Whirlpool of the World

Dark Planet by W B Sloan

Whirlpool of the World

“Shut the door!”

“Where...?”

“... Damn, how predictable. At a way station, a nodal point on the journey between the ending of your earthly life and final eradication. You have a decision to make.”

“Decision?”

“In a moment. Look outside.”

An idyllic rural landscape; painted perfection. No, not perfect. It moved; writhed sinuously, beginning to shift, twist and distort. It swirled, faster, vertiginous, a nightmare undreamed by Dali; the world dropped in a blender. My white knuckles clamped the rail. Fields flew away, swallowed by surrounding darkness. I began to slip.

The voice snapped me back.

“... visual representation...” I reeled from the window, gasping. “... in turmoil; out of balance. I intend to restore that balance. You’ll help me do that.”

“Or what?”

“I finish my job.”

“Job? Who are you?”

“Pass you into eternal oblivion. I’m Death, Mr Grey.” She smiled. “And I have a proposition for you.”

150 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for Angela Goff's Visual Dare Flash Fiction challenge and is a follow on from my previous tales 'Grey's Elegy' and 'Out, Brief Candle' (in that order)

The Million Years' War

Image by Ardelfin

The Million Years’ War

“Why have we come here?”

“You must know the story of the fall of our heroes."

“Why?

“To understand the enemy, the better to defeat them. - There they stand.”

“But they were old.”

“Old yes. As old as time. But once, the enemy trembled before them and prayed to their Gods for deliverance. Cities fell before them, civilisations toppled. Women wept at their approach, smothering wailing children to spare them. They laid millions in the cold ground. Now they are no more. How the mighty are fallen.”

“What happened?”

“They were eradicated after ages of struggle. The enemy covers the land and grows proud. Their scientists plot to end all of us, one by one. They feared us once; and they will again. Despite the fall of our dread brothers Smallpox, Malaria and Typhoid, we continue our sacred mission. You are new and virulent. I have high hopes for you.”

150 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for Rebekah Postupak's Flash! Friday 15 contest
It was awarded Second Place! in the competition by judge Jaz Draper 

Ych a fi!

Image by Sarah Horrigan

Ych a fi! *

“Come away from that... thing - right this minute!”

“But Mum, I was just...”

“I know very well what ‘you were just’, young man. You’ll catch the screaming dibdabs if you’re not very careful. I don’t know why they let them run loose like that, it’s unsanitary.”

“Is it true that some people eat them?”

“Well yes... but only foreigners. No one we know, I’m pleased to say.”

“What do they taste like?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. They’ll have a lot of garlic on them, I suppose - being French. Honestly, it’s disgusting what some people...”

“But I like garlic. They say at school that garlic’s healthy; good for us.”

“Yes, well, that’s all very well, but you’re not eating any of those things – not when you’re out with me.”

“But Mum...can I just try one, can I?”

“All right, if you must - but only eat the finger!”

150 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for Angela Goff's Visual Dare

* The title is a Welsh language phrase that my Mother would often use if I was about to eat something disgusting as a child. Happy Mother's Day - wherever you are!

Out, Brief Candle

Image by Jennifer Pendergast

Out, Brief Candle

“What will happen, you know, after the switch...?”

“That’s out of my area Mrs Grey. That’s religion... or philosophy.”

Click

First was the light. Blinding, bright, remote, high above me.

I shivered and shuffled forward, feet numb and clumsy.

Spiral stairs, and a cold steel handrail.

I paused, bare toes hovering above the first step.

I glanced behind. A blank emulsioned wall had replaced the darkness. No door, no window, stippled and clean.

Up then.

My feet slapped the concrete risers, a human metronome echoing off the curving walls.

The top landing revealed a small door.

“Come in my Boy.”

100 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for a prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers - but is a follow on from last week's story 'Grey's Elegy' written for Angela Goff's Visual Dare