Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: No Good Witch #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——-

Yinglan Z

——-

Belinda was a nasty middle-aged woman, but her behaviours were characteristic of someone older. 

She was mentally and physically sound; however, the pucker of her frown never left her face. Wrinkles indented themselves deeply into her forehead, around her eyes, and around her mouth; her skin was pasty white. 

She pretended to walk feebly; but when a neighbourhood child or dog was near her property she ran out screaming, wearing stodgy Victorian gowns, no skin showing but her face and hands. Her hair was always severely pulled back in a tight bun. 

Besides a cat or four, she disliked everyone. She made known she had cut her family out of her will. All her money would go to a stern Catholic congeragation she had terrorized since she was four. 

 An old trailer and burned-out truck from a cousin who had lived with her, remained on her lawn, even after the cousin disappeared. No one who entered Belinda’s house came back out, only her cats. 

 The neighbours thought this had been occurring for some three-hundred years, having heard the same stories from their great-grandparents and before. 

Was Belinda a ghost? A banchee? A witch? No one knew. But every now and then someone disappeared inside her doorway and everyone knew that person wouldn’t be returning. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Advertisements

Poem: Free Verse – “Self-Healing and Caustic” #amwriting #poetry 


http://www.123hdwallpapers.com

——–

The darkness conceals, filthy misdeeds. 
Hidden weapons, malovelence.

Daggers hidden in tips of boots,

Removed from suit coats, in suit linings revealed, 

To silence my heart, and I think it’s the end.

But my heart keeps beating, a hard steady beat;

I hear it alone, only in my ears because everywhere else —

There’s dead silence; but in the silence, 

My heart is a drum, banging out the beats of life and renewal, 

The thump thump, the tempo which will not end.

You’re too generous to stab me in the back,

So it must be in my chest, through the organ which loved you. 

Now my blood spills, but my heart keeps up a ‘Lub-dub,’ 

Waiting for a death which never arrives. 

There is only the sound of my blood pooling in silence.

Yet, I’m only pained by the horrific sound of nothing, 

My heart is strong and I struggle through,

Only to find I have not what most call life’s blood. 

My veins weep venom, for I run on poison — not blood.

And the vitral having leaked into ventricles, 

Pumps throughout my body, 

My own sickly blood healing me and —

Killing my lost love, a murder; 

All those exposed, the blood is poison for.

I’m overcome by sadness as I’m lying here, 

Heart beating, but I should be dead? 

But I’m still going strong with my blood self -healing.

A poisonous farewell I give to everyone I lose.

 I’m unaffected by a dagger aimed, 

Didn’t conceive of my body regenerating.

And my blood in the open — it ends lives.

I rise and into the night fade, as if I never was.

Tears leaking down my face, caustic themselves. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Flash Fiction: Shadowless


Peter Pan taught me that it is vital to keep your shadow close; it can be an easy enough part of yourself to lose. Sometimes, I think I would rather not have a shadow but then I consider, that would be like a vampire looking into a mirror and not having a reflection because they’re a vampire. Without a shadow or a reflection, you would be something inhuman.

That’s why I’ve never understood how I remain human but my shadow went missing one night. People don’t notice, but I do. It doesn’t matter the source of light, rays of the sun or a glow from the light bulb, but I have no shadow;  it left me in my sleep.

I had this nightmare I don’t remember. I was sweating and I woke up screaming and I’ve never done that before. I’m sure it was the Sandman, or maybe the song,”Enter Sandman” by Metallica had me uptight.

But in the night, ” [I] sleep with one eye open, holding [my] pillow tight,” so when the Sandman comes in my dreams, I can steal back my shadow and sew it to my body as Peter Pan did.

I’m not sure how that will work yet, but I’m tired of being a freak without a shadow. You think I would have superpowers at least, but losing your shadow doesn’t work that way. Dogs don’t like you anymore, cats hiss, animals at the zoo all go wild when you pass by.

It appears I’m some unholy being, and I don’t even know what I am.

——

Shadow
Alistair Forbes
—–

Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF each Sunday.

—–

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.