As she neared the bazaar, the brightness almost fooled her into happy thoughts. She could smell the warm notes of cardamom and incense mixed with the acrid stench of moonshine from the bordello.
Somewhere in this fluid timeline that I live in, lucid dreams flow. I don’t know where one ends and the other begins. I dream of my past life, my life before captivity. It feels like someone is briskly cleaning that slate, but I try and hang on to whatever memory I can.
When the children turn 18, they are made to participate in a planet-wide pageant where they are judged mercilessly based on looks, body-type and life choices. Mines and sewers await all those who fail to measure up to the judges’ standards.
When she stomped her feet like a petulant child, the matchstick world trembled. Her cosmical body moved to a terrifying drumbeat only she could hear, all the time ululating in grief over the horrors she was unleashing on her own children.
She flaps her wings and melts into the horizon. It’s freezing here. I can feel my blood coagulate. It probably looks like strawberry jello on the inside.
This post is for Yeah Write’s weekly fiction/poetry challenge. This week’s prompt is “I need to be in the water”. Read on! It had been a strange couple of weeks for Alma…. Read more »