Category Archives: #fridayflash


I’m no fan of French music, but Mistral Gagnant by Renaud always made me so sad…which inspired me for this flash fiction. Enjoy, peeps ♥

Sitting with you on that bench reminds me of a better time, how your little hand used to feel in mine, and your laugh sounded like the sea, peaks and rolls. But then the sky fell down on our heads, on your childish hopes, and everything changed. Even you did, you grew up and I grew old, after we lost everything and everyone.

“I won’t do it,” you say, looking straight ahead just like your mother did before an argument. Before they took her away from us, leaving a kid and her old man, barely able to sustain us both.

“You have to.” I want to scream and shout, but end up breathing out in a whisper. “You have to prove you can, or they’ll end you.” After six years of hell, hiding and scrapping life off dark corners, I thought you’d knew what to do, what would happen if you didn’t.

Dawn stretches before us, hungry birds over head at war, picking at the fresh corpses. Soon, they’ll fly down at me; not fast enough, the bullet will go through my head.

“It’s time, darling.” I stare at your eyes, sad and angry and hungry. “Then you run until you can’t no more.” Something I can’t do anymore, something I used to be best at. But then one of their weapons bit my leg and ate my flesh. It smells, it creeps up, it kills me little by little – like leaving you behind. Or are you leaving me? I can never be sure.

“But we’re the good guys, Dad…” Don’t you dare, not after all this time. Please clear your throat, please wipe your nose and stand proud – I choose when I leave, and I say it’s now. “Why do I have to…”

“Kill me, so they won’t follow.” I’ve told you so many times, weren’t you listening? What can’t you understand? “Kill me, so you will be free.” And live, a vow I can’t keep, anymore. “Do it.”

You raise the gun to my head, place it between my eyes, and cry. But don’t, think of no one depending on you, how your old bastard of a father promised you a good life but gave you trouble, in the end. The end, of a worthless existence: the end of yours, with mine.

I close my eyes, seeing the wind through your hair, the sun blinking your tears of laughter. I hear it, your voice whispering my name, your cold fingers holding tight to my hand, and the promise that soon, we will be together again.

Body for Body

Well. It took me 8 months to finish the dystopianly dark I WAS HERE trilogy – do NOT judge, things got in the way, like they tend to do when you least expect them to. So here’s the third and final installment, after Bullet for Bullet and Blood for Blood. Enjoy, Friday flashers 😉

Body for Body

Water dripped on metal, rusting the air. Before my eyes, steel twisted intricate patterns to form my cage. Four walls, a hole in the ground. The old warehouse housing men, killers and fathers, and me.

The night started with drunken victory chants from the Amazons on their way back from another attack. The rhythmic rhymes could be heard for miles, with the thick fog hanging low and the imminent splashes of rain overhead. They didn’t care – they’d won, always did.

“Soldier or breeder?” I asked no one in particular, scared of who they brought back. I wondered if it’d be a girl, rebelling against their ways like me, choosing this instead of killing or reproducing. “Soldier or breeder?” I asked again, wanting to know if I’d make a friend or foe.

The man in the next storage unit spat on the ground, mumbling, “Shouldn’t have kept you alive for nothing.” He’s right.

“Survivors, warriors, it’s the same to us,” said the woman in charge of everything. She spoke to a stranger, like she had to me on my first night with the Amazons. “Which path will you take, is what we need to know.”

I thought of Roman, Henryk, the other men – all this time I believed them rapists, but the girls I traveled with had planned their pregnancies from the beginning.

“Here’s our group of male breeders, but we always need more. More women to fight, more men to fuck.” Her voice rang high as she threw me a smile, knocking on my cage door for hello. It rattled, like my bones.

“No more war, no more blood. Enough,” I said.

“Body for body, each life they took we give back.” Automatic, the response she gave to every question about her method. “And we will win the war, with love and compassion, trust and freedom. We’ll change the world, you’ll see.”

The girl next to her had to decide between a crumbling building where the pregnant women waited to deliver in peace and the warehouse where soldiers in training guarded the prisoners they kept.

“I want to fight, I want to make them pay.” The girl chose her fate.

Nothing like mine, where they threw me in a cage, to control me, to make me change my mind, to make me come to them. Once again, they won.

I woke up from tension sifting the air out of the basement. The wave of it woke me up before dawn, when stars diluted the sky. Rushed voices, cracks of rocks under thick soles, then a light sparkled in the dark. The smell of burning leaves mixed with rusty metal.

“Let me out,” I begged. “Set me free,” I cried. I drank my tears, salt better than the sandpaper coating my mouth. “Don’t forget me.” But the Amazons already had, weeks ago, when I said ‘no.’

A ball of fire exploded at the back of the storage units and spread its wings with red and orange flames. Smoke thickened and scratched at my eyes, the welcoming draft bringing danger closer to me. Men screamed in pain as they cooked alive, rattling their cages as they tried to escape the inevitable fire.

I waited for the chaos to pass, crawled in a hole in the dirt. Warmth boiled my back, the walls of my cage fell and protected the little that was left of me. Then, nothing but silence.

My memories of tripping over fried bodies littering the floor were more vivid than anything else. Gunshots and smoke surrounded each step between the dilapidated buildings; screams and shouts of vengeance echoed on the walls around me. But I ran, away from them.

Through the rain, under the sun, splashing through the creek and dusting the road. A quiet place to end my days, to stop my heart from beating. Because to live meant to kill, to take life away; whether by gun or giving life. Not me, never. Like an animal, I’ll die alone.

Blood for Blood

Sequel to my #Fridayflash Bullet for Bullet – enjoy ♥

Blood for Blood

The rain grayed the sky and blackened our footsteps. Around us buildings crumbled and bones burned, and life buzzed, hiding in dark corners. For days, the thump of my soles hit the asphalt at the same beat as the others. Becoming one, as if I belonged.

“Healthy girls have no choice.” He’d been right – how do you say no to a gun? “We’re letting you live, should be thankful,” Romain said, the leader of this tribe of kidnappers and their victims. The plume of his breath died in the wind, along with my resolve to rebel and run away. Nowhere to go but Hell.

After the war, the explosions and the terror, after losing everything and everyone, where was my will to fight? At the sight of the men’s guns, the smoking snouts left me cold; at the sound of their gunshots and screams of victory, I lost all hope. I’m with the bad ones, I am one of them.

The other women watched my every move, their gazes printing cold marks on my neck and face. Motherly Josie, sexy Carmen, childish Kay, and me, beauty queen turned tomboy. I should have carved a scar on my cheek and plucked out my lashes.

“After tonight, we’ll be at sea,” Josie whispered. They never talked to me: the new girl they’d betray the second they got the chance. No alliance, no safety net, Tim once said. “And then who knows what they’ll do with us.”

“We’re good for two things.” Carmen frowned as I slowed down by her side. “Screw and cook. There’s nothing left to put in the pot, they’re getting restless. Watch them beg once we turn the guns on them.” There was a plan, but I wasn’t part of it.

Romain stopped the pack from crossing the destroyed boulevard, looming skyscrapers reflecting clouds and smoke. The men waited as their leader faced us, eyes seeking mine before finding Carmen’s. Shadows moved behind the building’s glass – people, lots of them, watching us.

“What is it, Carmensita?” His French accent changed the S into Z. “What is that buzzing I hear?” I jumped at the clank of his gun and moved away, my back stopped by the corpse roped to the sleigh. I gagged at the smell, at what was about to happen. Would my body be tied next to the dead man’s?

Carmen straightened up, hand on her hip, defiant. “You heard me, you barbaric piece of shit.”

Romain smiled at the challenge. “We played by your rules, didn’t we?” The other men circled the women, me included. “Should be happy, your meeting point and one more soldier.” They were talking about me. I’m the soldier, but for which army?

“Blood for blood, you’re worth what you spilled.” Faster than I expected, the women drew weapons and Carmen shot Romain. “That’s for my kid. And that,” bang, another man fell, “is for my mother, too old to come with us.” Revenge, the women wanted revenge.

“Stop, don’t!” cried Henryk, the second in command. Hands in the air, his head shook and his voice trembled. “I’ve always been nice to you, Carm…” bang, he died from Kay’s bullet to the head. I looked away from the brains coming out of the shredded hole.

“For Martha, for my sister.” Bang, bang, Josie killed two others.

“And this one is for me, for her, and for every woman we knew.” Carmen shot with perfect aim and a cold gaze, never leaving the weapon’s sight. Not even when she aimed it at me. “And you, should we keep you around?”

For my bravery, I wouldn’t fall from pain or break to pieces after a loss. I didn’t after my makeshift family stared at me from the window as an explosion rocked the ground and killed them all. For my cowardice, I never tried to plan against the men, like Carmen and the others had.

“I have nothing left to lose.” No truer words ever escaped my lips. No heart, no soul, no home, no love.  I have nothing to lose because I’ve become nothing.

Bullet for Bullet

I had a dream and transcribed it as a #Fridayflash. Enjoy:)

Bullet for Bullet

We should have been more careful, hid better. We thought that in the rows of deserted homes and abandoned streets, no one would see us, sense us. How wrong we were.

Tim was drying the dishes I passed to him, Maria kept her legs up after having cooked all afternoon, and the kids played with the dog and the cockatoo. A perfect family picture, except that two weeks ago, we hadn’t known each other. Two weeks ago plus one day, my real family died before my eyes.

“What’s that sound?” Tim stopped me from running water over the soapy plates and we both leaned in toward the open window. “Is that a wheel creaking?” he asked me, as if I knew.

The kids stopped playing, everyone stared at each other. We’ve been found.

“Should we run?” Maria’s voice, barely audible over the racket coming from outside, came too late, like her plan. “Can you see them?”

From our third story apartment, we watched a small group of survivors passing down the small alley, doing like us and hiding from the roads. Through the dead tree branches and the ashen grounds, a man looked straight at us. Without a word, he pointed then invited me with his index finger.

“Can you manage by yourself?” asked Tim, but we all thought the same: doesn’t matter, they’ll want to meet us all anyway. “Too late to hide the food, but Sam and Miko can be quieted down.” The dog and the bird, a feast for hungry men, but dear companions to us. Luxury, keeping pets.

“Yeah, maybe in the back shed?” My voice sounded strange, higher than usual. I glanced at the kids hiding in Maria’s arms, then tried to lie the best I could. “They’re like us, don’t be afraid.” I stepped out, not finding the strength to smile or breathe.

The stairwell had been left as found, and every time we passed through, it tinted our clothes with black dust. Soles cracked the debris on each step, warning us if someone ever approached, although no one had. Until now.

Outside, the stink of gunpowder and burnt wood greeted me with its clouds overhead and smog lying close to the asphalt. Not thick enough to conceal any of us, or any of them.

They stood by the fence; their makeshift sleigh with water barrels and crates of food guarded by two thugs. They checked me out, wolf-whistled, but all I saw were guns.

“Hey there.” He spoke with a French accent, and the creases on his face showed he was mid-forties under the black gunk. “Would you care to show us your home? Just to make sure you’re abiding to the code, you know.”

I signed for him to follow me, and when two others moved in our direction, I said, loud enough, “Bullet for bullet. One of yours’ shoot, we do the same.” I lifted my chin toward Tim, aiming our sole weapon at them from up there. Five shells left, one for each of us if anything bad happened.

“Of course, we know how to play.” The man walked behind me, and although I heard only his footsteps, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder. Three women, eight men and a corpse hanging at the back of the sleigh. A warning or a loved one? “How long you’ve lived here?”

“Two weeks.” The initial contact, I wanted to remain silent. Tim was the diplomatic one, the one people believed. When the silence became unbearable – around the second floor – I asked, “How long you’ve been running?” They were nomads, gypsies, pirates. The worst kind of humans.

“Much like you, about fourteen days.” His accent clashed against the empty rooms and echoed back to me.

“Go in,” I said with a quick shake of the head. When he opened the door, Maria and the kids stood up with fear in their eyes, I had to turn away. I jumped at the thud of thick wood closing behind me and knew with certainty: I’ll never see these people again.

2012 Resolutions

New year’s melancholy. What I used to be, who I wanted to become. Have I changed? Probably. But one thing remains: to aspire to something different.

Write More * Write Better * Write for me

In the spirit of this list of wishes, here’s a flash inspired by this dream I’ve had just before waking up. You know the kind – one that stays with you all day, that you can’t push out of your mind. And days later, you just have to bleed it on the page.

On the Rocks

Clever, they pretended to be something else. A meteorite shower all over our planet, but nothing to worry about. Brown shapeless space stones weren’t a concern to us, until they landed.

Inside, millions waiting to take our place, to send us away. Ships lined up, futile fighting ended in death; my father, the neighbor, our president. The only hand left to hold was my mother’s.

Through the shredding of our lives, she smiled at me. I asked her: In the wide map of black above, will we lose ourselves? She said: Between the stars and the moon, nothing will catch us if we fall.


For all of you who are still missing out, City of Hell is on the loose, catch it if you can while one of the wonderful stories is FREE

The Birdman

A friend’s new avatar picture + Ghost Hunters gang visiting an abandoned prison where a man was said to tame crows = new #FridayFlash for you to enjoy, good people.

The Birdman

So carefully he let go of the last crow, its wings flapping in a fury of feathers until it reached the October sky. So high the bars at the window he’d never reach, the rain and snow and hail always finding ways to remind him you need wind to fly.

Every limb disjointed and broken, the guards bruised and wounded him with their fists until he fell apart. His soul, the birds beaked and scratched into a secret escape.

Each carrying a part of the man, free at last.

With the morning came promises of torture, but the guards found an echo of emptiness, no crooked bars at the window, no tricks pulled at the lock. In the fog around the prison, birds flew high and above, each carrying a part of the man, free at last.

I Follow Rivers

The *tiniest* of #Fridayflash…

La Rivière Ste-Anne à Beaupré, Yvette Boulanger, 2011

When the breeze warmed up spring, my toes wiggled in the river.

Came the stuffy days of summer, its waters cooled me.

Fall rains pummeled on my head until I drowned, staring at the sky.

As the first frost of winter traps my soul, nobody will ever find my body.

View from a Hill

My #Fridayflash is an old story I revised into something new. It’s a little sad.

View from a Hill*

Sam did everything he could to save the last proof of their love: this little baby girl wrapped in soiled cloths, his own. Night promised a bone-chilling cold, and yet she survived. A victory in itself, something to be happy for.

Footsteps on gravel, their echo heavy as he abandoned his girlfriend’s body in the field. Covered with wild flowers found by the road, would she be mad at him for letting go of her so quickly, after childbirth killed her? Never forget, never forgotten, always loved. If only he could carve it in a stone with a knife.

The city, its remains a skeleton to detest, to fear. Parts of it burnt, leaning cement towers with black holes, no food, no water, no nothing. The rest was just empty of life, deserted in a hurry. Sam stopped and listened, hoped and cried out loud. Defeated except for the baby, breathing and sticky, but warm in his tight embrace. Where to go? What to do? She would’ve known, pointing to the right direction; she would’ve made it all right. She was gone.

The day they met, the world ended. Invaded, infected. The Others first manifested themselves through pregnant women, through life. The invisible force lurked from every corner, starting with the weak, malnourished, and ending with the rich and healthy. Then, a war between humans. The last to be shuttled had been the homeless habitants of this city, the last convoy to other galaxies in space by now. It had left him behind, to face what they were so afraid of: aliens.

Fog almost let dusk through light, dim and shy, cold and grey. The baby wailed, needing so many things Sam didn’t have. He put her down, not in a damp spot, and took layers of junk out of the way. Rotten food, empty cans, empty bottles, some old electronic devise now rusty and broken. Scavenged and combed by the hungry and desperate, trash hid nothing but Sam’s treasure box.

Condensed milk, way past its expiration date, still liquid and untouched, trapped in dusty cans. What she begged him to bring with them, what she knew could save their baby if she didn’t make it. And she’d been right. Portions, enough for tomorrow and the day after that, portions enough for the baby to not starve without her mother. Sam dipped his scarf into the thick white fluid and opened the baby’s mouth with his dirty finger, pressing the wet cloth to her tongue. Good, she stopped crying and fed.

He reached the edge of town walking down the middle of the highways, litter and cars its only survivors. Then he turned and stared, couldn’t help it, wanting to remember it this way, silent, lonely and sad. He’d hated it from the first moment, finding it cold and heartless, ignorant and irrelevant.

When the wind picked up, Sam ran toward the hill, the city becoming smaller with distance. The baby cried, sensing his fear that the Others were coming. The clouds cleared, less heavy without any combustion to feed them, pollution deferred when humanity moved out. Sam blinked and scratched his eyes, couldn’t believe that right above him, stars shone in the sky.

You wait until your turn comes comes around again*

Small glittering white sparkles in a map of black. Stars, his girl would’ve liked that. But then the flickering lights fell on him and the baby, all around and everywhere. His bones rattled, his heart shook, as the Mothership settled down. They found him, probably sensed his presence on the hill.

As the door opened and light blinded him, Sam recoiled from his coming punishment. He cried about being trapped in this body, confined with this love he’d developed for his mission’s vessel, now a soulless corpse. The baby had never been hers but his people’s, remorse and regrets pierced his Human disguise.

“We’ll name you after your mother,” he whispered to the baby in his arms. “We’ll call you Hope.”

*Marvelous song by The Chameleons UK*