Happy Friday. Can not believe it’s here already. I am loving the accountability of flash fiction Friday, keeps me going when I would dearly love to kick off my shoes, lounge on the couch and binge watch Supernatural (because seriously, I’m hooked on that show after waiting so long to watch it.)
Anywho, here is another flash fiction piece inspired by the lovely Uninspired Writers Instagram page. Feeling writer’s block? Check out her blog or Insta page! She offers picture prompts that will keep your mind churning with ideas.
Please remember that these flash fiction pieces are meant to serve as an imagination boost for me and are not perfectly edited. Most of the time they are written within thirty minutes of posting. But any and all critique is welcome.
Thanks for reading!
Sarina stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the dark streak still staining the rocks from months before. The roses hung limply in her hand, already they began to wilt. Whirls of snow nipped at her face in the breeze and the three-hundred-foot drop lured her with the promise of a redemptive leap. She would be glad to take the jump, the realization over the past year of who she was and what she had done was enough to justify it. But there was work to be done. A debt to be paid.
Sarina squatted above the rocks blackened with the stain of blood. Her confession was the final strand of her old life, and she was terrified that if she pulled it from her inner weavings she would unravel completely.
“They say your name was Torin of the Wind. They tell me you were sixteen. There was a time that number meant nothing to me. Four was the only number that mattered, the number between life and death. Four movements to deliver a fatal blow, four tiers to pass through before given the name of an assassin.”
“That night I met my match.” Sarina felt the ghost of a smile, the one that formed from the guarantee of death and battle. But it quickly faltered. She was no longer that person, or, she tried not to be.
“You had the upper hand, with me beneath your blade. I was sent to kill your chief, to snuff the life from your tribe, to extinguish the last leader of the resistance. But you stepped between him and me, offered your own life for his. You were clumsy and foolish, no training, but still, the gods granted you a stroke of luck when you struck me on my side.”
“Your people call me Claudestia. The name is a reminder of what I was that night. A beast without reason.” Sarina gulped the cold air and let its bite stifle the tears forming behind her eyes. “With your sword at my throat and the calls for my death at my back, my eyes never faltered their lust for carnage. They yearned for your life. I was raised with no other desires in mind. But you, my savior, you asked your elders to spare my life. The moment it took for them to agree was all the time I needed to lunge for your blade and turn it into your flesh.”
“Your people say we both fell to the ground, but only one of us would rise again. They kept their promise and healed me, guarded me, and taught me the truth of my master’s tyranny. The truth of your sacrifice.”
Sarina stood, the flowers still dangling in her hand as her hazel eyes swept across the countryside before her. Satisfied with her brief search of the horizon, she continued. “But the battle is not yet won. My people are on the march, resolute in their mission to extinguish your tribe and any other like them. I may not be the warrior your people need, I may not be the assassin I was, but the only truth I know is a life for a life. May mine be as worthy as yours.”
Sarina bent over and laid the flowers atop the battered stones. They would be buried beneath the snow, along with the last of her old sins. She walked away and left them behind in the cold, just as she had left Torin to die, and hoped for a brighter future.