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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 16

Morgan sat on the ground, his dead wife laying just feet from him, dirty streaks lining his face from where he had cried. His hands ached from clenching them so tightly and he tried to not make eye contact with the thing that had once been his wife. Still, there was that soft cry that echoed in the air, drifting from the upturned grave of his wife in the garden, a cry that chilled Morgan Randall's far bones deeper than even that of killing his wife for a second time. Randall wasn't sure how long he sat there, minutes, hours, time seemed to blend together. He never looked at the Black Sun above him, simply staring out into the the empty fields he had once envisioned filling with his wife. Finally Morgan rolled over and slowly pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore the dull ache that stemmed inside him.

His battered body was caked with sweat and dirt, the cut along his arm having dried a bloody trail down to his wrist. He watched his hat on the ground as it ruffled in the slight wind, but left it there as he slowly hobbled to the barn. He ran his hands through his hair, brushing them away from his eyes and felt the salty residue of his sweat. The doors were still open to the barn from this morning and he went inside, returning seconds later with a shovel. He slowly walked towards the upturned grave, the mewling cries still echoing in the air around them, only stopping when he was a few steps shy of the grave. He looked at the churned earth around the grave, seeing his wife's precious bluebells uprooted and laying on the ground. The bluebells that had once been the sole bright spot of the farm. Taking a deep breath, Morgan steeled himself and crossed the last few steps.

He looked into the grave to find his stillborn daughter kicking her arms and legs. Her tiny fingers had morphed to black points, though not as long or as deadly as his wife's. Her tiny mouth was also distended, though she had no teeth to nash at him with. Still, her skin had sallowed and turned a mottled yellow while her eyes had become as blackened as the sun above. Eyes that looked up at him, dead and devoid of emotion. Slowly, Morgan lifted the shovel, closing his eyes and begged for forgiveness, and for the second time today, killed someone he loved again.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

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