Thursday, 16 June 2011

Flash fiction trio

Creak

He snuggled down in his warm, little bed. In the opposite corner, the dark cupboard heaved. The wood creaked in and out, ever so slowly, ever so meekly, its lifeblood seeping down to fill the floor with a river of red. Behind the door something breathed. Something moved. Something spied. Through the cracks in the door it could see the little boy sleeping soundly, dreaming little dreams of dolphins and summer smiles. But in the cupboard the something bided its time. Patiently. Waiting for the moment when the little sleeper would wake and wonder what wailed behind the dark door.

What a circus

The circus pulled into town. Audiences arrived in waves; bright, expectant faces. Wanting to be shocked, laugh, cry. The little ones hid their faces as the clowns smiled big, split red grins. Elephants raised their trunks. Lithe boys leapt on the shoulders of giants. But up in the air was the main draw. Swinging across the top of the world. On the trapeze, she flew, blazing a trail of silver dust. Untouchable. Trained every day to look effortless. But tonight she would really fly. Down!  A last show no-one would forget. Who would catch her? She yearned to be grounded.

Showtime

Applause slapped her face as she strode on stage, kickiing her heels with that insouciance they loved. They craved it. She relished the attention. Cue music. Cue song. They roared and she blasted it back, carrying every tune they cried for. She gave them her life in one hour. And they left satiated. When the lights sank, she stared at the face that had stared back below these lights for so many nights. Reaching up she pulled off the long, red wig. Wiped away the make-up. Said goodbye to the plush furs. He was just plain old Dave again.

copyright Vickie Johnstone 

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