#flashy friday

҉   FLASHY FRIDAY   ҉

Flashy Friday: Even In Death #flashfiction #flashyfriday #amwriting #dragons

The people gathered around her body, awed and heartbroken, dumbfounded and silent. She’d been their protector and guardian since well before a good many of them were even born. They knew not who felled her, for none was brave enough to confess to committing a crime so dark and heinous the punishment would be far worse than death. The truth would out eventually; braggarts rarely kept such horrific…

Flashy Friday: Sleeping Gods #flashfiction #flashyfriday #amwriting

“Don’t give up,” Sissy said. She held out her offering to the old forest god, a part of her trembling inside, both in fear and anticipation. Every day, she’d come to encourage the god, to remind him that there were still people who not only believed, but needed for him to be real.   He didn’t reach out and accept her gift, he never did, but Sissy bent down and placed the flower on the alter…

Flashy Friday: Not a Harvest God

Every day the people in the village brought offerings to the small shrine in hopes of appeasing the god they believed took up residence there. Good favor would mean larger crop yields come harvest, they said. It would mean fewer deaths during the long winters.

But Henrietta knew in her soul there was no god at that shrine. It was no benevolent deity who would reward them for their devotions, but…

Flashy Friday: Old Gods On Display #flashfiction #flash #amwriting

They put the old gods on display in the desert after the Great Purge, trapped them in glass cages and set them out like ancient relics or antiques for the masses to gawk upon and poke at like children at a zoo.

Spectators brought their image capturing devices and posed in front of the display tanks like tourists, making faces, pretending to be terrified, acting tough.

But Zenda knew better than…

Flashy Friday: Dropping Hope #flashfiction #flashyfriday #hope #amwriting

He was tired of holding onto it, clutching it in his hand, fingers gripping so tight the bright white edges of it seeped out through the cracks between his knuckles. It wriggled softly against his palm, tickling his skin almost affectionately.

At his back, the sounds of an argument that existed long before he was even born echoed through the penthouse. Mother screaming betrayal, Father bellowing…