An older, though loved, Flash Fiction piece.

I wrote this for a FF contest years back, and I plan on turning it into a book at some point. Victor is already a character that I used to use for RolePlaying purposes, but the girl was a new creation. My ‘Reader.’ I believe this one was a word prompt, and word being ‘thunder.’

Whispers of air brushed past her cheek, stirring strands of loose hair that fell from the cap she wore. She crouched behind the dumpster, watching, waiting. Around her the debris stirred, wrappers and discarded newspapers ruffling and fidgeting. One such paper began to drift by, a crossword puzzle visible through the grime and stains. She speared it with the tip of her dagger. The only word spelled out in the blocks was ‘Thunder’. Her lips curved in a small smile and she released the paper, watching as the light draft carried it further into the inky blackness of the alley.

Glancing up, she saw that the moon had moved a quarter of an inch since she’d arrived. She marked its current location in her mind, for it was the guiding hand of her internal clock, and to lose track of its progress would be to lose her only window home.

Footsteps echoed in the distance. She tensed, listening for the sign, the signal that fate had set in place to make her aware, certain. There it was, thunder in the distance. The sound of boots on pavement grew closer. She sank into a tighter crouch, knuckles white with the pressure she exuded on the hilt of her curved knife. Runes dug into the flesh of her palm, reassuring her of their presence.

The steps passed and she saw him. He was clad as expected, dark clothing, long duster swirling around his calves. Without a sound she sprang forward, soft leather boots failing to stir the trash at her feet. She took two steps and then launched herself into the air, legs tucked under her body. She crashed into his back. Cloth ripped as she struck, the knife burying itself into… Nothing.

There was only the jacket, no body. As she fell to the ground, sliding on her knees atop the duster, she felt the cold barrel of a gun on the back of her neck.

“Will they not give up?” Victor asked, his voice a whisper.

“Not until the God within you is released,” she said, listening for the thunder.

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2 responses to “An older, though loved, Flash Fiction piece.

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