#fff66

A/N: just a tale of how seasons slip into autumn, and how it brings contentment to those to witness it. i figured since it’s fall, i have this piece to accompany it.^^

Word Count: 550

TW: None

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On a pleasant evening, brisk winds surfaced while strands of grass swayed. Clouds drifted over a background, it's golden shade filtering across surfaces of water and shiny leaves. The sun began sinking, close to fading from view. It dimmed the sky while it set.

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🍂And now, this week’s prompt!

[FFF66 Golden Decay]

Leaves falling from trees? Forests ablaze with colour? Seeing the beauty in death? What will you write about? We can’t wait to find out!

written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​ fff#66 prompt: golden decay tw: obsessive love; mania (not explicit but might be creepy, so take note before reading!)

golden decay: in which the dead falls apart while we are here, together, forever

Will you be with me forever?

My feet sink deeper into the sand, and the granules fold over my toes. The lingering heat from the sun soothes my back, and I feel the earth move as she shifts beside me.

In the spray of the sea as waves lash against the shore, the scattered light flickers iridescent. Tiny crabs poke their heads out, and when I wiggle my feet, sand rains down upon them.

She remains silent. If she leaves, the spot where she has laid would be dry, cold; unbaked from the falling sun’s heat. But she doesn’t leave, and her thighs settle further into its carved valley. It could form the next Grand Canyon: red, vast, and unmoving; the resting throne of someone untouched and unfathomable.

A ring curls around the crown of her head, white and fuzzy along the edges. Shadows wrap around her eyes, her mouth; snakes a line around her neck. They are blindfolds and they are ropes. I think I might know what for, if I only know for whom they come to be.

My fingers twitch, and I yearn to reach out, let the sand pour from my palm to hers, like an hourglass; only that it is one that never stops flowing, one that makes the earth fuller beneath our joined silhouettes, one that keeps filling until the glass cage shatters, even when it’s all run out. Even when it’s running on empty. Even when the canyon grows heavy with the weight of the earth and a mountain forms above our shared bodies and we are buried, red and vast and unmoving, in that untouched land –

A crab scuttles up my forearm and I flick it away.

She doesn’t say a word, still, and the sun against her back beats brighter, harder. It carves an outline around her figure, a blatant deity settled in the mortal world. If people were kind, they’d mould stone and erect a temple in her name. They’d fall on their knees and kiss that cold, dry ground beneath her feet; set fires to bring her offerings, leave wishes in their enclosed palms when they pray to her being.

However, a marble statue is nothing when it is weathered and old and hidden in a museum; a forgotten shrine merely ruins. 

At the next rain of seawater over a glitter of sun, I pick up a tiny hermit – frantic, quivering little thing it is – and throw it. It bursts through the faint arc of rainbow, breaks the colours back into light. When it lands, it scurries away.

If people were kind, we’d choose to pray. I’d pray for nothing but her hand in mine and mine in hers; nothing except for her fingers to be curled so tight around mine that our palms would turn cold and pale; for us both to be bloodless hand in hand, where the genetic prints over our skin would be seared into one another’s, like a stamp.

For pathologists to stare at our shared body art and not be able to identify us apart, only together, even at our decay. Even in our death.

But I am people, and people are not kind. I’d want for that, and more. For her eyes to be glued on mine, like a dart to target; for our distance to wind around her heart, snap at her limbs. For the graze of a leaf against her cheek to remind her of my kiss in autumn, the rainswept streets at night to be my hair after a shower; the breath of a passing wind to be my whisper in her ear. I’d want her to have no thoughts aside from that of memories of me, dreams of me, fantasies of me; to know of nothing beyond our skin fused to each other and our organs stitched to one another’s; for her every breath, every sigh, every pulse, every heartbeat, to move for me, and only me.

I’d want a national park to be built upon the creases in the sand where our bodies lay, where cliffs will rise and rivers will flow. For the sun to be the oven where we bake in tandem, melting together into one as we heat. The shroud around her face is the veil she wears when we bequeath ourselves to one another; the line of shadow around her neck the noose that chains us to each other.

We will be alive and together. We will be dead and together. Even as our flesh rots and decomposes into the ground, people will rush to take pictures in front of our cemetery. We will remain eternal in the backgrounds of their portraits, in the maps drawn around our figures, in the earth we lay buried –  

We will be together, in glory and in decay. We will be lovers forever. ----- general tag list under cut (don’t think this is what you’ll expect from me but here it is i guess?): 

Eyes watched like the hawks in the heavens

But she did not think to stop

Because her destiny ahead beckons

Seven seconds

That's the amount of time

From the moment she uttered the name

For her to be little more than the blind man's warning

Everyone has their stone-set limits

But she did not think to wait til morning

Because she didn't want what it solicits

Forty-two minutes

That's the amount of time

From the moment she took off

That it took her to reach the end of her fate

A golden decay that glittered like tears

But she did not think to hesitate

Because hesitation meant she had fears

Eighteen years

That is the amount of time

From the moment she was brought to life

That she spent wishing to defy it's unbreakable will

Life and destiny never like to give up

But she did not think to feel the chill

Because it would mean ignoring apeirophilia

Many millenia

That is the amount of time

From the moment of my creation

That I have lingered with my name for no one to say

Lost to a pair and lost to many minds

But I do not care for the mind's golden decay

Because it is me they wish to find

All of time

That is the amount of time

From the moment my name left their lips

That I have been waiting to return to the world I left

I have been stopped time and again

But no longer will I be so bereft

For soon they shall finally know my name

Never again will I be stopped by the golden mind's decay

[Image Description: a golden and black banner, the line “#FFF66 Golden Decay” is written in the middle in white letters. End Image Description.]

Once again, thanks to the wonderful peeps at @flashfictionfridayofficial​ for this week’s prompt!

I kinda went out of my comfort zone for this one. It’s based around my current wip, Magicians of Sky and Sea, but I am not entirely sure this is something that will happen in the actual story, but a possible plot arc is hinted in it. I just don’t know if the character that Zephyr meets here will be in the story or not.

Title: The Rotten Dragon

Warnings: mentions of body horror.

Her whole body screamed at her to run away; her muscles tensed, ready to spring up like a prey seen by their enemy.

Zephyr closed her eyes, inhaling a few deep breaths in. Shivering, the anxieties slithered away, but some still lingered in her mind, making her body feel weak.

She looked around: the forest was silent, the whispering of the wind the only cause of motion. The trees were ablaze with golden leaves, the ground carpeted in red and browns, a few branches hidden between them. Zephyr knelt down to grab a leaf, and it crumbled at her touch.

"This... isn't really natural."

@flashfictionfridayofficial

It was hard to limit myself to 1000 words, but I had so much fun with today's prompt!

First of the last days

Echos of muffled music were floating over the stroboscopic lights. It must have been very loud since Scott could almost hear it from above the dome and through their heavy helmet. They put their face as close as they could to watch the crowd like millions of ants dancing five thousand seven hundred and forty-one feet below. At night the heart of the city started to beat again, pulsing with chock-a-block aerial railway traffic, blinding blinking lights and the beautiful rhythm of all the raves blowing everywhere. Scott had never seen something so mesmerising. Under the smaller domes there also were no activity during day time but the night weren't as busy as they were un here. Scott absentmindedly tightened a bolt and put their tool in their pocket without taking their eye from this scene. As soon as night would be over all those party goers would go back home and burry themselves into a nervous slumber, as under any dome, until the next sunset. But for now people were more awake than ever: from this distance the dancers were waves pulling and pushing at a beat Scott could almost feel on the glass under them. They laid down on the dome, closing their eyes. Maybe it they feel it... imagine it hard enough they might join the dancing crowd one day, yes on day they would…

"You done yet?"

Scott flinched, got up in a hurry and turned around, visibly mortified. It made Atticus groan slightly: Scott was too young, too much of a dreamer, not a really good employee. But workers were a rare resource these days and the domes had to be maintained… He threw aside the idea of writing a report on Scott and motioned them to follow him. They clumsily complied, not yet used to the zero gravity suit but managed to keep up with Atticus' pace on the glassy area. He glanced over his shoulder but didn't slow down. The chore had to be done as quickly as possible, and properly done. Their boss had important wealthy clients and their safety was no laughing matter. Any cracks, any worn of the tint, any defect would put everyone at risk, more precisely the richest few under the main dome. Atticus was pragmatic enough to notice that they took more care of the main dome than the others but he knew that he couldn't afford to make a comment about it and risk being fired. He needed the job and people needed the domes to be preserved. It was a win win situation, except both sides wouldn't keep winning for much longer. Atticus pushed a button on his wrist.

"Pod this is Team One, over"

A disappointed voice answered on the radio inside both their helmets:

"For the love of Earth, Att' just call me Mary!"

"Pod this is Team One, over" Atticus insisted.

Another sigh on the radio

"Team One this is Pod, go ahead."

Back on their small vehicule hovering just above the surface of the dome - an old thing that only Atticus kept on calling The Pod - Mary was lining down on her sit: missions with newbies were taking soooo much time! And guess who was chosen to stay put and monitor? Her. Well, she probably wouldn't have done better on babysitting duty but still! She just wanted to be back inside the dome where it was safe. Even though the filters on the pod were as good as new - she checked them herself - she didn't want to stay outside for too long. She glanced outside, not even slightly surprised not to see the boys: the air was so thick and blurred by pollution that except a few feet away you could see nothing but silhouette and anything further than 150 feet was invisible. It was reassuring, in a strange way. If you could see something, it meant the sun was rising. And you didn't want to be outside at sunrise. She shifted on the sit, the pod rolled slightly a few inched No wonder why people went out to party as soon as night fell. A high-pitched feedback brought Mary back from her thoughts.

"Sorry Att' I didn't hear you. What is it?"

"I said The Rookie wants to take a look at the view."

"Oh Scotty Scotty, such a romantic mind!" Mary chuckled, new workers were so cute the first time they saw night under the main dome. And she loved the special spot where Atticus and her were used to bringing rookies when they start the job. Before they realise the terrible truth behind the domes. "I'll be here in a minute!"

She raced toward her coworkers as fast as the magnetic suspensions would allow it, guiding herself with the radar and geo-tracking on their suit. The pod slided smoothly a few feet away from Scott and Atticus. Mary's voice bursted through the speaker.

"Hop on! There's a little something Scott needs to see!"

Atticus insisted on driving this time. The Pod arrived safe and sound at a tiny storage with metal walls and a door locked by an electronic lockpad. Scott looked puzzled, much to the amusement of Mary and Atticus. The latter exhibited a pass card bearing the logo of their employer.

"Don't worry there's more than that."

The three of them entered the small room. It was flooded by dust and electronic devices but Mary and Atticus went straight to the trap door in the back. Scott climbed off the ladder after the other two, unclipped their helmet after the airlocks closed, turned around and their jaw dropped: They were inside a large viewing dome, only glass under their feet and the clearest view of the main dome's life that could be found. A smile even crossed Atticus' face. Watching the wonder on such an innocent face always brought back a little hope in him. Not for long though, but it still was something. Mary was busy pointing at landmarks below them, smiling when Scott put his nose on the glass to get a closer look, like a cat following a laser. Definitely taking newbies there was her favorite part of the job. Scotty looked like a child on Christmas Eve. The lights were so much brighter, the music clearer, it seemed he could touch the people on the ground just by reaching his hand. No more thick glass wall, muffling everything, tinted to protect people from the blazing sun and covered in a smokey layer of pollution. From there colours were raw, sounds were bright, life seemed worth living, far from the poverty in the other dome, and even further from the desolation outside their protective walls. Scott let out an envious sigh.

"It's beautiful." 

Atticus scoffed "It's rotten. Nothing but people drinking, smoking and dancing all night long to forget what happens outside their little bubble."

"Both" Mary added dreamily "It's a golden decay: the remains of a dying civilisation determined to do it in style."

Scott wasn't smiling anymore. Atticus put a helping hand on their shoulder.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​ I have just a bit of what I’ve been writing today, the part that fits the prompt anyway.  Amazing how it worked out.

Word count:  ~150.  

The wind ruffled the leaves, swirling about her leather clad feet and making her relish the pleasant burn from the white cup in her hand. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Inner work to be done, indeed. She let the emotions run their due course, just breathing in the crisp air, enjoying the idyllic town at her feet.

“Evening.”

Her eyes sprang open, heart pounding. And she could have sworn a bit of mist drifted by. Impossible under the sunny autumn sky. Hallucinations would be more pleasant than who was walking up.

“What? I don’t even get a hello anymore?”

She pursed her lips and tried to think of a healthy, sensitive way to communicate her boundaries here.

Not that it would have mattered anyway, Leon wasn’t going to have any of it to begin with. She just wanted to know why he’d decided to try miring her, of everyone in town, down into his muck.

“I’m not comfortable with you sitting here,” was what she blurted out as Leon flopped onto the bench next to her, his own coffee sloshing out of the lid, dark and hostile as he was. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and snorted.

“That’s no way to talk to an old friend.”