FaceFic

The dragon stares menacingly from the ramparts watching the brief mortals scurry past, anticipating … something. Time passes not swiftly for one ancient and immortal, yet he wearies not. The wait will prove its worth. Attention usurped by the distant sound of wings, he looks up and spies his mate; luminous, lithe and majestic. She alights at his side and he succumbs to her, helpless in her embrace, as legend is born.

The mighty huntress spies her prey in the distance. She watches – waits. Choosing her moment she closes in, with stealthily sinuous steps, so as not to alert other nearby predators to her find. Negotiating the terrain with swift precision, she makes her move with practiced deliberation, skillfully taking down the sitting target and dragging it off. The hunt ended, the victorious roar issues forth: “Woo Hoo! 50% Off!”

To hold your shape, come what may. To be admired, studied, and have none of your facets found undesirable. To become entrenched in a setting that keeps you secure, and allows you to shine. To always be surrounded by precious things. To be hard and cutting, yet bring unbridled joy to someone’s life. To always know that you are the brightest and most beautiful thing in the room. Women love diamonds. No. They envy them.

She loved remote central locking. She knew it wasn’t something you should love, but it gave her such joy that she couldn’t help it. She adored the feeling of power she got as, with the press of a button, her car would yield to her self-evident sovereignty and reveal to her its secrets. She lived for the feeling of absolute, unquestioning obedience. Wrestling her three children into the car she finally understood why.

She could hardly believe it when she learned just how wrong you could be and still be breathing. Thirteen years he had waited, watched, never letting her out of his sight for too long. He loved her. He’d loved her since he was a child. She never knew. Living her life while her dear friend kept to the sidelines, she deftly ruined everything. Now he refused even to speak to her. And now she realised that she loved him.

And now for something new: the first FaceFic poem, courtesy of Emma.

The aether is dormant, the wastelands austere,
The voices are silent. I am still here,
Abiding the nothing, awaiting a sign,
Some hope, just a glimmer, something of thine.
The monitor flickers, as something is through
(System generated) nothing of you.
I tweak my responses and update my Stat,
Aware of the unceasing glare of my cat.
Loneliness tightens its grip, now I know,
My life in the numbers Online Friends: Zero.

The stories said that doors to the Fairy Realm were on the edge of things. Where light met shadow or water met stone you could break through to the Other World. He knew he didn’t belong here. He had dedicated his to life finding an entrance. And he’d done it. He had found the ‘edge’ shining in his hand. His head reeled. Shapes and colours swam together. His heart slowed with loss of pressure. He crossed over at last.

She wasn’t often noticed, but the scarring made her shy. Feeling profound emptiness, she stared at the house she had once lived in. It loomed, barren – lost in time – as though nothing had changed since she left. She steeled herself and approached the neighbour, “Why’s the place empty?” Unaware, the old man gazed vaguely at the house, mumbling to himself “Terrible murder. Poor girl tortured so long. All those scars.”

“Fly my pretties!” Her precious monkeys took flight as the cackle rang out over the hills. Damn the meddlesome little girl and her feral dog! Revenge was at hand. She would kill them if she had to. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Worn and weary pointed hat: black; long dress worse for wear: also black; cloak: black. It wasn’t much, but it was what she had, and any outfit could be redeemed by the right shoes.

Firing into the void was futile. She wasn’t so crazy she didn’t know that! But the ghost was out there somewhere, something might hit. Another round pierced the aether. “Take that Spectre!” She could do this forever. The rifle was tireless. “Haunt me, will you? Hah!” Fury flared and the weapon discharged again. “Paranoid delusion” said the Psychiatrist, as the phantom’s hands softly caressed and closed on her throat.