Flash Fiction
“Close Your Eyes”
© 2017 Rebecca R. Pierce
picture courtesy of Pixabay
“Mama?” She rubbed her eyes as I woke her.
“Shhh, Alcestis.” I put a finger to her lips as I hoisted her to my left hip.
I did not trust her steps. She was bound to wake the snoring monster, still lying in a pool of his own urine. A pity he did not choke on his own vomit, but turned his head at the last minute. He still held the broken bottle of wine to him. My face throbbed harder at the memory. I resisted the urge to pick up one of the shards and slit his throat on the way out. He may pursue if left alive but the soldiers most certainly would if they found him murdered. My lips curled back in a snarl.
Alcestis’ fingers toyed with my hair, a reminder of what I had to live for. I would not waste spit on him and ruin our chance of escape. I waited until he snored loudest before we walked outside into the morning light.
“Where are we going, Mama? The market is that way.” She pointed.
I kissed her cheek. “We’re going to a better place, Alcestis.”
In the light, she frowned as she looked at my face. How purple and swollen it must have been! She touched her fingertips to it before she nodded and smiled, as if to agree she thought it was best.
“Look, Mama, a cloud!” She pointed again. “It’s a really big one!”
“That is wonderful, yes.” I said but I was distracted by how strange it was that there were so many people here in the streets. It made walking so difficult. There were so many men. I cringed at the sight of them, ducking my head low that they would not recognize me and see the beating I had taken. They would think I deserved it and drag me home for more.
But the gods were merciful. They were not looking at me but at the sky, at the cloud. I stole a glance. The earth rumbled. More of the cloud streamed forth. Several people fell to their knees and prayed to their god. Others cried that all the gods were dead--the world was ending.
No. No, this cannot be. I refuse to let it be. I did not suffer in silence for it all to come to this. I did not wait for this moment for it all to end here. All of my plans, my hopes and dreams--! I cared not for myself but for the sake of my daughter, I had to get out of Pompeii.
Clutching her to me tightly, I ran.
The mountain roared like a thousand lions at once. Out of its mouth, liquid fire ran like rivers down its jagged peak. The cloud rained stones and ash.
We ran, a single wave of people heaving over others, pushing and shoving. Despite their efforts, I knew it was all too late. I cursed the gods. Could it not have waited until the morrow? Why today of all days?
With tears in my eyes, I ducked behind a pillar, preferring not to risk my daughter being knocked out of my hands and trampled to death. Alcestis was a good girl. She had tears in her eyes but she said nothing. We looked at each other quietly while listening to the sound of other people’s screams.
I threw my arms around her, never wanting to let go.
“Where are we going, Mama?” There was so much fear in her tiny voice.
“A better place, Alcestis,” I promised, swallowing hard. “Close your eyes.”
The heat rushed towards us.
I clenched tighter. If I could shield her with my body and spare her, let it be so. If I could keep her from seeing what was to come, let it be so. I wrapped myself around her, almost like a womb, where all children belong.
The fire was almost upon us. It was almost over. Almost. In a way, I still kept my promise. A better place...
“Close your eyes.”
picture courtesy of Pixabay
“Godmother”© 2017 Rebecca R. Pierce
Everyone waited for the old woman to die. “Aunt Gertrude” sat in the corner, dressed like a widow to her own funeral, seemingly oblivious to all that grovelling. They smiled, as if all she needed was a little encouragement. They knelt at her feet, sucking up, so she’d leave them a fortune in her will–it was nauseating. I averted my gaze.
“Trudy, come say hello to your Godmother,” my dad called out.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, I walked over. She always seemed particularly fond of us girls and me, especially. I hoped for once she wouldn’t touch my hair or stroke my cheek while telling me how pretty I was. It creeped us all out, like we were being caressed by a spider.
​
“Give your aunt a kiss.” My dad yanked me down to my knees.
​
I almost fell but she steadied me. Her delicate, twig-like fingers were surprisingly strong. She smelled like a long-dead tarantula. I made a face and tried to jerk away but she pulled me close, studying me.
​
Behind her widow’s veil, her pupils dilated, swallowing the rest of her eyes. Her lashes extended, looking like cockroach legs, wiggling and kicking in place. My scream was paralyzed in my throat. A chill dropped down my spine like cold venom invading blood. Her fingers tapped on my arm, drawing my attention to the little spiky black hairs that prickled in and out of my skin.
​
“Oh, always my favorite–the fairest of them all!” she hissed.
​
My vision blurred as charcoal-colored smoke billowed out of her as delicate as a web. It dove over and into me. The room spun, I felt hot and dizzy. A kiss brushed my cheek.
Sitting in her chair, in her corner, looking at the world through her widow’s veil, I stared–at my own face–smiling back at me. My hands flew to touch my own but I gawked at the sight of my hands, mottled with age, gnarled and twisted with arthritis. Looking down I saw the dress I wore was my godmother’s.
​
She nodded at my dad. “You will be well-compensated.”
​
“Do you prefer to be called Gertrude now?” he inquired.
​
“Trudy,” my namesake replied. “It’s best to keep up with the times.”
​
I gasped, unable to breathe. My hand clutched at my chest because my heart stopped beating. Everyone smiled at me in encouragement.
​
It was the moment they’d all been waiting for.
“It Always Came Back”
© 2017 Rebecca R. Pierce
It didn’t matter how many times I killed that cat, it always came back. The first time was an accident. I hit it with my car. While my wife bawled in hysterics, I did something useful, like hose off the tires, bag up the cat’s body and dumped it in the trash. Even if I didn’t kill it with my car, the knotted off plastic bag would’ve done the trick.
​
Or so I thought.
​
It came back, stinking of trash, meowing at me in accusation. Though half its face had peeled off in a red, slimy mess, it tried to wipe its bloody head against my legs. I kicked it before running back inside the house.
​
But it wouldn’t leave me alone. Day and night, this black cat pestered me, trying to remind me of what I’d done, trying to make me feel bad about it.
​
So I poisoned it.
​
I mixed up some tuna with antifreeze, watched that ghoul-cat slurp the whole thing down while I cooed my apologies, telling it the fish was a peace offering. It went cold and stiff. I knew dead when I saw it. Smiling, I bagged it up a second time.
​
Still, it came back, meowing at me, nuzzling, smearing its blood all over me, marking me. I’ve smashed its head in with a shovel, shot it with a gun, dismembered it, set it on fire--all in vain. I couldn’t kill the damn thing, but every time I tried, it looked uglier and uglier.
​
One morning, I woke up and I wasn’t in my own bed. I was stretched out on a metal bed frame in what appeared to be an abandoned cathedral. Sunlight streamed in through the broken stained glass windows. There wasn’t a door that I could see. I banged on the walls and yelled for help. Seemed like I was sealed in and there was nobody there. I ran to the window, hoping I could just climb down. It was a long drop from where I stood. The wind blew me back in if I leaned over too far.
​
That black cat appeared in the window. I knew he was somehow responsible.
In time, my hunger grew and there was nothing to eat here. And I couldn’t get out. Ripping apart the metal springs, my hands were made bloody and slippery but I managed to snag that cat and choke him on that wire. Ripping him apart was easy. He tasted as disgusting as he looked.
​
I wasted away and lost track of time. This became my life. Had it been months or years since I hit that cat with my car? I didn’t know. I cut and ate myself just for something different to do. I tasted no better than the cat. Lightheaded, I saw just how much blood there was on the cathedral floor.
I heard a meow.
​
No matter how many times I killed that cat, it always came back.
