Flash Fiction – Page 43 – Mist Glen Moon

Trouble

I watched Inspector Wittkower ignore the throng, offkey sirens, and acrid stench of a train burning. No. Fairness demanded noting a train wasn’t burning. A lone engine belched smoke not steam. A small one. Hardly worth fussing.

Still Wittkower ignored all and the responders parted about him and the lady he spoke with. Her genteel clothes didn’t belong here. Jacket, bustle, skirts. All screamed breeding. This was a place of poverty.

Dweranad

Rain pelted my face as I examined the clouds. “The sun’s up there somewhere,” Criawan said hiding under her own cloaks hood. I grunted my response.

I hated sullen days, and this trip had seen its share, but we were winding our way down the switchbacks to Dweranad.

He could hear everything, but dare not open his eyes

Noise

Bolts striking, metal and crete cracking, voices screaming to each other. Jannes could hear it all. The different scents of flame melded into a cacophony of odors. His shoulders tensed with the desire to look, to search for danger, to protect himself.

Don’t Go

“Why must you press me?” Ashelia said shrugging out of her grip and stepping away.

The woman just grinned at her, head tilted and eyes wide. Almost as disquieting as the glitters drifting lazily around her. “Because it’s a ball, my dear!” Her voice broke with enthusiasm.

To Play

“Ela?” The voice broke, raising an octave. He was close enough she could’ve touched him. Instead she watched his youthful stance still untainted by manhood. Spirit and fire. Play clashing against adulthood. She could lead him.

Dreaming

Terry blinked as the screen came back into focus, the clacking of keys rang around him, furious in pace as his lives depended on getting a few more words out. Which considering placement depended on the scores…He glanced at the timer jerking backward at the swiftly diminishing numbers.