The Killing Field

Here’s a quick bit of flash fiction, written for Phlambler’s World. A 100 word limit is much shorter than my typical flash fiction, but I felt like giving it a whirl. The rules are simple:

100 words maximum, excluding the title, of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above (‘barge’, ‘saint’ and ‘quiz’) in the genres of horror, fantasy or science fiction. 

The resulting piece is little more than a glimpse. Just a picture. Honestly, in 100 words I don’t know that much more is possible. Please, as always, feel free to let me know what you think in the comments-whether it works for you or doesn’t.

the killing field

“When the saints go marching in, what mischief finds the devil in the fields?”

The words were but whispers, carried on a humid, warm breeze. It felt like hot breath on Peter’s neck. He dared not cry out. The reaper would hear, barging through the stalks with his sickle.

He was near, taunting Peter. His query, his quiz, his test was nothing more than that—a cruel game.

In silence, Peter turned toward the highway and began to run. To his left, moonlight caught on the edge of a curved blade. This time, he failed to suppress his scream.