Short Stories & Flash Fiction
Comment 1

The Clave’s Envoys

When the sun rose the world was empty and quiet. Some mornings there seemed to be no one left on the planet Emil decided. Watching from the bell tower of the ruined village’s church, he slipped his phone from his pocket and checked the messages for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. The text he’d fired off to the Clave showed as delivered but unread. He tapped the lock button and tucked it away.

‘Come on, time to leave.’ He turned from to the corner behind him, not missing the way Leif flinched at the sunlight pouring in now Emil’s body wasn’t shielding the window. ‘Grab the shield. The Clave want that thing stashed away and out of sight before dusk.’

‘You think someone else will come after it?’ Leif asked. He was younger than Emil, and not just in the sense that Emil had nine hundred years on him. Leif was barely twenty, still steeped in hormones and raw nerves. Emil had been closer to thirty-five when he was turned, battle hardened from years fighting other men’s wars and more experienced with the art of patience.

‘I think they’ll send armies after this thing,’ Emil told him, pacing towards where the shield was propped against the wall. The wooden face was littered with scars and the metalwork near corroded away, but it remained in one piece. Even at a distance Emil could feel the power thrumming inside it, begging to be used. He scowled and shrugged his coat from his shoulders to wrap around the artefact. It didn’t dampen the aura but it kept Emil from having to touch the thing directly.

‘Here, I got it.’ Leif nudged past and reached for the shield. Emil heard him gasp when he touched it. ‘Fuck, that’s-‘

Emil caught his wrist and pulled it away. ‘I’ll take it, you follow.’

Leif nodded, his arm trembling in Emil’s grip.

‘Are you sure we should- I mean, if we kept it we-‘

‘We could what?’ asked Emil. ‘I told you. We’re the ones who find the weapons and hide them somewhere they can’t hurt anyone. You have to learn to rise above power, it is required of you in this bloodline.’

Silent, Leif pulled his arm free and turned away.

‘Why not destroy it then?’

‘Because,’ said Emil. ‘Weapons can be used by both sides. We make sure it’s the right side.’


 

Writing Prompt 1

I love a good prompt and I’ve had a couple of people asking me if I can suggest any that they could use for writing flash fiction so I thought I’d share this site with you. It’s called The Story Shack and I’m a little bit in love with their prompt generator.

If you want to give this one a go as well then leave a pingback on your post so I can check out where you took the story to or perhaps you’d prefer to head over to the site and find a new prompt to use. Either way I think I might try and incorporate this site’s prompts into a weekly feature so if you’d like to join me for that I’d be happy to have the company.

This entry was posted in: Short Stories & Flash Fiction

by

Carol Forrester is a twenty-four year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.

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