Friday Flash: The Cowardly Firemage

I burned her.

Oh, God. What is wrong with me? All those practice drills and I still char the first girl who kisses me.

The worst part is? I ran. Now I am waiting in a parking lot, wondering how I'm going to explain to Mom that I ruined our lives.

I know what she'll say first. Is she dead? I don't know. I bolted with the afterimage of flame still burning my retina. Abandoned her, just like that, in the deserted school hallway.

I'll say this as I'm getting in the car, and then Mom will jam her foot on the gas pedal, and I'll scream: have you no heart? But it's my fault, too, because I know she doesn't and still I'm standing here in the shadow of the janitor's exit, waiting for her like she's a chariot sent from heaven.

There should be an ambulance by now. She screamed right as we were blinded by the flash. I thought she screamed my name but all I really remember is my own pounding feet. I didn't see the damage, but I can imagine. If she lives, she'll need skin grafts.

I hold my breath to keep the guilt down, to keep my hands shoved in my pockets and my eyes on the road. I hear squealing tires and I see the black Toyota a block down. Hi, Mom. Sorry, Mom. I can't keep still any longer. I guess I have a heart because the foolish thing is pushing open the exit and pushing words out -

"Help!"

Flash Friday: The Moment of Free Will

I followed her gleaming turquoise scales out of the goat pen and into the maze of hay bales. Of course she noticed. I wasn't trying for stealth, as I'm not too keen on being gored.

She came to a stop in the dead center of the field, where we were well hidden from the pens but still had sufficient room for take off. Her tail pressed down to the ground and her shoulders pulled in tight under the high arch of her neck. Her tension reminded me, unfortunately, of a time I saw her human raise a whip against my bonded. I let her get the first words in, hoping that they might convince me to abandon my self-appointed mission. Her voice vibrates with impatience. "Why do I have the feeling that my opinion of you is about to lower?"

"You're probably right. If I had something smart to say, I'd save it for lecture." Jara is always rolling her eyes at what I say in lecture. Now her jaw set in a grim line. I should turn away, but I can't imagine her not being there tomorrow to dominate the discussion with her pith observations. And then to hear the whispers as the others try to guess what has gone wrong down below, because it's too impolite to ask about the humans. I'll know, and I won't be able to keep my mouth shut, and her ghost will hiss at me from beyond the soul shield for my shame. "Down to business, then. Your human lives in sector three. I know because mine does, too, and they've met." She growled and stepped closer, emphasizing her advantage in height. "They're about to get themselves killed, Jana! I came to ask if you had any influence."

Her nostrils flared as she glared down at me. "You mean, will I influence it in your favor? Save your human?"

My breath began to smell of sulfur, but I focused on the warning I had come to give. The truth behind my anguish wouldn't have impressed her proud, isolationist soul. "If your human is Sertry Galath, please warn her that a boy named Chou plans to stab her tonight." It's the words I'd recited that morning, flawless and in their entirety.

I had thought that I would stand to face her questions after that, to make sure that she believed me, and to give it a go for my pride. Instead, I turned back as fast as the small space will allow me. I didn't want to see her reaction. It's my own human I've betrayed, and I risk my own life, bound up in his. I shouldn't have to convince someone else to kill him.

It's not fair that Sertry has beaten Chou's reason out of him. It's not right that she should be so cruel and have such power over him, while Jara is like a sculpture of the ancients, an embodiment of all the ideals we each strive for in vain. Me, I can't be impartial. I've begged him to abandon his plan, but he has brought the knife and now I watch and wait for that final moment of decision.

Perhaps the look on Jara's face was disbelief.

Friday Flash: "After the Funeral"

He cries at the word bedtime as Mommy unbuttons his black jacket with fumbling hands. Her eyes are a scary red as she forces them into the routine of pajamas, tooth brush, and bedtime story. He waits until she flips the switch and clicks the door shut before he sits up against the darkness. There is still a piece of the routine missing, the hug that would make him feel safe again, if only he could stay awake long enough to hear the front door open.

But, like the night before, sleep steals him away before Daddy can come home.

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Oh, my! This one's a drabble.

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