Lena Corazon

Flights of Fancy

Category: Flash Fiction (page 1 of 2)

Dice Games, Day 2: “Worthless?”

June 6, 2012 / / 3 Comments

Okay, I got a little distracted from the #DiceGames fest this week, so my last 2 fills are a little late. But better late than never, no?

For Day 2, I rolled a 2. The prompt: Write a love story. Blood and gore mandatory.

I thought I’d have a bit of fun with this one, so here, have a couple of supernatural hunters, a horde of zombies, and a lovers’ tiff. This piece of flash fiction tried to run away with me, but I managed to shave it down to 750 words exactly.

And don’t forget to check out the fills from the other intrepid #DiceGames writers while you’re at it!

-oOo-

“Worthless?”

Fighting zombies was no time for a lovers’ quarrel, but Gareth had learned long ago that his beloved wasn’t like most women. A young lady of refinement would never be caught armed to the teeth with knives and pistols, nor would she spend her days tracking supernatural creatures to kill them in the most brutal way possible.

That was exactly why he loved Serenity. Her jealous streak, however, was another story altogether.

“I know you were looking at her.” Her voice, sharp with accusation, was loud enough to be heard above the noise of battle.

“Spirits be damned, Serenity, I love you.” The gravitas of his declaration was lost in his rather unmasculine screech as blood fountained from the monster before him, its head suddenly missing.

“Keep up,” she snapped, whirling away from the spurting corpse. Her katana flashed in the sunlight.

Grunting, he adjusted his grip on the crossbow, picking off two more of the shambling creatures before they could close in on her. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, I’m too busy trying to keep your worthless hide alive.”

He winced. “Worthless” wasn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe himself. He might’ve been more comfortable with a stack of books than he was with a weapon, but in the 2 years since Serenity had hauled him out of his library and proved that monsters existed, he’d become a fairly proficient hunter.

Pushing his silver-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose, Gareth pulled a pistol out of his holster and emptied the rounds into the last creature. It tottered, stumbled backwards, and fell with a satisfying thud to the ground.

That’s when things went to hell.

A dozen more zombies were on them in the flash of an eye. Serenity leapt into the fray, a blade in each hand as she sought to keep them back. Gareth loosed his arrows upon the horde with breathtaking speed, until the crossbow was ripped out of his hand.

The zombie had him in its undead grasp before he could sneeze, lifting him a half-foot into the air. He struggled wildly, legs kicking out, but his attempts were completely ineffectual.

When was he going to learn to stop showing off?

The zombie’s hand tightened around Gareth’s throat, cutting off his screams. Spots danced before his eyes, and he wondered, absurdly enough, whether the creature would rip his head off or merely choke him to death.

He never got the chance to find out. He found himself crashing to the ground instead, the zombie toppling over a moment later. Putrid goo oozed from the body and puddled around Gareth, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Still alive. Still breathing. Shocking, really.

A shadow dropped over him, and Serenity’s face swam into view. Blood and gore stained her clothing; the squishy gray bits flecked on her cheek must’ve belonged to some poor zombie’s brain. Still, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He grinned up at her with all the enthusiasm of a psychotic.

“Maybe ‘worthless’ wasn’t the right word.”

His heart expanded in a swell of satisfaction. Maybe it only took half-dying for her to notice? “That’s right, ma’am.”

Her dark brows furrowed, her lips twisting in disapproval. “‘Reckless’ might be more accurate.”

Oh. Not quite the compliment he’d been hoping for. The silence stretched out between them, but she broke it at last, an unexpected grin brightened her face.

“Looks like I’ve managed to corrupt you at last. Never thought I’d live to see the day,  Mr. Mountbatten.”

“Done more than that. You stole my damned heart while you were at it.” He inhaled gingerly, wincing at the pain that lanced his body. Bruised ribs, perhaps?

It didn’t matter. Gareth had things to say, and he wasn’t going to let petty injuries stop him. “I’m not lookin’ at anyone else. You’re the only one I want, Serenity Vega.”

She was silent as she knelt beside him, but her fingers lingered over his cheek with unexpected tenderness. “I know.” Her voice scarcely more than a whisper. “You have my heart, Gareth.”

Gently, she pulled him against her, cradling his head in her lap and pressing her lips to his forehead. His delight was slightly dimmed by her next words.

“If I catch you staring at another buxom barmaid’s assets ever again, I will personally castrate you.”

He could only chuckle in response and nuzzle in closer. No, Serenity wasn’t like other women, but she suited Gareth just fine.

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Dice Games, Day 1: “Liberty”

June 4, 2012 / / 16 Comments

I’m busy trying to survive the end of the school year, but I wanted to tiptoe in and post this bit of flash fiction for ‘Timony Souler’s June edition of the Dice Games. The rules are simple:


You will roll a die – THREE TIMES

Each number you roll will give you a PROMPT (Which can be found HERE)

You will post a piece (between 250 and 750 words) on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

For Day 1, I rolled a 6, which gave me the following: You fly off to a foreign country to meet a stranger – how does that work out?

The fill is 739 words long, with a bit of dialogue swiped from one of my favorite films. Many internet brownies to those who can identify the movie. 😛

There are nine other writers taking part in the challenge, so be sure to check out their work as well.

-oOo-

“Liberty”

The air is oppressively heavy, weighed down by the stench of sweat, smoke, petrol fumes, and a thousand other scents too foreign for Ara to identify. Five minutes beyond the air-conditioned confines of the ship, and her shirt is already plastered to her skin with perspiration.

The docks are a microcosm of the madness that has overtaken the sprawling, overcrowded nation of Hynnash. Here, a multitude of bodies collide and coalesce, swirling together in a melee that is dizzying and disorienting.

Ara’s only comfort is the thin silver blade concealed within her left hand. Solid and cool to the touch, it steadies her frayed nerves like an old friend, a confidant that holds all of her secrets. In a way, it is true. Her blade knows with deep intimacy all of the blood she has spilled over the years, the identities of every man and woman to fall beneath her fatal blow.  There is no other companion that she trusts more completely.

If she is lucky, there is but one more life to claim: the fugitive warlord known only as The Stranger. Intelligence states that he is aboard his personal yacht, where he will remain for the next three days before slipping deeper into Hynnash’s impenetrable jungles. The task that she faces is a simple one, save for the challenge of finding the yacht amidst the thousands of dinghies, boats, and watercraft of all shapes and sizes lining the three-mile stretch of shore.

But Ara has never known failure. With fluid grace, she melts into the press of bodies, slipping through the crowds with otherwordly ease. Fifteen years of the hunt has honed her into the perfect predator, calm, cool, and patient. However, it is not the thrill of the chase that propels her forward, but the tantalizing promise of freedom.

How long has it been since she lived for herself? How long has she killed, hoping with every strike of the blade to destroy yet another shard of her shattered heart? She can hardly remember what it was like before she was a servant to the Hierarchy, one of the many cloaked assassins sent in to do their dirty work.

If she can complete this last task, her final dance with death, she will be free. Likely she will spend the rest of her life dodging old enemies, avoiding new ones, confined to the shadowy, dark places in the world. It is a bleak future, but it is hers. She can’t help but cherish it.

The sun is making its downward arc into the sea when she sees the yacht. It is a splash of pure white against the blinding blue sky, with a single word painted on its side in crimson: Liberty. Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile. Ironic, but fitting.

There is a bustle about the boat, with workers bustling to and fro, loading crates into the hold. Her curiosity is piqued, but she quickly suppresses it. Her business is with The Stranger.

In spite of the bodyguards stationed on either side of the entrance, Ara slips through the doors unseen. Her pulse is rapid, adrenaline coursing through her body as she seeks out her prey. She bypasses empty rooms, her intuition leading her up narrow stairs and out to the upper deck.

The Stranger is there, alone. He stands with his back to her, facing the water. His silhouette is long and lean; the gentle breeze stirs his long, dark hair. At the sight, memory wakes within her, the pain sharp and piercing in that place where her heart once beat: the thrum of passion, the ecstasy of love, the wrenching emptiness of death.

She knows him.

He turns towards her then, though she knows she hasn’t made a sound. Those blue eyes cut straight to her soul, sharper and more deadly than the blade clutched in her hand. When he smiles, those lips curving into a benediction that is all at once gentle, loving, and welcoming, she feels her knees threaten to buckle beneath her.

She manages to remain upright, but her voice is guttural when she speaks, rough and raw with unshed tears. “Where the hell have you been?”

His answer is simple. “Waiting for you.”

Somehow, no other explanation is needed. She hardly feels the blade slip from her fingers, doesn’t even hear its splash when it sinks beneath the waves.

Liberty. It is a fitting name.

 

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#DearValentine: “Abandoned”

February 4, 2012 / / 20 Comments

It’s been far too long since I’ve tackled one of ‘Timony Souler’s flash fiction challenges, and so when I heard about her #DearValentine event, I signed up immediately.

Over the next 4 Saturdays, my fellow participants and I will be posting short 300 word drabbles based on the challenge prompts.

Week 1’s prompt is simple: A note, a photograph, the docks.

My entry is exactly 300 words long, and is part one of my still-unnamed four part series. Feedback is always appreciated. Finally, be sure to check out the other participants’ work.

-oOo-

“Abandoned”

The ship was a speck against the horizon by the time Pierce arrived at the docks. He was too late.

He could still smell her fragrance lingering in the air, the faintest trace of jasmine and lavender. It taunted him, an unsettling reminder that even he, with his speed and strength and near-prescient senses, was capable of failure.

The cynic in him said that he deserved heartbreak. He had rejected his carefully honed instinct for self-preservation when he decided to pursue her, and all for what? A pair of haunting violet eyes, a sinful mouth, and the most luscious curves he had ever seen? A woman more intelligent, more passionate than any he had ever known?

Self-reproach was useless, for Wyng was perfection. He had been helpless against her from the start. More importantly, she had loved him. He would never believe anything less.

He couldn’t look at the photograph she had left behind; they were too in love, too blissfully happy. Rather, it was her final note, little more than a crumpled mess of smeared ink, that he clenched in his fist.

I’m no good, Pierce. I’ll only bring destruction upon you if I stay.

That was a lie. She had restored him to life, reminded him that there was a world beyond violence and hate.

Forget me, and don’t try to find me.

How could he ever manage such a feat? His chest heaved, as though some imaginary string tied their hearts together and pulled taut, stretching beyond endurance. He couldn’t allow it to snap.

With a curl of his lip, he tossed the note into the wind and climbed onto his motorcycle. The engine revved to life at his touch, and within moments, the docks were behind him.

He had never been very good at following directions.

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Ghouls Galore: Vampire

October 31, 2011 / / 6 Comments

Eeep, I can’t believe I forgot about the final week of Lady Antimony’s Ghouls Galore October flash fiction event! The word of the week is “borborygmus,” and the overall theme is Pick-Your-Own-Creature.  I’ve chosen the vampire, for old times’ sake.  Back in the day, The Vampire Diaries by L.S. Smith and Silver Kiss by Annette Curtis Klause were my books of choice (both of them are better than Twilight, IMO), both inspirations for the mediocre vampire fiction I loved to write.

As a Halloween treat, I give you both flash fiction and poetry.  The poem was originally written in 2000, one of those things I scribbled in math class when I was 13, a silent protest against learning algebraic equations. 😉 I’ve tweaked it a bit, however.

David A. Ludwig has written a lovely summary of the challenge, along with links to the other participants’ work, so be sure to swing by and check it out.

And as a final fun note, this is my 100th post! It totally snuck up on me, too. 😀

-oOo-

“Midnight Walker”

Blood:
Source of life for all,
elixir of the chosen
drink of the Damned — those more-than-mortals,
the living dead.

Forced to forever stalk the living,
chained to the night,
without rest, without peace
Midnight Walkers forever.

 

It was a small thing, really: a single globule of blood, no larger than a dewdrop and just as delicate.  If Alaric hadn’t been starving, his veins parched and dry, it would’ve been easy enough to ignore.  Restraint and willpower had always been his strengths, even before he was reborn.  But then again, he had never been deprived of sustenance for so long. There was no way he could withstand such temptation.

That drop of blood was a siren’s song of lust and desire, flooding his mouth with saliva, sharpening his gleaming fangs.  It gleamed in the flickering glow of the streetlamp, adorning the whore’s neck like the most precious ruby.

She’d been bitten already — a sloppy kiss from a drunkard, for her intoxicating bouquet was tainted by the acrid, burnt smell of whiskey. With his preternatural senses, he could hear the beating of her heart, the borborygmic trembling of her stomach; she was hungry as well, her face pinched and pale beneath a heavy coating of rouge.  It mattered little. By the time Alaric was through, food — or lack thereof — would be the least of her worries.

The whore turned limpid eyes upon him, lips parted in a drawl of invitation, and Alaric’s hands shook as his slid the coin into her hand.  A thrill of delight coursed down his spine as he followed her into the dank alley nearby, even as his conscience uttered one final whimper of protest.

He would hate himself come morning, when the alleys would be strewn with evidence of his excesses, but the salt-sweet elixir on his tongue drove away all regret.

Writers’ Platform-Building Campaign: “A Time to Live”

October 24, 2011 / / 31 Comments

I didn’t expect to write an entry for the 3rd and last challenge for the Writers’ Platform-Building Campaign, but the muse struck me unexpectedly. Here are the parameters for this challenge:

Write a blog post in 300 words or less, excluding the title. The post can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should show:

  • that it’s morning, 
  • that a man or a woman (or both) is at the beach
  • that the MC (main character) is bored
  • that something stinks behind where he/she is sitting
  • that something surprising happens.

Just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: “synbatec,” “wastopaneer,” and “tacise.”   (NB. these words are completely made up and are not intended to have any meaning other than the one you give them).

I think I captured all 5 senses, and I’ve done my best to show, rather than tell. I’ve also added all three made-up words, which was tons of fun. The final piece is exactly 30 words long.

Anyway, enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this. Also, please check out the other wonderful entries for the challenge, and leave the participants lots of feedback and warm fuzzies.

-oOo-

“A Time to Live”

Gravel crunched beneath Bryna’s booted feet, tiny black pebbles that gleamed in the rays of the rising sun. It was peaceful there by the sea, the waves lapping at the rocky shore, the gulls squawking with cacophonous glee. Such delights were lost on Bryna, for ennui weighed heavily on her mind. She fingered the tacise sheathed at her waist, the metal cool to the touch. There was a time when the thought of sinking its sharp tip into her enemy’s chest would have brought her unspeakable pleasure, but that had passed with the defeat of the Wastopaneer and the advent of the Synbatec’s peace.  Heaving a sigh, she dropped onto a stay piece of driftwood, shoulders slumping forward.

“I never thought to see you like this, Commander.”Bryna scrambled to her feet, face flushed and hot. Sebastian stood before her, crossbow gripped in one hand. “‘Tis not a criticism,” he added. “You’re only human, rumors to the contrary. You’re allowed to relax.”

The intensity of his blue eyes made her stomach clench unexpectedly. She swallowed hard but asked instead, “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d do a bit of hunting.” He frowned, nostrils flaring wide. “Seems someone’s left their kill out to rot.” Without warning, he took her by the hand — an unthinkable gesture between a lieutenant and his superior — and tugged her away. “There now,” he murmured as the breeze carried away the fell stench. “Isn’t that better?”

“Lieutenant –”

“The name’s Sebastian,” he corrected, tugging her close.

“I hardly think this is appropriate –”

“The war’s over, Bryna. Our unit’s been disbanded.” He brushed two fingers over her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine. “It’s time for you to live.”

The taste of his lips, spiced and delicious, drove all arguments from her mind.

Ghouls Galore: Gormagon

October 23, 2011 / / 6 Comments

The third challenge for Ghouls Galore involves the word “absquatulate,” a synonym for “abscond” that dates from the 1830s, and the gormagon. The gormagon is a mythical creature described as a “beast with two backs,” with “six eyes, three mouths, [and] eight legs,” among other less-than-savory characteristics.

Charming, huh? It’s definitely not something I’d ever want to encounter, but unfortunately, Jack and Tempest (two of my characters from TELL ME NO LIES, my steampunk WIP), aren’t so fortunate. I’d actually love to expand this 250 word piece into something longer, ’cause imagining this grotesque beast in the middle of 19th century California sparks too many ideas for me to capture here.

“Stranded”

“This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into.” Tempest trembled head-to-toe with anger. “You just had to waltz into that bank and absquatulate with everything in the vault, and now look at us! Our escape plan was foiled, the cops have shot us down, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. The hell were you thinking?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Jack mumbled, regarding the wreck of his airship with scarcely-concealed disappointment. The hull was damaged, and it would take days to repair it. More troubling was the fact that the police ship was nowhere to be found.

“Strange,” he said. “Why didn’t the cops haul us in?”

A low rumbling sounded in the distance, an ominous punctuation to his words. With a curse, Jack grabbed Tempest and tugged her down behind the wreckage just as a nightmarish creature that came into view, thundering towards them with single-minded purpose. Multiple limbs protruded from its body; a half-dozen eyes rolled and twitched in red-rimmed sockets. Most disgusting of all was the genitalia grotesquely positioned upon its body, male and female alike.

“A gormagon,” he spat. “That’s why the cops left us out here. They don’t think we’ll make it through alive.”

Undaunted, Tempest stood, the air crackling with energy as she powered up her raygun. “We’ll just have to disappoint them, won’t we?”

“That we will, sweetheart.” The gormagon pawed the ground with its many feet, preparing to charge them once more. “Let’s go hunting.”

Ghouls Galore: Lucifer

October 22, 2011 / / 4 Comments
Week 2 of the GhoulsGalore flash fiction challenge asks us to write a 250 word piece on Lucifer, using the word “chthonic.” My entry is a bookend piece to “The Dark Prince,” which I wrote for last week’s extended edition of Glitterlady’s Tuesday Tales.The main inspiration for this piece comes from “N.I.B.”, my favorite song by the heavy metal band Black Sabbath, “N.I.B.” Geezer Butler, the song’s lyricist, once said that “the song was about the devil falling in love and totally changing, becoming a good person.” Like the Lucifer of “N.I.B.,” my “Dark Prince” has finally found the woman of his dreams, and won’t rest until he has claimed her completely.

-oOo-

“Eternity”

Desperation. Fear. Desire. The air is thick with all this as I make my way through the dank tunnels leading from my chthonic lair. In the silence, I can hear your blood pounding, your gasps high and tight and heaving.

You have run from me, seized by the silly fears that have driven us apart time and again. When will you realize that the peace you seek, the serenity that you desire, will only come when you surrender?  When you will learn that the answer to all your questions can be found in the circle of my arms?

I can see you in the darkness, even as you cower behind ruined pillars of stone. I can feel your heart beat as though it was my own — don’t you realize how connected we are, how truly and inextricably our souls are linked?

When I was cast into this abyss, when my body was chained here in the bowels of the earth, I did not feel despair, for I knew there would be one who would join me in my solitude. Aeons have passed since my fall from grace, and still I have waited.

Now here you are, trembling and confused, mere feet from my grasp. You cannot understand how your soul has compelled you to seek out my twisted love, but I can help you see the darkness that dwells deep within you. I can show you where you true destiny lies.

Embrace me, love, and taste eternity.

Flash Fiction: Tuesday Tales, Extended Version

October 11, 2011 / / 7 Comments

This week’s edition of The Glitterlady’s Tuesday Tales is a special Extended Edition, with the word limit increased to 1000 words.  This is the inspiration photo:

-oOo-

“The Dark Prince”

I’ve been trapped here countless times, locked in this maze of dank, fetid passageways, this tangle of crumbling tunnels and halls.

I’m no stranger to this world of darkness, and yet familiarity doesn’t lessen the panic that clenches my heart. As always, blood roars in my ears and adrenaline pumps through my veins. I forget to breathe while I am here, confined, claustrophobic, hunted. He is in the shadows, watching, stalking, waiting for me to crumble, the dark prince that consumes my thoughts and, it seems, my dreams. It’s his castle that holds me, his dungeons that imprison me.

Continue reading

Ghouls Galore: Poltergeist

October 8, 2011 / / 16 Comments

Today marks the first day of Lady Antimony’s #GhoulsGalore flash fiction challenge. We have four weeks, four paranormal beings, and four key words to integrate somewhere into our 250-word drabbles.

Today, we’re tackling the poltergeist, which Wikipedia defines as “paranormal phenomenon which consists of events alluding to the manifestation of an imperceptible entity” which includes “inanimate objects moving or being thrown about, sentient noises (such as impaired knocking, pounding or banging) and, on some occasions, physical attacks on those witnessing the events.”

The key word is boustrophedonic, which “relates to texts written from left to right and right to left in alternate lines.”

This flash fic piece is inspired by Kohl Mansion, where I attended high school. The mansion itself is rumored to be haunted by Freddy, the original owner, and tales have been passed down over the years about strange sightings and visions occurring after dark. Though I never witnessed such phenomena, I’ve always wanted to venture there after hours to see what I might encounter.

An old photograph of Kohl Mansion in California

-oOo-

“The Fourth Floor”

Velzie’s heart slammed against her ribs as she confronted the spindly staircase that would lead her to the mansion’s forbidden fourth floor. She had never before ventured there, too frightened of the rumors and the headmistress’ wrath, should she be discovered, but tonight she had little choice. She couldn’t hold back a whimper as the floorboards creaked beneath her feet.

“We shouldn’t be up here, Faye. I’m frightened.”

Faye whirled at her words, green eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You translated that blasted parchment. All of this your fault!”

“I found it in the library,” she mumbled, cheeks stinging with embarrassment. It had seemed so innocuous at the time, the parchment sticking out between a stack of dusty tomes in the rare book section, a boustrophedonic text just waiting to be translated. “I didn’t know it would call him!”

“Quiet,” Faye hissed. “He knows we’re here.”

Just ahead they could see a chair hovering impossibly in the air. Before either of them could speak, it flew across the hall with astonishing speed, slamming into a wall with a crash.

“Oh dear.” Velzie’s hands trembled, clammy with sweat. “I don’t think he’s very happy.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

The temperature had dropped precipitously, and the air crackled and snapped with livid insistence. There was a dull glow in the distance, and unbidden, Velzie moved towards it, arm outstretched. The light called to her, soothed her fears, muted Faye’s screams. When it consumed her, his laughter resounded in her head.

Writers’ Platform-Building Challenge #2: “Imago Shattered”

September 25, 2011 / / 43 Comments

I’m happy to present my entry for the second #writecampaign challenge. This is the prompt:

Write a blog post in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should:

– include the word “imago“ in the title

 -include the following 4 random words: “miasma,” “lacuna,” “oscitate,” “synchronicity”

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional and included in the word count), make reference to a mirror in your post.

For those who want an even greater challenge (optional), make your post 200 words EXACTLY!

There’s no mention of a mirror in my entry, though it is exactly 200 words, and meets all the other requirements. As always, I’m curious to know what you all think. If you’re so inclined, vote for my piece here. I’m #87. Be sure to read through all of the other excellent entries as well!

-oOo-

“Imago, Shattered”

The cicada buzzed and writhed, barely-there wings oscillating with fury. Stuck fast to a corkboard, speared by Tessa’s sharp pin, it struggled in vain. She had stabbed it savagely, wishing all the while that it was Robert Elliot.

Though Robert sat mere feet away, a lacuna oscitated between them, mocking the intimacy they once shared. Theirs had been a linking of souls that transcended fortune, and rank. Robert was a penniless tutor, she the daughter of the nobleman who employed him — an unlikely connection, filled with synchronicity. While their love blossomed, such impediments seemed minor annoyances, no harder to penetrate than a miasma of smoke.

She loathed him, yet her heart was bruised and aching, a betrayal of her true feelings. She couldn’t, wouldn’t lose him.

One hand splayed over the slight swell of her stomach, Tessa lurched to her feet, the crashing of specimen jars drawing Robert’s attention at last. Wreathed with sunlight, misery in his eyes, she saw him for what he was: a fragile man, neither villain nor saint.

She charged towards him, bridging that insurmountable distance in a dozen steps. Just before their mouths crashed together, she thought she saw tears glinting on his cheeks.

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