Madness Heart Press

I stare at my hand. That’s where it starts, in my hand, it twitches, the skin bursts and instead of blood and viscera new skin shows through the seams of my body. It wasn’t human skin, scales, ridges, claws. I flexed my talons, watching the play of muscle under the scaled skin of my arm. I could feel the change taking the rest of my body.
Continue reading Flash Friday: Welcomed Change

Pen scritched on paper, each line carefully drawn with the care that the artist showed no other object in this world. With every stroke, the artist added detail, or the hint of detail, so true to life, that it seemed to breathe on the page.

“It won’t be good enough.” The subject of her art rasped. She didn’t answer, taking time to sketch the curve of a cheekbone. “It won’t work.” It mocked.

She paused then, her face, which had been a passive mask as perfectly placid as any stone bust, suddenly broke into a snarl. Wordlessly she crumpled her beautiful sketch and threw it at her tormentor. It landed amidst the bones, disturbing a spider that had made its home in the desiccated ribcage. Slowly, the artist regained control of her breathing and began to sketch again, ignoring the hundreds of similarly wadded pieces of paper lying around her.

He stood silently waiting, above him, the bare light bulb flickered sporadically. It had come to this, not in any organized or planned way, but through synchronicity. There was nowhere else he could be. There was nothing else he could do. Outside the world was deathly silent. It was gone, all of it. All that remained were these walls and the flickering bare bulb. There would be nothing soon. He faded along with the world.