In days before the dawn of time, two gods struggled for control over all that was. One was named Order, who strove above all for stillness and perfection. The other was named Chaos, who strove above all for motion and change. When Order set the spheres upon their paths, Chaos sent out comets to knock them astray. When Order called land out from the water, Chaos tore it asunder. These gods fought ceaselessly, yet they had formed from the void as twins and each was as strong as the other.
“This battle is futile,” said Order one day, after countless aeons of struggle. “We must settle our differences by some other means.&#
Lucy is never more alive than when she’s watching a movie. After the grey drudgery of her life at the office, it is a refuge, a respite.
Telesynthenics is a revelation. The stories are so much more real than real, when you can feel what the characters do.
They’ve been remastering all the old favourites, the classics, and the cult hits: The Breakfast Club, The Shawshank Redemption, Casablanca. Injecting emotions so you know exactly when you should cry, or laugh, or feel pain. Though all the R rated stuff is heavily regulated and filtered, of course. If she wants she can change the settings on her module and tune in to one specifi
“Come on, Squat Runt!”
“Can we rethink my nickname, Doctor James? I feel as though it crosses the line from affectionately disparaging to actually hurtful.”
“There’s no time! We have to reach the Sistine Chapel before that albino monk gets—”
A hooded figure stepped out from the doorframe. “My ears are burning,” said the monk.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” said California James. “It is an exceptionally sunny day.”
The monk made an annoyed little noise. “That’s not what I meant!”
“Yeah,” agreed Squa
There was no time in the cave at the root of the world. No weeks, no days, no hours, or minutes. The Weaver sat at her loom, watching as mortal men grew and died, and their children rose to take their place. But time did not move for her, and she remained unchanged.
She was not one of the Fates, she did not decide the course of history. The Norns would send her messages through the red threads of fate; a tug here, a severing there, and the Weaver adjusted her work accordingly. But sometimes she wondered what it would be like to truly hold the fate of someone’s life in the palm of her hand.
Time did not pass for her in the typical sens
The Advanced Atmosphere-Analysing Artificial Aphonic Articulated Hypervigilant Humanoid, or AAAAAAHH for short, took one step into the glorified caffeine dispensary and stopped, transistors firing all over the place. The atmosphere in here was palpably tense, and AAAAAAHH tried to alert its human with a buzzing noise and a soft grip on its shirt, but its human shrugged it off and carried on its way inside. AAAAAAHH followed reluctantly, spinning its head around constantly so that it could see all possible dangers at once, and continuing to buzz in it's quiet-but-still-very-noticable yellow-alert tone.
The human in front of AAAAAAHH's human r
“Foolish knight,” hissed the dragon. “Did you think this place would be unguarded? Did you think the moat its only defence? None who pass through those gates return alive, for all who do must face me.”
“Okay,” said the knight. “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’? Obviously I’m gonna fight anyone who comes here. Do you really think they’d leave a dragon in a tower just to welcome people in?”
The dragon made an annoyed little noise. “Only Queen Harriet the Third and the nobles of her court. Geez
HMS Orpheus: Captain’s Log - Day 26 - Bearings: Unknown.
There is blood in the water.
The men gather upon the railings, and wait for the others to arrive. Like sharks, they’re drawn by the promise of meat. Their tails thrash the water, pale hair splaying beneath the surface like weeds.
When they sing, we are helpless.
I no longer know where we are.
The sirens will not let us leave.
HMS Orpheus: Captain’s Log - Day ? - Bearings
The heat smothers us, making us lethargic. Hours drip between our fingers like honey. Slowly, we're beginning to forget our own names.
Why would we want to leave this place? Whe
She leaned casually out the balcony and tipped her cup, sending a stream of water onto the pavement below. The human body can go without water for three days. I have been without for two. There was a quiet bustle from the apartment below Katrina, though quite loud for the times. This era was being touted by the lay people as the New Evolution - human beings suddenly all becoming decent. But Katrina knew better. She idly traced the bumps on her arm where she’d taken blood. What will it take to prove the lies?
Voices from below drafted upward and as Katrina listened, she smiled.
In brighter times, the Ebon Tower had been a beacon of hope and justice, its garrisons watching over the Merchants’ Way from Grimble’s Vale in the East to Far Baragar in the West. But since the demon Kharael had come to claim it, that tower was a blight upon the land. Travellers would cling to the shadows of the Northern Peaks simply to avoid its gaze, though those roads teemed with wolves and bandits, and many lost their way.
Few could stand against a demon, but the Arch-mage Tharandel was one of those few, and so he felt it his duty to make the attempt. He pushed open the doors of the great hall at the tower’s talles
EXT. SAINT SWITHUN'S HOME FOR EXCEPTIONALLY BIG-EYED ORPHANS - MORNING
We see the sun rising over St. Swithun's Home for Exceptionally Big-eyed Orphans, which is prominently signposted. Birds are singing. Peaceful flute music - you know the music I mean - plays.
Record scratch. The music stops.
INT. SAINT SWITHUN'S HOME FOR ETC. KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS
MRS. WITHERSPOON continues screaming, hands clasped to her face. She screams for some time, eyes wide with horror. Finally, we see what she was screaming about. There is a plate on the kitchen table covered with the smeared remains of a cake. Icing is splattered
“The only good criminal is a dead one, am I right?” Officer Spinelli joked as Greta handed him his coffee. She shot him a disapproving look, but said nothing. They never listened to her anyway.
“Hey sweetheart. While you’re here would you mind being a doll and clearing up all this paperwork. Maybe type up the report while you’re at it. You know the Commissioner; likes all his i’s eyes crossed, and his t’s dotted. Or was that the other way round? I always forget.” He leered up at her, no doubt expecting a response, and all the other officers sniggered, as though he’d just made the funnies
It was Prince Leo’s first time at Camp Spare, the summer camp for second in line royals. He was ten, short for his age, and just a little on the chubby side. Not like his older brother who was currently at Camp Monarch across the lake. His brother was everything a prince should be: tall, handsome, and brave. He would be a great king someday.
Leo would not. He was born only in case his brother died. Since it looked like his brother was going to make it, Dad told Leo it was time to start considering his other options. Camp Spare was the perfect place to start, Dad said.
Looking around the crowded parade ground, Leo considered his option
“Ew,” said Girth Loinhammer, putting down his stein. “That is…”
“Yeah,” agreed Sekhmet, hurriedly rubbing at her tongue. “It’s…it’s got an aftertaste.”
“I don’t understand the hype. It’s big and it’s bland.”
“Yo, bartender!” Sekhmet snapped her fingers. “What sort of mead is this?”
“That, my good…” the bartender seemed a little thrown off by the fact that Sekhmet had the head of a lioness “…lady?”
“Was it the miniskirt that gave it away?”
“No, I will not throw you in prison, no matter how kindly you ask.” Constable Zonderland crossed her vanbraced arms as she eyed Khorrek in the doorway of her headquarters. The guy took a step forward nonetheless, looking desperate. Even his hair was more messed up than usual.
“You must,” he begged. “I’ve kidnapped Cupcake, after all. Look.” Khorrek held up a puppy with a patchwork coat of white and brown. The animal barked at the constable and wagged its fluffy tail so enthusiastically it made the entire body of the dog shake.
She frowned. “We have no reports of a lost pet.”
The heist was too easy. The Don left his boat unlocked Sunday morning and Mena slipped some extra sedatives in his drink the night before. She was in and out with the money before the old man even knew what happened. The inconvenient "error" in his security system made sure he wouldn't know who hit him, and the lackluster guards he employed were too slow to catch her.
The papers had it all wrong. Mena didn't do it for the fame nor the glory. She stole because her dad was dying. She clenched her teeth underneath the wig she wore as the guy sitting next to her on the flight rambled on about how the thief is long gone to Fiji. She
When you were little your mother used to warn you about going off on adventures. Alas, if only you had listened to her sage advice. You probably wouldn't have ended up here, stranded in the midst of a Flash Fiction wilderness.
It's been days since you left the edges of civilised reality. You're sweaty, tired, and covered in spider bites, and last night you were forced to share a cave with a desiccated corpse! Now night is falling, your machete's blunt, and you only have a few drops of inspiration left to see you through till morning.
It's a jungle out there, all manner of beasts prowl the darkness, and to make matters worse there isn't a si
It was a beautiful evening, the tranquillity of the gentle pink sunset marred only slightly by the battle raging on between every superhero in the city and the skyscraper-sized fire-breathing dinosaur that had emerged from the harbour an hour or so earlier.
“Hi, Mr. O’Nuclear,” said Tina, rather suddenly.
Mr. O’Nuclear jumped. He hadn’t realised anyone else was on the roof.
“You know you can just call me Therm, right?” he said.
“My mum says it’s rude to call grownups by their first names,” explained Tina, opening the door of the pigeon loft.
FFM/17 A day in the life of a forensic necromancer
The call came at 3:20. A.M., mind. Sometimes Laurent really questioned whether he shouldn’t have chosen a different profession.
He slipped out of bed, threw on his suit - technically the suit was not required, but it always felt appropriate, as a gesture of respect - grabbed the keys, and got into the car.
Ten minutes later he was in the university, in front of a professor’s office. He routinely checked with the crime scene unit where he could stand, asked the policemen to step back from the body - not a pretty sight, the head was detached from the rest - and reached out.
Oh, hello. Am - am I dead?
When Grandmother calls, she says that everything will turn out alright in the end. I haven’t told her that the wolves are at the door.
Metaphorically and literally.
I’m not sure which concerns me more.
At first I thought that it was stress. You worry about a thing—about next week’s work rota, about making ends meet—and you start to see it as an animal skulking about behind the railings across the road.
Then you realise that there really is an animal, and you think that it’s a fox.
Then you hear the howling, find the claw marks in the wood.
When Grandmother calls, she says tha
“Intruder is in air vents. Please advise.”
“Do not deviate from patrol route. I repeat: do not deviate from patrol route.”
“But he’s banging around in there and it’s super obvious and the boss is just down the hall.”
“Look. Which of these sounds better? ‘Gee, the Pandora Virus is missing! The guy who took it must have been a total ghost because literally nobody noticed him,’ or ‘Hey, about that dude who got all the way into the bioweapons lab before anyone raised the alarm. He must have been super quiet right up until he started trying to cram his entire b
Burn, baby, burn.
Delilah cupped her hand around the cigarette and took a deep drag, sour smoke filling her lungs as she dropped the spent match onto the carpet. Then she lit another match, tucked it inside the empty box of Pall Malls and used the open flame to carefully set light to the curtains.
The smell of gasoline was strong enough to give her a instant headache, the familiar sensation of rusty nails slowly drilling their way into her cranium. Out of habit she felt herself reaching for a painkiller, but of course she’d thrown them all down the drain at the hotel an hour before. A foolish choice in hindsight.
To her left, the gho
Welcome to Flash Fiction Month, day 31.
Alas, the end is here. Just one more challenge awaits over yonder horizon, so have fun, let off some steam, and then rest easy knowing that you've successfully completed Flash Fiction Month 2018!
Whether you just managed a few stories each week, wrote your own thing for 31 days in a row, or completed every single challenge and trial that was thrown your way - you Flash Fiction Month participant, have done remarkable things. We salute you, not only for having the courage to attempt this event in the first place, but for having the will to see it through until the very end. You're all prize-winners in ou