Typhoon Maid Thursday. CC photo by Shuji Moriwaki.
The reckoning was always a powerful storm.
He heard her footsteps and the vein in the side of his temple throbbed, pulsating like a cloud waiting to pound an unsuspecting sea.
His arms shook, his silver hair shimmered in the harsh fluorescent light, and his trembling fingers crept across his face. He shivered as if a thousand centipedes wandered across his skin. Interlaced fingers arched over his head, like an umbrella, but his thin arms offered no protection from the onslaught of emotion.
His monsoon pummelled, and amid the deluge she approached.
She wore the gas mask this time, but he knew what lay behind it, what he’d left, the empty husk, the lost child. She carried the rope, swinging gently at her hip, and he knew one day her ligature marks would be his.
Tears fell, but no redemption, and it was her striped socks that drowned his mind.
The reckoning was always a powerful storm.
(157 Words)
Another Flash! Friday…go take a look at the plethora of wonderful fiction!
The Last Krystallos 