Three square meals a day, lowered into the pit, the pots checked for tampering afterwards. Even the flimsiest of handles could be fashioned into a shiv.
Despite hellish conditions, with no light or fellowship, the pots always returned empty, and the will to survive and hate endured.
Written for: Twittering Tales
Filed under Uncategorized
‘Excuse me. Would you mind taking part in a survey?’
‘Sure.’
‘Really? Great! OK, question 1. Are you currently A: In a medically induced coma, or B: In a fiction surrounded by paid actors?’
‘How about C: Doing the weekly shop with my wife?’
‘I’m afraid that’s not an option Michael.’
‘How do you know my name’s Michael?’
‘I didn’t say Michael. You said Michael.’
‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Then walk away Michael.’
‘I will.’
‘Sir?’
‘I can’t move!’
‘Why do you think that is? Is it A: You are in a medically induced coma, or B: Aliens have inser…’
Written for: Friday Fictioneer
Filed under Flash fiction
…For his crimes against humanity Dan Brown found himself on a blackened island at the centre of a sulphurous lake. Amidst noxious flames demons whispered that the pope was out to get him and that a sacred manuscript had been secreted somewhere deep inside his colon…
Written for: Twittering Tales
Filed under Flash fiction
Into the fiery pit fell the fornicators; murderers, rogues and blasphemers, and as they frothed and flayed at the devils delight, Chris De Burgh began his song anew.
“The lady in red…”
Written for: Twittering Tales
Filed under Flash fiction, short story
The trees that grow in Perdition have the structure of tortured souls seeking to escape the scorched earth, reaching or hanging ashen like expended husks. They are the product of neglect and malice; of half-remembered dreams – places endured and wandered through in a distressing deja-vu.
I happen upon the clearing again. It is part of my punishment to relive the hollow discovery time and time over. I cannot remember what is it that I did to deserve such terrible retribution, or why the concept of duration should fill me with dread…
I have the suspicion that I have been here forever.
A fire has ravaged my throat and my mind. Blurred corporeal entities vie for attention. Thoughts break apart under scrutiny.
Up ahead – the outline of a figure. How long is it since I conversed with another? Silent words form on my lips and I plunge forward through tearing thorns. Despite my passionate pursuit the figure slips further and further away. I emerge alone in a clearing where hellish limbs claw their way out of the…
Written for: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Filed under Flash fiction, short story
Martin Cororan 