Friday, October 19, 2007
So, in a moment of sheer perverted masochism .... I mean brilliance, really... I've decided to try something and turn my Friday blog posts into a Flash Fiction bit each week.
Flash Fiction, for those who haven't heard the term, is a extremely short story. For my own purposes, I'll call the limit at 750 words but there is no generally accepted length.
I enjoy these brief glimpses into a story or character - hopefully you all will too. Comments and other people's flash fiction are always welcome!
---------------------------------------------------------
Mariten could no longer feel her hands. The pain of the tight bonds turned to cold numbness hours ago. Her hysterical fear had likewise turned to icy calm.
Used to the furtive glances and rejection of the townsfolk, she’d not paid much attention to the whispers and avoidance yesterday. She should have known that Hadriad would seek revenge after she’d rejected him, however privately. But even she would not have guessed he would have the priests declare the need for a sacrifice to bring back the warmth and drive away the cold. They required that the sacrifice must be one with red hair, which assured her death. She was the only unmated person with red hair.
The townsfolk filed past, each bearing wood to add to the growing pyre around and under her. Some looked at her in sorrow, most would not look her in the face. The mound of wood grew and the sun moved low in the sky until only the thinnest rim remained above the horizon.
Cold. She was so cold. The thin red robe she’d been clothed in was no protection from the frost. Another twist of her wrists proved her bonds were still tight. The stickiness on her hands must be her own blood. All day she’d attempted to wriggle free and somehow have a hope of escape, but to no avail. The gag in her mouth made speaking impossible – she could not even plead for her life.
She sagged in the grip of the ropes. They’d come for her before dawn, before she could have any chance to defend herself or escape. Stolen from her bed by Hadriad and his group of cronies, she’d feared rape or even slavery.
Never had she considered her life would end in a forbidden practice – as a sacrifice to the Fire Dragon.
“Not so proud now, Mari? You should have accepted my offer.” Hadriad spoke with quiet menace. “You would have lived a much longer life.”
The once fit warrior, now fat with excess and laziness, moved to stand next to her. His small, dark eyes narrowed in obvious satisfaction as he examined her. A sneer curled his lips at her flinch when he tightened the rope about her body yet again, making it even harder to breathe.
She straightened her trembling legs. She’d be damned if she gave him any satisfaction. She might die but she refused to cower before him. Hadriad was the true coward here. She narrowed her eyes attempting to convey her loathing.
Hadriad held his arm to the side to receive the torch handed to him by one of the priests. The fire would have come from the sacred fire of Dregalla, the Dragon Queen, creator of the world.
Fear clenched her belly again. This was the end. A few tears escaped eyes she thought were beyond any more tears.
Hadriad lowered the torch to the pile of wood and lit the pyre, then stepped back and laughed as the fire caught and spread.
The horror of her impending death ate through Mari’s shock. The heat of the fire increased as it surrounded her.
Great Dregalla, save me from the pain. Let me pass quickly if this is my fate.
The flames licked at the hem of her trailing red gown, closing in around her bare feet. It was hot but not painful. Yet.
Hadriad stared at her, almost waiting for her torment to truly begin.
The flames enveloped her and consumed her gown in a flash. Mari looked down and saw her flesh itself was on fire, tendrils of orange and red racing over her skin. But there was nothing there to feed the fire.
Sudden ferocious pain slammed through her and she threw her head back, a silent scream erupting from her throat. Afraid to know, she still forced herself to look back down at her body. If a soul really remembered the last moments of their prior life, she wanted to remember. She wanted to carry that vision with her into the future. If vengeance could not be hers in this lifetime, she would have it in the next.
Blinking her eyes rapidly to clear the smoke, she stared in horror at herself. Her charred and burnt skin dropped away in sheets from the flesh beneath. The fire opal red scales of a dragon. A fire dragon’s skin.
Flash Fiction, for those who haven't heard the term, is a extremely short story. For my own purposes, I'll call the limit at 750 words but there is no generally accepted length.
I enjoy these brief glimpses into a story or character - hopefully you all will too. Comments and other people's flash fiction are always welcome!
---------------------------------------------------------
Mariten could no longer feel her hands. The pain of the tight bonds turned to cold numbness hours ago. Her hysterical fear had likewise turned to icy calm.
Used to the furtive glances and rejection of the townsfolk, she’d not paid much attention to the whispers and avoidance yesterday. She should have known that Hadriad would seek revenge after she’d rejected him, however privately. But even she would not have guessed he would have the priests declare the need for a sacrifice to bring back the warmth and drive away the cold. They required that the sacrifice must be one with red hair, which assured her death. She was the only unmated person with red hair.
The townsfolk filed past, each bearing wood to add to the growing pyre around and under her. Some looked at her in sorrow, most would not look her in the face. The mound of wood grew and the sun moved low in the sky until only the thinnest rim remained above the horizon.
Cold. She was so cold. The thin red robe she’d been clothed in was no protection from the frost. Another twist of her wrists proved her bonds were still tight. The stickiness on her hands must be her own blood. All day she’d attempted to wriggle free and somehow have a hope of escape, but to no avail. The gag in her mouth made speaking impossible – she could not even plead for her life.
She sagged in the grip of the ropes. They’d come for her before dawn, before she could have any chance to defend herself or escape. Stolen from her bed by Hadriad and his group of cronies, she’d feared rape or even slavery.
Never had she considered her life would end in a forbidden practice – as a sacrifice to the Fire Dragon.
“Not so proud now, Mari? You should have accepted my offer.” Hadriad spoke with quiet menace. “You would have lived a much longer life.”
The once fit warrior, now fat with excess and laziness, moved to stand next to her. His small, dark eyes narrowed in obvious satisfaction as he examined her. A sneer curled his lips at her flinch when he tightened the rope about her body yet again, making it even harder to breathe.
She straightened her trembling legs. She’d be damned if she gave him any satisfaction. She might die but she refused to cower before him. Hadriad was the true coward here. She narrowed her eyes attempting to convey her loathing.
Hadriad held his arm to the side to receive the torch handed to him by one of the priests. The fire would have come from the sacred fire of Dregalla, the Dragon Queen, creator of the world.
Fear clenched her belly again. This was the end. A few tears escaped eyes she thought were beyond any more tears.
Hadriad lowered the torch to the pile of wood and lit the pyre, then stepped back and laughed as the fire caught and spread.
The horror of her impending death ate through Mari’s shock. The heat of the fire increased as it surrounded her.
Great Dregalla, save me from the pain. Let me pass quickly if this is my fate.
The flames licked at the hem of her trailing red gown, closing in around her bare feet. It was hot but not painful. Yet.
Hadriad stared at her, almost waiting for her torment to truly begin.
The flames enveloped her and consumed her gown in a flash. Mari looked down and saw her flesh itself was on fire, tendrils of orange and red racing over her skin. But there was nothing there to feed the fire.
Sudden ferocious pain slammed through her and she threw her head back, a silent scream erupting from her throat. Afraid to know, she still forced herself to look back down at her body. If a soul really remembered the last moments of their prior life, she wanted to remember. She wanted to carry that vision with her into the future. If vengeance could not be hers in this lifetime, she would have it in the next.
Blinking her eyes rapidly to clear the smoke, she stared in horror at herself. Her charred and burnt skin dropped away in sheets from the flesh beneath. The fire opal red scales of a dragon. A fire dragon’s skin.
Labels: Friday Flash
posted by Maura Anderson at 10:04 PM
Sweet
bytoo short dang nab it!!!
Great job :)
damn flash fiction short stories. LOL I liked it and want more dammit!
byHey! Where's the rest? I wanna read more darnit!
by