“Be warned”, they said, “you are entering the portals of abominable hell. No house of horrors can compete with this.” There was derision writ large on their experienced, freckled and wise faces. We knew not whether they had the prescience regarding shows on Netflix. But for them Orange was forever the new black. A black no détente or olive branch could ever lighten. There would be no doves to cry.
As Virinchi and I made our way into the war memorial housed within a marble façade, we realized that memorials do not matter as do memories.
(WORD COUNT: 96)
This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw.
For the complete list of entries, please click HERE
The credit for the breathtaking photograph goes to Rochelle Wisoff
(PHOTO CREDIT: @wildverbs)
The amoeboid shape that had formed on the windshield was neither the work of condensation nor the outcome of a dysfunctional wind screen viper. It was a thoughtful void created by the breaking of glass in a deliberate pattern. It would have been easy, or even fundamental to term it a ‘hole’, for it was just that. But for Anjali, it would be cringe-inducing to term it that. She always thought of it as a void, a vacuum, a space that both occupied and deserted her soul. A nothingness that cleaved her.
The dense cluster of green seemed to have only proliferated serenely. It was exactly as it seemed on the eventful night of the 31st of December. Speeding to reach Selena’s duplex to usher in the New Year in pouring rain, she had suddenly veered off the road. The last thing to catch her eye before the car careened into the trees killing Alex instantly was a pattern.
(WORD COUNT: 159)
This story has been written as part of the FLASH FICTION FOR ASPIRING WRITERS – FFfAW Challenge #182, more details about which may be found HERE
For reading similar entries submitted in response to the FFfAW Challenge #182, please click HERE
The photo credit is due to @wildverbs. Thanks!