I’ve decided I really need to increase my output when it comes to my writing, so one of the ways I want to do this, is to participate in #fridayflash. This is a twitter meme in which you write and publish a piece of flash fiction (a story of 1000 words or less) and then link to it on twitter with the hashtag #fridayflash. I’m going to try and put something new out every week. So, without further ado, here is my first contribution:
by PC Wheeler
She killed the god. Her blade shone Jewell bright in the moonlight with holy blood, but the the blood that spilled from the god’s side was a deep, dark stain across the ground. Not even the scent of the jasmine flowers, carried on the summer breeze, could cover the rotten stench that emanated from his wound.
How long would it be before the god’s brothers and sisters knew what she had done. She was not a god – only a mortal thing whose death would be as easy as brushing a fly off one of their sleeves. This god’s death was not easy. Killing a god had ramifications. But it was done, and she must be gone.
Sword in hand, she fled from the ruins. Down the wooded hill she ran. The gown they had dressed her in was little protection against the thorny underbrush that scraped and tore at her legs. The girl felt no pain, even as her bare feet encountered sharp stones. What scared her more was the trail of blood she left in her wake. A trail could lead them to her.
She needed help but the lights of the city below would be no safe haven. They would be glad she killed the god. But they would receive the backlash for the dead god. Nobody would dare to hide her.
The sea, perhaps. There she could get passage on a boat and sail to foreign lands – places that never knew the gods. But all she had was the gown she wore and the bloody sword. The sword was his sword – the god’s. She could sell it for passage if she could reach the sea and the harbor.
Her decision was made in an instant. She veered right, not stopping, and continued down the hill, this time with the view of the black ocean peeking between the trees instead of the twinkling lights. If she could reach the harbor, if she could barter for the sword, if she could gain passage on a foreign ship, and all before the gods came…
The ground began to tremble and she tripped and fell. She got up and continued on. A high pitched wail began. She refused to look behind her, back up the hill towards the ruins where she had killed the god. She didn’t want to know.
A light flashed in front of her and she was blinded. She fell again, this time sprawling forward and rolling to a stop against the trunk of a tree. She tried to rise but as she tested her foot, pain spiked up from her ankle. Then, she felt a hand around her arm pulling her upright. The black faded from her eyes and she saw the woman who had helped her.
Her hair was gold, her skin was bronze and her eyes the color of polished silver. She wore a torc of jet around her throat. She was a god.
“You killed my brother,” the god said.
The girl did not speak. No words would save her.
“Every year I place one of his swords under the altar, and every year I hope. But every year he rapes and kills another child and grows stronger, fed by the fear of his people.” The god reached out and placed a benediction on her brow. “But not this year. This year you found the sword. You were the one. You have saved your people from him. No longer will they need to send their daughters up the hill.”
The girl found her tongue. “What will happen to them now?”
“Do not be afraid – they will not be godless. I will take his place. I will demand no sacrifice, only love and worship for the blessings I will give them.”
She still clutched the god’s sword, so it was easy enough to step back and swing. The sword was light as a feather, but powerful. It removed the god’s head cleanly from her shoulders.
On second thought, perhaps she would keep the sword. The torc would buy her passage just as easily.