The fates decided to mechanize after Atropos, a little overwhelmed with the increasing demands of the job, had her “spree”.
“Well, there were too many of them anyway.” She dismissed the fragmented lives with a sweep of her hand.
Clotho agreed, “I don’t think I’ve had a break in a few thousand years. They reproduce like rabbits.”
“I’ve heard talk that machines can replace gods.” Lachesis reminded her sisters.
“I’d cut their strings too if I could.”
Clotho shushed the old women, “This is insanity. If Zeus can use Tinder we can have a machine to spin thread.”
Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers – I made it on Friday! Click the link to read the rules and more flash fiction.
“Do you think they’ll let us go around again? Just look at the view!” Tom moved from side to side taking in the sparkling city lights.
Jane’s nails dug into the seat. She clamped her knees together, maybe that would keep her legs from shaking off.
“Tom, please just sit still. You’re making the car swing.”
His date was stiff as a board. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“God, I wonder if this car can shake as much as you are?” He laughed when she shrieked. “I’m just kidding. Hey, maybe we can do this again on the second date.”
Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers (I’m late, I’m late!). Click on the InLinkz below to read more.
The plan was fool proof.
I picked up the dress – white lace and satin – and called the priest, well, six. That’s how many it took before I found a priest rogue enough to perform a Catholic ceremony in the dead of night.
All the man had to do was show up.
His bike leaned politely against the building as always. My knock echoed loudly only angering me more.
“Can I help you?” I stared at the woman peeking over his shoulder. “My wife and I were just leaving.” Rage burned through me.
That’s the last thing I remember.
Word Count: 98
Friday Fictioneers, many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click the link to read more.
Sia tapped an unsuspecting puddle with her toe. Startled it rippled away, gently distorting the realities reflected on its surface.
The ripples transformed her brother, straining to peer into the dark general store, to a boy scavenging after Christmas. Barren trees became crumbling sticks, not even good for fire.
The sky was falling.
Marta’s back spasmed and her lungs burned as she coughed. Thin strings of blood stretched from her lips to the palm of her hand.
Only her son caught sight of the panic in Marta’s eyes.
“Nothing’s wrong Sia. Stop daydreaming and come on.”
Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff Fields. Thank you as always.
One hundred and fifty.
That’s how many times I heard people utter it in the days following Jace Daniels murder.
“Nothing ever happens here.”
Mrs. Daniels let it escape between her fingers while she sobbed. News cameras panned the puffy eyes surrounding her but they gave nothing away.
My father slammed his fist on the table while yelling it to the wind. This new threat in his sleepy town sent his blood pressure soaring.
“God damn it! Nothing ever happens here!”
The fibers stitching our small high school together, always loose and frayed, seemed to become a quilted masterpiece overnight.
“We can’t let this divide us!” The principal clutched the microphone, prepared to impassion.
Candle light vigils. Twenty-four hour news cycles.
Everyone seemed to forget that town was made to swallow souls.
On day three I received my college acceptance letter.
Quietly, I stuffed my bloodied clothes in the fire pit.
Word Count: 150
For this weeks What Pegman Saw. The location is Radium Springs, GA