Tags
fear, fiction, flash fiction, perspective, scenes, short stories, writing
The night was cold and dark (similar to nights in cold climates or in stories like this one). But this is not a story. It’s just a scene. A bit obtuse. An obscene. Have you pictured the darkness? You’re on a street in this obscene cold darkness. Many parts of the street are crumbling. The crevices create what look like deep pools of black water much farther down the road. Just past the lone street light. Does this street have curbs? Hmm. Why do you ask? Yes, it does, but they are the rounded kind. Slight and undamaging if rolled over. What do you see past these curbs? Concrete sidewalk. Grass. We have not made it that far. Your vision stops at the curb. There is curb and then darkness like a black curtain hangs from the sky straight down to the curb. In both directions: a straight road in poor condition. Gentle curbs on either side. One flickering street light. Oh, you think the light was constant when you looked at it earlier? Don’t trust your perceptions. You hear footsteps. Slow. Rhythmic. It sounds like they are coming from a relative distance definitely down the stretch of road with no light. You start backing up towards the light. Is this making you safe, or simply making you a target? Easily seen. The footsteps quicken. Someone is running towards you. You’ve curled your fingers into fists. Your nails are digging uncomfortably into your palms. At any minute this running menace will emerge from the darkness. But no. I told you distrust your perceptions. Reading has put you in this scene. Obscene. You can unclench your fists. It’s okay. You inhale deeply. Just a scene. Take my advice, though. Don’t come back here again.
textualmadness 