Hey folks! Here's a little bit of flash fiction for you. I wrote this over a year ago and have no idea what to do with it. This snippet is the fifth chapter- and it's also the only chapter I've written. Go figure. :) Hope you enjoy it!
I had not long been released from my parents cellar when I heard the familiar sound of crackling leaves approaching. The footsteps behind me were moving too quickly for me to out-pace. I leapt to my left to hide in the brush and hopefully avoid being seen. Had I leapt to my right I might have been better off.
I missed the brushes completely- instead I landed clinging to a tree root and trying not to fall into the chasm below. Looking up I see I am face to face with one Chris DeMour. A fellow built not unlike a a refrigerator with the face resembling that of a crescent moon. We had bumped into each other before. I still didn't like him.
"How nice to be seeing you again, Seamus."
"I'd say the same to you, but I do so hate to lie."
"I thought you were fond of it."
"What? Lying? Only bad people lie."
"Well, I hardly see how that could matter now."
"And why is that?"
"I'm hanging from a cliff you idiot."
"Ah! So you are. Lovely. Funny how we always seem to find ourselves in these intriguing situations, is it not?"
"Oh quick waxing philosophical and give me a hand you Maytag reject."
"Tsk, tsk. Is that any way to talk to the man who saved your life?"
"It is if you're not going to do it a second time."
He grinned maniacally and took a knee. His Jay Leno chin coming in closer to my face. It would be a shame for me to die today. It would be even more a shame if I lost an eye because his protruding mandible knocked it loose from its socket.
"So do you want to know the truth?"
"I've lost interest. Either let me die now or save me so I can whine later about wishing I'd died."
Then, somewhat unexpectedly, he grabs my wrist with his one hand, the other latching onto my elbow. Effortlessly he lifts me up and drags me away from the edge. He's saved me. Again. Damnit.
"The truth is, if you were any less of a wuss you wouldn't be as much fun to spy on."
"Spy on? You were spying on me? Pervert. Well, um, thanks?"
"Don't mention it."
After an overly firm pat on the back he walks back into the woods. I must be a little dazed still because I end up trotting along behind him. How can a man who was always so intent on killing my scrawny hide now be so keen on saving me? Before my rational-left brain can signal me to shut-up I do what any idiot would do. I ask him.
Stopping in mid-step and pivoting on one heel to face me, I can see his expression shift from light-hearted to serious.
"The witches. They asked me to."
"Witches? Which witches?"
"The witches of Huckle Hollow."
"You said it."