she feigns a laugh before she cries a broken heart with no goodbyes pain and sorrow have burrowed in her lover's eyes, a face gone dim oh, cruel the time, tick-tock, the years deeply etched lines channel her tears an empty vessel, she sets course her sails billow as winds blow north upon life’s ocean, vast and deep fate beckons, no time to weep
I managed to snag an invitation to the old bones annual ritual. A black robe and mask awaited me in the foyer with a note.
‘Wear only the robe and mask. Ascend the staircase. The chamber doors await.’
The room was dark, save a candelabra in the far corner casting shadows on the walls. Several robed figures knelt before the High Priest. He raised his head. Our eyes met.
‘Present your offering.’
I pulled the garlic from my robe. A collective ‘gasp’ filled the room.
The High Priest swooped in and whispered, ‘nicely played’ as he gorged on my neck.
Another flash fiction story written for the Friday Fictioneers. A big shout out to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for hosting Friday Fictioneers. The weekly challenge is to write a story of no more than 100 words based on the photo prompt. This story is exactly 100 words!
winds of fire scourge the land smothering mountains choking valleys consuming all smoke billows captures the clouds a dark foreboding an orange sky a mere glimpse of a future foretold