blurring its edges. Night finally came and by morning the shadow was gone. Embarrassed, she abstained from light, blotting her windows and locking her doors. The blistering sun assaulted her home until it disintegrated leaving nothing but ash.

It could be too much drink or whatever she put in my mouth, but I barely understand what she means when she tells me to watch. A smile cheshires below her eyes and drips off the far end of her face while her toes tickle the water with spreading ripples. One more word and she’s walking out on it, laughter dancing in my ears. I close my eyes and my lungs fill up till her kiss trades it for air.

There once lived a boy who feared the darkness of night. All the noises and ghosts that stalk without light kept him awake and full of fright. He closed his eyes, and try as he might, the phantoms still terrorised his sleepless state. When the sun fell through the earth, his face consumed the drowning light and spit out a dull glowing orb to make the celestial bright.

Her eyes glowed, reflecting light, a glint in her eye like a cat shined with a flashlight. Blood poured from her mouth and a rodent hung limply in her left hand. A tangle of midnight hair cropped unevenly masked her face, but for those shining eyes. I kept the light on her and stepped backwards till my heel hit the truckwheel. For the next three miles my eyes were on the rearview mirror.

She picks up its skull the color of tarnished silver with slivers of rotten egg. In both hands she holds it to her face and whispers, Where did the rest of you go? Giving the skull her ear, she listens. Come on, she says to the boy who clutches his knees. He shakes his head and she says, Please. She frowns and runs deeper into the woods. Remaining behind, he shivers and closes his eyes.

Where the mountain meet the river is where she lies down beneath a fiery tree. It offers little shade, but she came not for that. The wind rushes over the glade with symphonic energy and she stands upright to meet it. The gale surges into her and carries all away over the mountain to sing with the purple clouds.

She fell through the bed into grass that writhed like a thousand snakes until her skin bleached and fissured and she flew from her chest into the sauntering raindrops that hung above her when she inhaled the wisped clouds which filled her to burst into stars that took root and formed the firmament.

Angels descend in flocks to herd us all before a monumental clock whose hands and numerals have been washed clean leaving only a blank face which reflects every eye in the congregation. An angel’s voice trumpets, All that you see is all that you ever are. Our minds grow numb and nothing is understood, but we continue to stare until our souls lay bare.

She watched her father’s body hang from the tree where no birds perched and no songs were sung. His legs quit kicking minutes before and her tears poisoned the soil to make no flowers grow. Her knees were cold against her cheeks and her sobs were the only sound for miles.

Probably off-putting to read those all in a row like that, but, whatever. Enjoy or hate. Weekend.

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