Misty Morning - A Short Story

A flash fiction. I wrote and revised this as part of Folded Word 24/7, in which participants wrote a piece a day for the month of August.

Enjoy!

Misty Morning

She climbed the tower as she did every morning. Today was different though. Usually the whole town was visible and she started her days by surveying it, and dreaming of what she would one day do. Now she couldn’t. Everything was hidden behind a shroud of mist. What little she could see was blurred and grey, and all the sounds were muffled. She felt like the only person left on earth. It left her feeling powerful and sad simultaneously as she climbed down. She could not do what she intended.

She went into the world as normal. Participated in the usual doing of job, paying of bills, answering of questions or whatever passed for dialogue. Pretended to be normal, as she did every day. She concealed the rage within her core, as before.

The mist did not burn off as the day progressed. The light remained the same shade of grey, only the movement of the clock indicated that time was passing at all. As evening arrived she climbed the tower once more and surveyed the valley. It was still hidden. Cloaked in mist.

They’re safe, she thought as she took the rifle apart again. They’re safe for at least one more day. If I can’t see them, I can’t shoot.

Darkness fell, and the mist remained.

Micro fiction - Almost

63 word story. Written as part of the 24/7 Folded Word thingy I participated in.

Almost

The place he died was a dirty, rotten, hovel. He took this as a personal affront. That the final smell he would ever experience in his existence would be that rancid odour. The last texture he would touch, the mouldy floor his face was pressed against. It made him so angry, it almost gave him the energy and coordination needed to escape. Almost.

Hope - A Short Story/ Flash Fiction

Here's another of the pieces I worked on for Folded Word's 24/7. A 250 word story, called "Hope".

Hope.

I was a idealist at first. I joined the police force to catch criminals. To make the world a safer place. To give people hope that they would not be raped or robbed or killed as they walked down the street some day.

I was naive. When I think of myself back then, I think of Pandora and her box. She too was naive. She opened that box and allowed all the evil in the world to escape. Hope was the only good thing to emerge.

For all that she assisted the escape of everything evil, at least Pandora did give hope a chance as well. I cannot even make that claim any longer. Tonight I must tell a parent that her child is dead. For months we have searched for the girl and her abductor. All that mother has had to cling to, was hope.

Tonight I shall take that away. As I anticipate the woman’s reaction, I feel more like the evil Pandora let out, than the girl herself, or a bringer of hope.

I try to think like a criminal in order to catch them, but all too often, like today, I fail. That failure ensures the death of innocents. It takes away any hope their loved ones have of seeing them again. And yet if I were to succeed in thinking like them – embracing evil in order to save a life – would I be the one for whom all hope would be lost?