Flash Fiction Month 2017, Day 30
“Great Lord Satan! Ruler of Hell! Chap with the really awesome horns and rockin’ goatee! Accept this virgin tribute as a token of our servitude.”
“Yeah,” said Cindi. “About that…”
“Look,” said Arch Anti-Bishop Dave, pulling down his hood. “If you’re going to play the ‘Actually, I’m not a virgin’ card, you can just stop right there. The first thing anyone does in this situation is claim not to be a virgin to avoid getting sacrificed, and I’m telling you now it’s not gonna work.”
“Oh, no, look. I’m not trying to avoid getting sacrificed. Why would I have responded to your Craigslist ad if I was? I’m just saying, you never specified that you needed a virgin, and I’m not sure that I am.”
“How can you not be sure if you’ve had sex?!?”
“Well,” Cindi shrugged, which was awkward on account of hanging upside-down from the ceiling over a portal to Hell. “What counts as sex?”
“You know…” Dave did that “finger going in and out of finger-and-thumb ring” gesture. “Sex.”
“Yeah, obviously, and I’ve never done that. But are there…other things? That would count in this situation?”
Dave narrowed his eyes. “Like what?” Continue reading
Flash Fiction Month 2017, Day 12
Once upon a time, there was a busy and prosperous town. Whitewall was its name, for every building from the mayor’s great house to the shepherds’ simple cottages was built of stone that shone white as snow in the sun. On one side of the town was a deep quarry, whence the stone was taken, and on the other a vast forest with an ancient pool. The town could not expand into the quarry, which was a solid barrier, and would not expand into the forest, which was held sacred, and so as it grew the buildings formed a line against the trees. In this way too, seen from afar, the place resembled a wall all of white.
But though so constrained, the town grew great, and the quarry still greater, and in time the sound of steel against stone grew loud enough to reach the forest’s pool. In this pool there lived a great worm that had slumbered too long for any to recall that it existed. In days of old, the heathen peoples of that place had revered it as a god, but it grew tired and they forgetful, so that only that vague memory of the pool as holy place remained. But the workmen woke the worm, and the worm remembered.
“Who has woken me from my slumber?” the worm demanded. “Who will serve me in these strange new days?” Continue reading