Phiction

Fiction inspired by Photography



"Consumed"
Consumed
     “I’m telling you I saw a light!” She tugged her hand free from his grip then pointed up at the decrepit mansion. “Look! There it is again! Upstairs! Don’t you see it?”
     The light continued to flicker; it’s ominous glow apparent only to the young girl.
     Her gaze remained on the arched window. Everything in her body had been claimed by the haunting pulse of the light. The touch of her boyfriend’s lips to her neck, his teasing voice whispering in her ear did nothing to break the hold the house had placed on her.
     Unable to resist the pull of the house any longer, the young girl pulled from her boyfriend’s grip once more then raced up to the house and disappeared inside.
     “Kelly!“ The boy shouted and ran after her but his efforts to reach her were stopped by the knotted root of the nearby tree that easily fell him to the cold ground. He cursed as he scrambled to his feet and wiped at the bloodied cut on his cheek.
     The house echoed with the sounds of every shuttered window slamming closed and the boy’s fists knocking relentlessly on the door. Frustrated, the boy descending the steps and frantically searched for another way to enter.
     There was none.
     The light in the window slowly faded into darkness and the house stood quiet to await the next young girl.
*****

"White Linen"


     My fingertips brushed reverently over the photo. White chocolate was her favorite. Actually, she loved anything white. I’d once peeked in the window to her bedroom and saw it filled with white pillows, linens, and flowers she’d made from paper.
     That was our first Halloween together and the first time she’d let me hold her hand. Her smile was what made me fall in love with her. She was pure, like the white she surrounded herself with.
     An angel.
     She always seemed so happy.
     I wish I’d known what’d happened to change that.
     I wish she’d told me.
     It crushed me when she’d moved away with her family. My first heartbreak. We wrote to each other. But over time, she started to sound different. The letters came less and less. Then stopped completely.
     I had to read about it in the paper. The bathroom curtains billowed around her like clouds. The sunlight shone through her nightgown and quietly outlined the length of her body. Her neck had been wrapped with linen torn from her bed. The lace edge of her gown rested just above her ankles. Her feet, still wet from spilled bath water, hovered just above the edge of the porcelain tub.
     She would have been sixteen that week.
     Then and always an angel.

No comments:

Post a Comment