Flash Fiction / Micro Fiction
Length - 100 words each
Three pieces written for the competition theme 'An Unwanted Birthday'.
* 'Emily' was 'Highly Commended' in the competition!
* 'Emily' was 'Highly Commended' in the competition!
__________
Emily
Back again, drawn from nowhere. Dad sits with his party
hat on, Mum busy lighting the candles on my cake whilst I dance alone in the
dress she bought me, all mauve with stencil flowers on it.
The
last candle won't light, the wick is wet with sorrow. Dad doesn't even bother
to comfort her, a me-shaped chasm open between them since Mum miscarried all
those years ago.
Dead
before I'd even lived, a special kind of ghost. I am an anomaly, though they'd
have called me Emily, a conscience born of tragedy, on the day that hurts them
most.
__________
Betrothed
She pulled back from their secret moonlight embrace,
resisting his questing fingers.
'I'm
betrothed to Count Valer, Sir Henry. Tomorrow when I come of age, Father will
have his wish.' She went to kiss him again, but he stood firm, a dark
expression staining his face.
'Suppose
Count Valer isn't around tomorrow.' Fingers danced atop his sword pommel.
'Father
has gambled our meagre lot arranging the ceremony, I have to marry someone.'
'Marry
me, instead.' She drank in the murder that spilled from his eyes, her breaths
growing heavy.
'There's
not much time.' She said, quivering, 'bring me his head.'
__________
Class of '89
Class of '89
All my friends are dead. I thumb through pages of an open
yearbook, reading by mounted candlelight their signed, hopeful messages.
'Something
to drink, General?' She hands me a glass, looks from me to her departed
brother, centre page, and raises her drink in silent toast. All the women do,
clustered in solemn huddles about our old school hall.
Turning
point in the war. Emergency conscription. The class of '89, wiped out after one
week of fighting.
'Happy
Birthday.' She whispers, and takes her leave.
All
my friends are dead. Born a week earlier, and I'd have shared their fate.
__________
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