Site of the writer Andrew Wood

Here is installment number 14. Enjoy 🙂


Flash Fiction #14 – Futility

With a slip of the fingers, a jerk of the wrist, I let go of the glass in my hand. My mind is full of it – the flashes of memories that are alien to me. As the crystal-cut tumbler shatters into hundreds of shards, my eyes roll back as the darkness consumes me once again. Always and eternally I shall battle on with such a force roaming around in my head.

I see his face leering at me through the mist, his grumbling laugh a white noise. His teeth are yellowed and his hair receding back up his wrinkled forehead like the outgoing tide. I see my slender hand reaching out, blood dripping down it. But the hand is not mine. I have no control. The hand is batted to one side and the all too familiar glint of a blade twinkles in the powerful sunlight, its hardened steel dark with death.

‘Softly, softly,’ a voice whispers, creepy and cold, into my ears. It fills my head with a chilling wind, the depth of a fresh snow weighing my thoughts into pacification.

A gasp leaves, what I take to be, my throat as the weapon slowly, painfully, slices my neck. My memory shouts and screams inside its own head to fight back but something smothers it like a pillow, foul tasting and rife with acid.

Choking, aching, crying – I feel it consume me.

An echo of the memory calls to me – ‘Free me. Free yourself.’

I shoot upright, the floor cold and hard beneath me. I am alone and shivering. I huddle my arms around myself and hold as much as I can.

What am I to do? Is this me? Who else could it be? Why can I not remember?

Yet again I sob, just like I have done every night for the past 12 years…


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