Monday, December 13, 2010

Flash Fiction - Frost Bites

Good day,

 Here's a shorter one.


            I have been running for hours. Amid the darkness and the chill of the mountain winds, I seek sanctuary in this godless place. The blizzard intensifies. The outlines of the horizon surround me, but obscured by heavy shadow and gusts of white. One wrong step and I could plunge to my death; but I am already dead.
            Blood stains the snow behind me, forming a trail back to where the camp once was. I look down to see the massive bite-mark on my bicep. The wound hurts; pain pulses through me. I press the ruins of my glove against the scar to keep it clean.
            A low howl shakes the air. It is the same noise that we heard when the sun had set, the same howl that reverberated across the mountains as the thing tore through our camp. I remember the way it swung at our tents and bellowed at the dogs, sending one flying away. I also remember being the fool who attacked it so the others could flee. Do I regret it? Sacrificing myself so the others could live? I do not know.
Sergei, Vlad, Sylvia, Gregor, Tatiana – dear, dear Tatiana – are you safe? Have you reached the path and made for town, or are you as lost as I? Have more of this monster’s brethren made short work of you? Will the winds carry your remains away, or will you survive?
            I turn around to see its shape over the hills; it is following me.
            I run faster. This thing will not catch me. Impossible as it seems, I have decided. I will live, and this beast will soon tire of the hunt. Then, I can return to see my friends again.
            Pain hits me. It is a new kind of pain that knocks me off balance. Something in my being stirs and rebels against the rest of my body. I stumble and fall to my knees. My arms keep me propped up as I heave bile onto the snow.
            Somehow, my hands seem larger than before.
            Heavy breathing sounds above my head; it is here.
            I look up, defiantly. Dark eyes stare into mine. The thing stands over me. I get up to confront it, my bones bending and breaking into something new beneath my skin.
            The thing continues its low howl, reaching towards me with impossible arms. I let those I pray are its hands touch my cheeks.
            But it is not growling at me.
            She is singing.
            And I am not afraid.
            I am in love.


Puttin' the Love back into Lovecraft.

See you next time,


EDIT: May 17, 2012. Fixed up some more to make it a little extra claustrophobic.

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