Every Monday Dottie over at Tink’s Place posts a picture and then on Friday (Flash Fiction Friday) we post a story to go along with the picture. The story has to be about 350 words, give or take.
As I have been bad and missed 2 weeks! I am now catching up with 3 stories.
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No cure for a Broken Heart
Sometimes not even love could save you. But then why should that save you? Love only brought destruction and broken hearts, and hips widen by clinging babies. It brought sorrow and dead dreams. Death and pain.
Elizebeta screamed and threw cups and plates around her. They broke but they did not take away the pain she held in her heart. She sank to the floor and clutched the answer in her hand. The thing that would take away this pain that tore apart her soul. The pain that made her want to cry and shout, and most of all smash that bitch’s head in with a chair. But the anger always gave way to the pain and that was one thing she could not handle. It was numbing, it was nauseating, it was destructive.
But that was love. Sweet sweet love. And it had been sweet, oh so sweet. They had been childhood sweethearts and they had promised each other forever. First kiss, first hug, first moment of utter passion. Their families had been happy to see them together; she even had his damn portrait in her room. And when she turned 18 the wedding was to take place. But Ronan had said he wanted a tour of the Southern Lands first, so she waited. Then he wanted a season in town, so she waited again. As he said that he wanted her to stay where she was so that no one stole her away. What nonsense. It was during that year it had happened. A whirl wind romance with a rich heiress. Elizebeta’s family had lands and titles, but never that much money. And now Ronan would get all that he ever wanted. He had not even broken the news to her in person, instead he sent his poor mother. Elizabeta had sat still and wondered if it all was a bad dream. Even after his mother had left she sat there still and wondered if she was crazy. But after the shock wore off the pain and anger started. And now he was getting married, taking all her dreams with her. So she took the little vial she hold and knew she would feel pain no more.
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The Old Ones
They said that sometimes your deepest nightmares would come to your in the light of day. And when Roselyn stood before the tree she believed it to be true. She had found one of the Pillars of the Past. The women broken and tortured and made into trees by the Will of The People. The cult that had taken over these fair lands and made them worship the One God and not the Goddess who gave them rain and fertility. Instead the One God who gave them war and urged them to take over other countries and kill until those bent their knees to the True God. But she had never heard HIS voice. The priests said they heard him but sometimes she wondered if that truly was true. Yes she bent her knee in Chapel like the rest of her family but she just never could believe. Maybe because she held a secret deep in her heart and seeing this tree it all surfaced. She feared ending up like these women and even today, 100 years after the fall women were still burned and killed. Women she knew were innocent, women turned on by jealous neighbors or angry husbands. No one was safe anymore, the masses ruled and the masses were not kind.
She sank to her knees and looked upon the tree. What she would not give to free one of the old priestesses. To confess that she heard the Goddess in her head, to ask for guidance and what to do about the magic she felt stirring inside of herself. But she had no one to ask. This was not the time for women; this was the rule of Men. So she stood up, took her basket filled with mushrooms and started her way back home. She did look back once and saw the tree sway in the wind, beckoning her to come back. But she could not for if anyone saw her she would be taking to the Questioner at once and that was not something you wanted. She shivered and pulled her coat closer around her. Never that.
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Steam came and took over the lands. The trees fell, the magic lost its charm and the critters big and small went to hide deep in the woods. The old ways were lost by a way of iron, steam and might tracks dug deep into the womb of mother earth. Not much stood when the factories, mines and mines had been raised all over. Sure there were old woods here and there, but not as much as before, and there would not be ever again. Even the Earth herself knew so, these ants on her tummy were taking over and they destroyed as much as they built new. Because what they built was not for her, or the ones she cherished. As for the ants, they would learn that what they built was not for them either in the end.
Kora did hate the Big Ones but at the same time she was grateful that a clockmaker had once found her, with broken winds, smashed in a window. He had nursed her back to health and made the most delicate wings for her. Her own wings of steel and she flew and flew and never grew tired. But she was not happy and even if the old clockmaker wanted her to stay she said that she had to leave and find her people, if any were left.
She flew over house and hill until she found what she was looking for. The car which had killed her wings, the human who had seen her on the window and done nothing. So she landed on a windowsill and looked in. All cozy and sweet. A family around a table and she clawed with her tiny nails on the window. Never anger a fairy.
The next day when he went to work she followed him and with a little fairydust in his eyes he could no longer see and lost control of his car. And there is where she still was. Sitting on his skull, laughing even after his corpse had rotted and his car sunken into the deep of a swamp.
yes I went all dark today 😉