Welcome To Danni’s Flash Fiction Blog
Flash fiction is an amazing way to study the craft of writing. Not only does it give me a quick creative break from working on my novel, but it allows me to explore different emotions, settings, and points of view. It only takes a moment to enjoy a quick tale of love, fear, loss, joy, regret, humor, or revenge.
Give me a moment and I’ll give you a story.
(stories are posted on the 2nd and 4th Friday of each month)
Nothing
The weight of the truth crushes the breath from my lungs. Its presence lingered in the back of my mind for so long becoming just another cobweb overlooked in the corner. The buzz of its existence nothing more than white noise, so easy to ignore, as I basked in the false sun of delusion and pride.
But now there is nothing.
The final tear pools with the others at my side. The final breath whispers away as the last beat echoes, then fades.
And still it pushes, grinding me until there is only dust, specks of nothing left to the whimsy of the breeze, scattered to the four corners where no one will remember what used to be, or what should have been.
There is nothing.
No expectations. No preconceptions. No predestination.
There is nothing left,
but possibilities.
The Murder
Image courtesy of Roka Walsh
Find her at Images by Roka, Facebook, and Etsy
A murder waits in the woods. Black eyes peer through the night as shadows wrestle in the leaves below. A scream cut off by the thump of a fist. The flash of a blade. An intake of breath.
Branches stretch bony fingers to stop the inevitable, but it’s too late. They’re on the ground now, her throat clutched in his hands. She claws and hits and fights.
Until she doesn’t.
The leaves are silent and still beneath her and the forest holds its breath waiting for the end. Glassy eyes stare at the bloated bellies of the crows. One lifts its head and caws, marking the time of death as a new soul alights, joining them on the outstretched branch.
The murder is complete.
This week I’m hosting my fellow Rebel, Steve McHugh. The flash below is a prequal to his debut, Crimes Against Magic, an urban fantasy novel about sorcerer, Nate Garret, set in modern day England with flashbacks to fifteenth century France.
Small Time Vengeance by Steve McHugh
Near Soissons, France 1414.
The only reason the man wasn’t dead was because he hadn’t taken part in the raid. He swung gently from the rope I’d wrapped around his chest and under his arms, before I’d hoisted him off the ground. After gaining the information I’d needed about his friends, a cloth gag ensured he would make no sound, and if he woke up and thought about making problems, the four corpses of his comrades, lying clearly visible below him, would prove I wasn’t someone he wanted pissed off.
The four had died while they slept, their throats cut without a sound by the light of their campfire. They’d deserved no less, but my anger would be saved for the man who truly deserved it, the chief of the bandits I’d decimated.
I sat on the thick branch of the old oak tree, high above the ground, watching the man swing slowly back and forth beneath me.
My patience was rewarded as the moon reached its fullest and the sound of laughter came through the forest. The newcomers called to their friends in the camp, their laughter dying when there was no reply. Weapons were drawn and their leader barked orders, as he realised that there would be no answer from his erstwhile followers.
I stepped off the branch and white glyphs erupted over the backs of my hands and up my arms, as my air magic slowed my descent. When I was just over head height with the bandits, I forced the magic down toward my feet, so that I smashed into the ground with a roar. Leaves and dirt were thrown into the air, causing enough confusion and panic that the two closest bandits died before the leaves had drifted back to the earth. A blade of white-hot fire cut through their throats as I moved past them, out of the clearing and into the darkness of the forest, where the blade vanished from my hand.
Four were left in the circle of their camp, their eyes flickering frantically at the merest hint of movement.
The chief grabbed the nearest minion and pushed him. “Get in their and find him,” he barked.
I used my fire magic to see in the dark, turning my vision into a mixture of reds and oranges without casting any visible light from me.
Two large men crept into the forest, their daggers drawn. I moved behind them and took the first one with a blade of air into the base of his skull, almost decapitating him. He fell forward, alerting his companion who turned toward the noise, only to have a gust of air lift him off his feet and crash him into a nearby tree. The angle of his neck suggested he wouldn’t get back up.
“What are you fucking idiots doing in there?” the chief shouted from the tree line, his voice full of barely concealed anxiety.
I charged out of the forest and caught him in the jaw with a blast of air that threw him onto the ground.
I sprinted to the final bandit and he swiped at me with his sword, but I dodged aside and broke his knee with a swift kick. He screamed in pain and fell back, but I caught him and snapped his neck before he hit the ground.
The chief had gotten back to his feet and drawn a dagger, waving it in my direction. A gust of hardened air removed the danger and a second shattered his arm. He howled in pain and I punched him in the stomach, doubling him up, and then pushed him onto the ground.
“Who are you?” The chief’s voice was raspy with pain.
The noise had woken the hanging man, and he watched wide-eyed as I picked up the dagger and crouched beside his boss.
“You terrorised that village. You went there time and time again to steal and have your fun. And when a boy of twelve stood up to you, you murdered him in front of his parents and maimed the man who tried to stop you.”
I smiled down at the chief as fear oozed out of him. “You did everything in your power to break them. But you know what? When I arrived there two days ago, the first thing they did was offer me hospitality.
“They warned me of you and your bandits. They made sure I was going the other way. They wanted to keep me safe from you. Even though you tortured those people, you couldn’t break them.”
“So?” he groaned as I placed the tip of the dagger against his stomach, drawing blood.
“So, clearly you’re very bad at your job. And someone that terrible needs to be shown how to do it properly. So allow me to educate you on the fine art of breaking someone.”
The chief’s screams and pleas lasted only a short time. I gained no enjoyment from what I did, but it needed doing.
The surviving bandit begged me to spare him as I cut him down and removed his gag.
I nodded. “But you’re going to do something for me in return for your life.”
“Anything,” he said immediately.
“You’re going to gather up every last coin and item of worth from your fellow bandits here, and you’re going to take it back to the village you stole it from. You will do this tonight. You will beg for forgiveness. And if you fail to do any of these things, I will find you.” I dragged him over to the body of his chief.
“And I will make what I did to him appear as a tap on the wrist, are we clear?”
The man nodded repeatedly.
“One more question,” I said. “Have you heard about Soissons?”
“You don’t want to go there. The French army murdered everyone. I’ve heard stories of monsters and demons roaming the city.”
“Monsters and demons?” I smiled. “Sounds like my kind of city.”
* * * * *
It’s been almost ten years since Nathan Garrett woke on a cold warehouse floor with nothing but a gun, a sword, and no idea of who he was or how he got there. His only clue … a piece of paper with his name on it. Since then, he’s discovered he’s a powerful sorcerer and has used his abilities to work as a thief for hire. But he’s never stopped hunting for his true identity, and those who erased his memory have never stopped hunting for him. When the barrier holding his past captive begins to crumble, Nathan swears to protect a young girl who is key to his enemy’s plans. But with his enemies closing in, and everyone he cares about becoming a target for their wrath, Nathan is forced to choose between the life he’s built for himself and the one buried deep inside him.
Touching Darkness
As part of The Writer’s Voice competition, posted below is the plot summary portion of my query letter for Touching Darkness, a YA Mystery, and the first 250 words of the manuscript.
Query:
Ally Rodriguez doesn’t daydream about prom, first kisses, or midnight strolls on the beach. When skin contact has the power to immerse you in visions that will eventually strip your sanity and leave you in a world where you can’t tell flashbacks from reality, you don’t dream of being touched at all.
But the burden of Ally’s clairvoyance is eclipsed when detectives make a frightening discovery, the body of a classmate dumped in the orange groves. With no suspects or leads, fear tingles like static in the air, setting students on edge. When Ally is jumped after school, fellow student, Eric Nichols, intervenes and catches a glimpse of one of her visions. Eric is determined to find the truth about what he saw, a mission that brings them closer than Ally imagined possible, and forces her to question everything she thought she knew about her ability, like how and why Eric can see the visions, and why they can sometimes touch without her seeing a vision at all. But when a video of Ally having a flashback lands on the cell phone of Eric’s dad, the lead detective in the murder case, he pieces together the truth and reveals a family secret in order to enlist her help in finding the killer. All she has to do is touch the body.
She risks the touch to save a life and sees the face of the killer. But without an identity, the detective is left with more questions than answers. When a second body is dumped and another girl goes missing, Ally is determined to use her skills to find the murderer, even if it brings her closer to the insanity that will one day steal her mind. The farther she reaches into the lives around her, the closer she gets to the truth, but when one slip brings her face-to-face with the killer, the next life she must save is her own.
First 250:
She was only seventeen. I stared at the empty seat two rows over trying to picture what she’d been wearing the last time I’d seen her. Mr. Stanley droned on about plant matter, but I doubted anyone was listening. In fact the class was unusually quiet, as though the weight of that empty chair pressed in on each of us, stopping our ears, sealing our lips, wrapping us in a cocoon of solidarity, if only for the next forty minutes.
The news had hit school just after second period. We’d spent half of third watching the local broadcast. The reporter’s voice played in a constant loop in my mind.
Early this morning, workers at Victoria Citrus discovered the body of a teenage girl who is believed to be Crystal Massey. The seventeen-year-old student from Mission High School was reported missing two weeks ago. Riverview Police are waiting on confirmation from the Coroner’s Office before they release any further details. For now, all we know is that a young girl’s life has come to a violent and tragic end.
Grief counselors were stationed in the gymnasium; any student who asked was given a pass to leave class and meet with them. Only a handful had gone from Mr. Stanley’s despite having shared a class with Crystal all year, and based on the ones who were missing it was probably more about ditching than grieving.
Finally
Photo by Owl Sisters Photography
Photo Editing by Misty Carey
She bounces on her heels, adrenaline thrumming through her veins. Her eyes jump from the clock to her watch in an endless volley, the time no longer registering in her mind. All she knows is the absence of him. Too many days in an empty house, too many nights in an empty bed, all come down to these final minutes, more unbearable than the months spent alone.
Gravel pops beneath tires; her heart leaps to her throat. She lunges for the door, steps onto the porch, and her breath fails her. Like a mirage he stands beside the car, grin spread across his face—too real to be a dream, but still too far away to touch.
She’s frozen as he climbs the steps without a word. His thumb traces the line of her cheek, and she melts into his arms. Her eyes slip shut as she soaks in the essence of him.
Finally, she is home.
* * *
This is the second story I’ve done for this amazing couple. You can read the first one here: Waiting
