Friday, June 07, 2013

Cold Death

Cold wind rushed past the tall woman's ears, whipping silver hair about her face. She scowled and pulled up the hood of her cloak. "Three hours," she screamed. "That's what you told me."

The wind whistled in reply. Bare tree branches waved at a gray sky. She took a step forward and crunched last night's snow, caked and refreezing after the unseasonably warm morning. "Are you going to show yourself?" she snapped.

"Should I?" The voice slithered between the trees, gliding over the breeze like an oily serpent. "Seven years ago you said the very sight of me made you ill."

It did. That would never change. But the knife hidden in the palm of her hand cried for blood. She couldn't disappoint it. "Please," she said, trying to sound supplicant. Seductive.

Black mist swirled from behind the tree right in front of her. She held her breath, ready to throw the knife. The mist gathered, growing stronger. He would appear in seconds, a tall creature, black and oily, anxious to suck her soul away.

The mist solidified. One more heartbeat. Her arm tensed. She shifted her stance.

And then fire blossomed in her spine. The greasy voice whispered in her ear. "I know your heart, my pet. And it will never be free."

Darkness descended. And the knife fell to the earth.

1 comment:

  1. Love this little flash piece! Well done! I want to know more about the world you created in this little bit of prose.