Thursday, December 1, 2011
Flash Fiction - November
November flash is finished, and I came in second place - thanks to all who voted! For those of you who didn't get a chance to read it: voila! I'd love to hear your thoughts.
I’ve been called the Angel of Death, but I am no angel – just Lucy, a failed science experiment. Since the day I was released I have clung to the night for its protection, it’s warmth. To avoid the looks of people who can’t understand. The night has taken care of me and I’ve sworn to return the favour.
Tonight I sit upon the highest building in the city, watching the odd red and white car lights flicker like gems through the web of streets. The weather is warm, the stars in full force, a mirror of the streetlights below. The moon is full; my strange shadow keeps me company.
A sharp scream echoes from one of the alleyways twenty stories below and I sigh. Lovely weather always brings the loonies out to play. Scanning the dark side-street with sharp eyes, I see movement and focus my aim. Then I jump.
As I fall, two great black wings stretch out from between my shoulder blades, a fourteen-foot wingspan of inky feathers that look like satin in the moonlight. The effect of human-animal genome splicing, these wings are my burden and my blessing. I accept what I am.
I blink jet black eyes to refocus on my target. I see him now, running towards the busy main road, a woman’s purse tight in his hands. I have to catch him before he hits the street or he’ll be lost to the real world, away from the shadows that hide me. I beat my wings, twice, three times, the gust of each flap scattering waves of dust beneath me. He’s directly in front of me, almost at his goal.
I let out a shriek and extend talon-sharp nails. He looks over his shoulder but has no time to scream, to react. I drop lower and tear into his neck. The purse falls from his hands and his body slumps.
Without a glance backwards, I beat my wings once more to return to my perch.
The night belongs to me.
I do what I can to protect it.