#fff121

@flashfictionfridayofficial

For Flash Fiction Friday #121 Cold Body Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Warnings: Death Word Count: 956

Cold hands, warm heart. Something Mom used to say. Right now he hoped beyond all hope that might be true. Even through his glove the small hand protruding through the mud and rubble was cold to the touch and it made him shudder to think what that could mean. Just when he thought he’d found another beyond his help, fingers curled around his gloved hand, barely enough for him to feel, but clearly a last-ditched effort, a wordless plea for help. And that was precisely why he was here, why International Rescue existed – to help those who had no other hope.

Unwilling to let go of the hand clutching his, he activated his comm, then scrabbled with his free hand to remove what rubble he could.

“I’ve got one, Thunderbird Five.” His voice was raspy with exertion and a little weariness. It had already been a long day. “Might need a little help digging them out.”

“FAB. I can send Alan over to you, they’re wrapping up at that site.”

Virgil acknowledged and closed the comm. He knew Alan had been a few hundred metres away with Scott and Gordon, helping to extract victims from a semi-submerged vehicle.

The mudslide had swept mercilessly through the village, all but washing it from the face of the map. They’d been here for hours. Survivors were becoming harder to come by but the vehicle had kept the family of five relatively insulated from harm despite the tumble it had taken from the now non-existent road and the mud that had threatened to bury it.

The child clinging to Virgil’s hand had no such protection from the debris or the cold, slick mud. So far his efforts at clearing the area around the hand had revealed very little. He tried to offer words of reassurance, but wasn’t sure if he’d be understood – he didn’t really speak the language. He had tried to let go of the hand so he could use both of his to lift and shift, or to access the exosuit, but the weak grip on his hand had twitched and clung a little more tightly – “Don’t let go. Please.”

The arrival of his youngest brother was a relief. He was directing Alan’s hands to move obstacles even as he picked his way over towards the exposed hand, wrist and arm Virgil had unearthed. With Alan’s assistance the large, partially splintered door preventing further excavation was finally removed to reveal a tiny cavity – a pocket of relatively clear space between mud, rock, brick and broken bits of what might have once been the child’s home. Virgil could now clearly see the child’s shoulder, a mop of dark, mud-streaked hair and the encouraging sight of the slight rise and fall of dirty blue fabric as the child drew shallow but steady breaths. He let go of the hand to reach his arm in and comb fingers through damp hair, moving it aside to find a grubby face.

“Hey, can you hear me?” softly uttered as his fingers brushed against a cheek that was cold beneath the glove.

God, she couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old. Dark brown eyes opened lazily and, recognising she wasn’t alone, the girl tried to move.

“Stay still,” he said, hand now resting firmly on her shoulder to try and reinforce the instruction. “We’re gonna get you out.”

As they worked to free her Virgil recognised enough Spanish to understand her whimpered, desperate cries for her parents, and complaints about the cold. Her legs were all but buried in the near-freezing muddy sludge.

Virgil relinquished his position to Alan, who’s slight frame enabled him to crawl further into the cavity and get a good hold on the girl’s now exposed and shivering torso so Virgil could work on extracting her lower body. A shift of a piece of what might have once been a table caused a small avalanche of rubble to tumble away to his right and down the newly formed slope. The shift in surface debris revealed a glimpse of fabric, a patch of skin, and Virgil’s heart leapt for a moment in hope until he caught sight of the glazed eyes and dragged his attention away again. No urgency required there.

Instead he concentrated on freeing the girl’s legs, and soon Alan was able to lift her free of the confined space and take her in his arms. The mediscanner revealed no major injuries, but her core temperature was worryingly low. She had been remarkably lucky. Virgil wrapped her up in an emergency blanket, the metallic material crinkling loudly as Alan readjusted his hold, cradling her in his arms so he could carry her back to Thunderbird Two. Virgil watched them go, his brother picking his way carefully over the unsteady terrain, before turning his attention back to the newly exposed victim.

He made his way carefully down to the woman, wondering if this was the little girl’s mother, and trying to blink away the tears he felt forming. He reached out to the cold body, fingers searching in vain for a pulse he knew he would not find. With a resigned sigh that almost became a sob, he scanned the immediate area with eyes and hands and soon revealed a second body half buried under more rubble and mud. He checked this one too. Male. Cold. Lifeless. Nothing more he could do.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: don't trust the next-door neighbor

Word count: 810

Wattpad

Her body feels cold and stiff; those are the only feelings she can discern at the moment. It reminds her of the times when she was still at college, when after pulling all-nighters and her body would feel to heavy to lift itself up in the morning, and yet, somehow, she would always manage to get up from bed. She cannot move now.

She tries to turn her head with the intention of looking around, but her neck muscles feel like the steel ropes keeping together a bridge. She tries to peek from the corner of her eye; at least her eyes can move.

She takes a look around; the place, wherever she is, looks pristine, with clean white tiles composing the walls that surround her, and the roof matching in color, with a texture that reminds her of granite. One single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, causing strange shadows she cannot decipher. There is a strange white wooden door to her left, and a metallic table with scratching marks to her right with a transparent bag filled with something dark red and wet on top of it.

She looks down to her lap and notices that she is sitting on a chair, just as if she were in the living room of her house waiting for guests to come over or watching a show on the television. She tries to move her limbs. when that doesn’t work, she attempts to flex her fingers and toes with no avail. Her eyes narrow just the slightest when she realizes that she doesn’t recognize the dress she is wearing.

She hears a sound coming from behind her, some heavy boots colliding against concrete stairs coming from somewhere above— she must be in a basement. She feels the panic rising up in a bubble through her throat, but she cannot take huge gulps of air or move her lungs to inhale.

The sound of boots is getting closer with every second that passes, and yet, it feels like it takes an eternity before a man in a white suit stands in front of her.

She sees him in her periphery, extending his hand and gently grasping a loose lock of hair. “I imagine you’re awake”, he says, sending a grim shiver down her spine.

The man closes in the gap between them and kisses her forehead tenderly. She urges her body to move, but all her senses betray her and she remains still. Her eyes widen when she recognizes him. She has seen a couple of times pass her apartment hallway— an unremarkable man with an unremarkable face. The only thing worth mentioning about him it’s his gentle pale eyes. She had helped him a couple times, bringing him groceries when his feet were too swollen and cooking him dinner when his hands were too stiff due to his advanced arthritis.

“You’ve always been good to me, sweetheart”, he says in a sickly-sweet tone. The lasciviousness in his stare contrasts sharply with his tender words.

He places one arm across her back and another one behind her knees. He lifts her up with ease, and her head involuntarily ends up on his chest, on top where his heart it’s beating. She wants to scream him to let her go, but her cried protests and her whimpers die inside her head.

He shifts her against his shoulder and extends the hand that was holding the upper part of her body to his back pocket. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shining metallic thing. He enters the key in the keyhole and twists it, opening the door that had piqued her curiosity before.

Her eyes adapt to the dim light of the room, decorated all over the place with bright red walls and dark red velvet couches. She is sat down on one of them. When her gaze lowers her at her lap, a sickening feeling forms in the pit of her stomach— there is another human being next to her. She raises her sight again, and it met by the terrified stare of another woman close to her age just two mere meters away from her.

Her body wants to panic, to shake uncontrollably and cry out with fear, but instead, her body is petrified and frozen as a cadaver. She hears his boots approaching her again and she closes her eyes at the sensation of his hot air in her ear.

“Don’t worry,” he says, kissing her on the lips, “you will make a fine addition”. He closes the door behind him.

There are many things floating through the vast empty space making up most of the knowable universe. Masses of electrons—largely themselves empty space—masquerading as solid objects and beating hearts. Forever spinning in finite patterns that make up galaxies and solar systems. And at an unremarkable time on an unremarkable space mission in one really, in the grand scheme of things, unremarkable solar system, there was one object spinning around and around in its orbit, dusty and red and alone.

It’s odd, the things that carry you through the day when there’s a fourteen minute delay between you and the rest of humanity. Science may have done some impressive things, but even it had to obey the posted speed limit. At the speed of light, there would always be a gap between Earth and Mars.

Fourteen minutes of silence.

“Just another day in paradise, huh?” Enver joked.

Title: Cold Comfort Word Count: 178 Warnings: Death

The man wailed in anguish as he clutched his lover’s cold, limp body and pulled it close to his own. He pressed their chests together, almost as if he believed that the heat emanating from his body would seep into hers and bring her back to him.

How had this happened? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think about it. But, deep down, deep in the very recesses of his soul, he knew the answer. He knew that all of this was his fault. All roads led back to him. He never should’ve gotten Lisette involved. She loved him, had trusted him completely, and look what it had gotten her. Now, she lay motionless in his arms, her long, flowing white dress completely soaked with murky water.

“Damn you,” he spat, under his breath, to no one in particular.

They would pay for this. Every single one of the murderous assholes that took his Lisette away from him would pay—with their blood.

This was a vow. He would see every single one of them dead, by his hand.

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​‘s prompt FFF121: Cold Body. Enjoy!)

“Can’t a woman just disappear just because she feels like it?” The woman asked, tilting her head back to gaze at the full moon above. “Can’t she?”

           “A woman, maybe.” The figure said quietly, refusing to lean against the cold metal railing the way the woman was. “The spectre of horror and death who left blood where others left footprints? Not so much.”

             “That’s not a very nice thing to call someone.”

           “It wasn’t very nice for you to turn traitor.”

           The woman closed her eyes. “Is my word really not enough for you to believe that I am not that woman?”

           “You’re lucky that I’m the one who caught you first.” The figure said. “They want you to return. Even after everything you did.

           The woman spread her hands. “Then capture me.”

           “I will not.”

           “Then what was the point in telling me that you caught me?”

           “To give you a chance to return on your own, on your own terms.”

           The woman chuckled. “Don’t you think that I wouldn’t want to return? I thought I made that quite clear when I left.”

           “If you don’t return willingly, they will come for you anyway. If you return, on your own terms, you can make sure you can leave again.”

           “It seems to have escaped your notice that I don’t want to return. On any terms at all.”

           “Really?” The figure asked, cocking their head. “You’re telling me that you don’t miss any of it? Not the thrill of a perfect kill, not the high of tricking everyone into thinking you’re something you’re not, not the breathlessness of winning a fight and leaving by breaking a window and jumping out?”

           “I only did that once.” The woman twisted away, forcing herself to stop talking. “What makes you think I would want any of that?”

           “You can’t tell me that the human world offers you anything close to that excitement. You can’t make me believe that.” The figure stepped closer.

           “I chose this world for my own reasons.” The woman placed her back to the figure, turning to look out over the empty grass patch behind the block they were in.

             “You? The most dangerous, the cleverest, the most beautiful of us all? You’re telling me that this world could offer you anything?” The figure retreated, spreading their hands. “You love this world. I accept that. All I’m asking is that you come home for a while.”

             There was a howling wind rising, whistling through the banana trees. “You don’t need to stay. You were loved, for all that you were. All I’m asking is for you to remember that.”

           “That love was always conditional.”

           “But you accept that you were loved, yes? I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen what’s become of you here. This world expects you to smile gently and sit still in the face of injustice—”

           “And the Underworld didn’t?” The woman snapped, whistling around so fast that her shirt snapped in the air. “And the Underworld didn’t expect me to accept that the only way for me to be loved was to be dangerous?”

           “You cannot deny what you are.” The figure said serenely.

             The woman stared at the figure, who let a small smile slip onto their face. A single strand of her hair slipped out from the elaborate braid, curling against her face. The figure reached out to tuck the strand behind her ear, pinning it in place with a jeweled pin. The woman’s hand went up uncertainly as the figure’s hand ghosted against her shell of her ear, their sleeve brushing her cheek.

             “You’ve slipped up.” The figure whispered. “It’s been so long since we’ve fought together. I’ve missed having you by my side.”

           The figure leaned in, letting their thumb hover near her cheekbone. “Come home to me.”

             The figure let their hand fall, stepping backwards towards the stairwell and flashing one last grin before disappearing, the darkness rippling around them as they stepped into the fluorescent light.

             The woman stayed there for a while, before she noticed how hard she had been gripping the railing ever since the figure had left.

As Ice

Written for@flashfictionfridayofficial 121 prompt:Cold Body

Shivers The icy wind whipped through their clothes. But it isn’t just the wind that cause the shivers. Standing, they look down at the bodies that their climbing has disturbed.

“Ah hell!” One says miserably.

“Do you think they may be, still alive?” She asks. The men look at her like she is crazy. “Extreme cold slows down body functions. A cold body is more likely to..” She kneels down carefully beside them. Her hands run over the ice cold bodies. Even through her thick gloves, she can feel the cold.

“Anything?” She has reached the necks and mouths. Silence greets her attempts to find a pulse. With a sigh, she slowly shakes her head.

“Damn. It was a good thought. What now?”

“We call the cops, right?” the other man asks.

“Yeah. And we will need to stay here until they get here. That may take awhile, unless they copter in.” She looks up at the sky. The white flakes still fall. “Not good weather for flying.”

The call is made, the coordinates given. Now they wait. She stands and stomps around, trying to bring warmth back in her freezing feet and legs.

“How do you think it happened?” He nods to the two frozen people at his feet.

“They were probably hiking and got caught in an avalanche.”

“Yeah. Poor buggers.”

They all three turn away from the bodies as they await the police. A mistake. For they are very cold and want the warmth of the hikers. They reach up to grab at their legs. Screams echo around the mountain but no one hears.

Curses. Pleading. All fall on death ears as they are pulled under the snow. Snow is quiet. When their screams are swallowed by the snow, quiet reigns again. Deep under the snow cover, the warm bodies grow cold.

“These are the coordinates given.” One of the police officers said.

“Well, I see no bodies and no hikers.” His partner says.

“Kids playing tricks.”

Deep under the snow, they try to scream but are unheard.

“A waste of our time.” He mumbles. They leave.