Another Wednesday and we’re already half-way through January. How is that even possible?!? I have this fantasy of stopping time so I can get everything done that I need and still sleep, eat, and other stuffins. Wednesday also means it’s time for Twitter’s #1lineWed and this week’s theme is **FANTASY.” This piece is a bit dark. And a lot off the wall. Old-timers will remember me talking about creating a three-book serial series, Moonstruck Mafia, with books centering on Irish Wolves/mob syndicate in Boston, Russian Wolves/Vors/Mafiya in New York, and Italian Wolves/mafia/mob in Chicago. Each book would be a complete story arc but there would be more than one Wolf finding his true mate during the course of the story.
Still with me? I still have this project on the back burner and when I get the occasional flash of inspiration, I jot the words down. Well, Monday, I had one of those flashes thanks to a flash fiction challenge. I wrote a terse scene of only 250 words (that’s part of the challenge), and I’ve since added some more. I know one of the characters (Mikhail is the Russian’s brother), but I don’t know who Maksim is. Not yet. But I will. And I want to work on this project. But I have others in front of it. Anyway, here’s an out-of-the-blue snippet that sort of fits today’s theme.
His name whispered in the dark, enticing him to follow the sound. He didn’t move. As long as he hid in the shadows, no one could find him. He didn’t breathe for a long time as he listened.
Her voice. Sultry. Tempting.
Her voice. Strident. Taunting.
Both had betrayed him.and they weren’t the only ones. He’d been delivered into
The faces chased each other in and out of his memory. Beautiful. Ugly. Soothing. Horrifying. The memories blended together in the shadows of his mind until he could no longer separate them and he saw only an amalgam of their faces fused together.
His voice. Mikhail. The one who found him. Who saved him so long ago. Who couldn’t save him now. No one could save him now.
“Come back, Maks.”
He didn’t want to. He had no place to go back to. It had all been destroyed. He’d been destroyed. Body. Soul. His brain…so fragile…like it was made of glass. If he opened his eyes, if he faced the world, he would shatter like crystal on jagged rocks. Better he stay in the Stygian depths of his madness. The voices silenced. Finally. Likely, his imagination had conjured them like a bitter fantasy of what could never be again. He was supposed to die.
Pain. So much pain. No. He would not remember. He would not talk, would not reveal the secrets he held. No matter what they did to him. They broke him. Over and over but he remained true to his brothers. To the Vor. He’d kept the secrets, no matter what obscenities those others perpetrated on him. More pain. Bones breaking. Joints popping. Skin splitting. The blackness swallowed him whole, and he welcomed it.
Floating. A sea of shadowed mist. The pain was held at bay
What was that sound? He listened. Considered. Skin brushing paper? Yes. Maybe. Was someone folding paper nearby?
“What are you doing, Katya?”
“Folding origami cranes, Uncle Misha. If I make one thousand cranes, my wish that Uncle Maks will wake up will come true.”
He heard the heartbreak in Mikhail’s voice. In the child’s. Small hands patted his cheek. Sweet lips kissed his forehead. Then the sound of rustling paper once more.
“How many more, Katya, before your wish comes true?”
“Nine hundred and ninety-nine.”
There it is. If you’re curious about the prompts (there were three) CLICK HERE. You can also read my original scene. FYI, I won this week’s contest. 🙂 If you have some fantastical words to share, please do.