Friday, October 18, 2013

Flash Fiction Friday 21.0

Well, the sentence is going up, then I'm going on a 3 hour walk with Eva, which is steadily becoming our morning routine. Yesterday she found a ball by the tennis courts, and was pretty darn proud of herself... she carried it all the way to the off-leash park, I threw it for about half-an-hour, then we 'donated' it to a labradoodle who had dropped his ball deep into a rock crevice on the beach and was going a little crazy looking for it... (the owner was much obliged ;p)

So, see you in a few hours, after we get back, and after I eat, since after a walk that long, I'm pretty starved by the time we get back.

You don’t call it ‘savage’ when justice is on your side.


  1. Good sentence. I hope to work on my Jersey Devil today so....

  2. The story of a troll in the magician’s hometown (a novel prequel, of sorts)

    You don’t call it ‘savage’ when justice is on your side. It is simply a result of action.

    “This is my home,” I said, and the human spun too late to do anything at all. I reached out with a hand, grasped her neck, and snapped it as easily as she had defiled my home with spray paint. Time was, a human would have been scared of bridges and what lived under them. Now they seemed to fear little at all, content with despoiling anything they can solely because their lives are so very short and small.

    I pressed my fingers to my lips and whistled, short and sharpish. A speck of light swirled into the tunnel under the overpass a few moments later. When viewed by humans, they appear as small winged humans, but they are the light that eats darkness and desire nothing so much as carrion.

    The body was gone within minutes, the wisp barely visible as it floated about me in slow circles.

    “You have food,” I said, because I am not fond of light at all.

    “He is coming back,” the wisp said in its weak voice like a pebble in an ocean.

    There was no need to ask who, not in this town. “He has been gone years despite the magic he left behind.”

    “Even so. Our queen has done auguries. Invoked. Sacrificed. He is returning.”

    “The magician would not come back; his power will snare him,” I pressed, but the wisp said nothing else and vanished out into the world.

    I find my rags and begin to clean the symbols the girl tried to draw off of my wall. Under the bridge is mine, my home, and there will be no graffiti to defile it. That is my will, and my actions just. But I could not say if the magician would think the same. I was old, as mountains and stone are old, but I was not beyond fear.

    And fearing, not beyond considering ways to end it. Even mountains can become hills, if we are not careful. I was not above being savage if need arose.

    1. Nice! Creepy, but nice! Definitely makes me not want to check out the dog park under the Burrard St. bridge... who knows what may be lurking in the guise of (perhaps?) a homeless man?

      On the first read, I somehow skipped the word "human" from "appear as small winged humans" and thought they were fireflies :)

    2. Heh. They are going to look like that, too. I'm currently working stuff out in my head about how such things hide from the world and trying not to cover territory/explanations I have before. Which IS the hard part.

    3. Tangents. Impossible to fully ignore ;)


Type me out a line of Shakespeare or a line of nonsense. Dumb-blonde-jokes & Irish jokes will make me laugh myself silly :)