Micro Fiction Monday: A Light in the Dark

The last thing you expect to hear at five am on the beach is singing. Maybe three hours earlier, when clubbers were still stumbling down the boardwalk, high on the intoxication of alcohol and a summer getaway. Maybe three hours later, when the families with young, early-riser children start to make their descent onto the beach, flooding the air with the scent of sunscreen and the sound of childish laughter. But not at five. Five is the transition point--the point where it stops being late, and starts being early. At five, some people are waking up, but no one is on the move—or even singing at all, for that matter.

And yet, I’m standing here in the moonlight, surrounded by the voice trickling down from God knows where.

I look across the boardwalk, but all the expensive villas, tourist shops…even the convenience store is dark. There isn’t a soul awake, a single window brightened. Except…

There is one single, giant lightbulb illuminated. It sweeps across the ocean, disappearing into the distance before rounding back again. In all the years I’ve been here, out of all the nights spent partying around bonfires on the beach, never have I seen the lighthouse functional.

Then again, never have I ever been out here at five am.

As I approach the towering monument, I start to see a figure standing in the window. A portion of the glass is propped open, allowing her song to drift down to the sand below. The song is unfamiliar, and the voice is the most stunning I’ve ever heard, but that’s not what sends me gaping at the building.

No, what catches me off guard is the long, billowing stream of human hair, flowing out the window and waving at me in the wind.

Micro Fiction Monday: Runaway

I ran away from home.

Was it really my home anymore? For sixteen years, I was lied to. The people I thought loved me, the women who I thought were my family, they were nothing but imposters. They lied to me about who I was, where I came from….even my damn name.

Some birthday present.

But Phillip…he’d help me. We met in town, one of the few times my aunts allowed me on the trip—I know why now. They were scared someone would recognize me, or them. That someone would realize what happened, that word would get back to…to that witch.

I didn’t care about the witch. I wasn’t scared. She wouldn’t come for me if I never went back to the palace.

The palace…for so long, it had been the image of dreams and hope. I could always see the tips of it above the trees, so close but so far. It used to be my favourite sight, and now I couldn’t even stand to think about it.

But Phillip could help me. We would run away, never turn back. It was our only chance. He said he had a birthday present for me, but I would sell whatever it was. Our life together would be my present. It’s all I wanted.

But getting lost in the woods is easy, even if you’ve spent your whole life navigating them. The trees begin to look the same, green blending with green until nothing looks familiar anymore.

The only thing leading me on was a black crow, always two feet ahead of me--my only hint that I wasn’t running totally blind.

Micro Fiction Monday: Nightmare

She knew of the palace chef before she met him. To eat what he made was like a dream come true—he was famous around the world for his wonderful pies. She didn't ask a single question, didn't think to wonder what the ingredients might be, before gracefully shoving a forkful into her mouth.

It was apple.

Immediately, she was back in that cottage, being tempted by everything she had ever hoped for. She could taste the bittersweet juice, that vague twinge of pain at the back of her throat, before the poison took control and sent her tumbling to the ground. Her last thought was of him—her wish, her dream, her biggest desire.

She awoke to the soft brush of his lips against hers. He gave her his breath, renewed her life, brought her back from the dead. In the end, she had gotten all she had ever wanted. The apple, it seems, had done everything the witch said it would.

But that twinge remained every time she took a bite, and that fear of eternal sleep kept her awake for far longer than it should have. Her new life, her dream, was now a living nightmare.

Death was not the witch’s punishment—it was waking up after.

Micro Fiction Monday: Envy

Jealousy can ruin a lot of things. It can destroy a friendship, or tear up a romance from the inside out. If the jealousy is strong enough, it can even rip a hole in a marriage, like a shard of glass slicing through your finger when you try to clean it up.

But if jealousy is a shard, envy is a sharpened knife, poised and ready for attack.

It was the poor man who was envious of the prince—the man who was both rich and handsome, loved and admired by al. The prince knew no hardships, not like the poor man.

So the poor man, who dabbled in magic, cast a spell on him. His beautiful features turned green and slimy, his life destined to be spent in a swamp. He would be unknown. He would be ugly. He would be miserable.

Mere days later, the prince returned, a beautiful princess bride on his arm. The curse was broken, his life now better than ever before.

The poor man, meanwhile, remained poor and alone. Envy may be sharp, but a knife slips easily. More often than not, it only injures the user.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne