Something short and simple this week. Nothing more than a scene, really.
I have an idea for a fresh take on a well-known fable, and I may try to tackle that next week. No promises. We’ll see.
This little bit of fiction, however, was written based on a promote from our friends over at The Prediction:
100 words maximum, excluding the title, of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above (‘fob’, ‘indigo’, and ‘prevent’) in the genres of horror, fantasy or science fiction.
the waiting 1
He deposits his watch in the pocket of his vest. His indigo vest. He wore his best, but she isn’t here.
Bouncing on his toes, he wonders if he should have seen this coming. If he could have prevented it. She’s flighty. He should have known better.
She made promises, such magical promises – wealth, power, knowledge, and the greatest prize of all. Herself.
He was on time. He had the fob, an enchanted trinket meant to draw her to him. But she was a pookha, and they are not to be trusted.
So he waits. Alone. And she frolics elsewhere.