Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author R.A. Clarke @RAClarkeWrites @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 28, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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One Peck 
by R.A. Clarke 

I’m not good enough
to sit on your branch,
to eat at your feast,
perch on your wire.
.
No, you wouldn’t care
if I fell to my doom,
drowned in a lake,
or scorched in a fire.
.
I’ve chased; I’ve changed,
hoping you’d love me,
then draw me in close
as one of your own.
.
But you never notice,
don’t show any care,
just look back and sneer
whilst I linger alone.
.
You think you’re the best.
I thought it once, too.
Your beauty’s alluring.
You thrive in your thrall.
.
All worship the queen!
Her harem bows down.
But a once-shattered heart
makes this lover stand tall.
.
What’s soft can grow hard.
What’s warm turns to ice.
Regard rots and festers.
Love tarnished by hate.
.
As my conscience fizzles 
and all empathy dies,
glare over your shoulder
and secure your dark fate.
.
I head for the front
of your fluttering flock
Your incredulous stare
gives me twitches of glee.
.
With one razor’s peck
one wire becomes two.
As your perch slips away
your wide eyes lock on me.
.
I laugh while you reach,
withhold what you need—
watch you and your drove,
as you drop to your death.
.
Thrills ripple through me.
A revenge well deserved.
Your screams give me chills,
sang loud from your chest.
.
Those false wings can’t save you.
Your bodies’ land hard,
with a sickly wet crunch. 
Now it’s my time to rise!
.
Triumphant, I soar
before claiming my place
on my new kingly perch.
The lord of the skies.

.

Fiction © Copyright R.A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from author R.A. Clarke:

RAClarke_RaceToNovus

A daughter’s last chance at redemption on an alien planet. A sweeping secret that could not only end her dreams, but her life as well.

Finn Rucker boards the starship to seek a fresh start as part of a colonizing effort on Joya. The race, sponsored by Governus, yields free land and startup funds for the lucky winners. The number of entrants guarantees someone is going to lose and Finn is determined that she and her bionic horse, Herc, are among the winners.

Racing through uncharted jungle to the settlement of Novus, Finn and her fellow racers soon discover that not everything is as it seems – and Governus withheld information from the contestants. Strange beasts attack the racers, mechanical equipment begins to fail, and the very air seems out to get them.

When all seems lost, a mysterious people arrive and help the racers, revealing the depth of Governus’ deception. Finn will have to keep her pulse pistols close and her new friends closer – but not too close – as they all race to survive the jungle.

You will love this mashup of Hidalgo and James Cameron’s Avatar as Finn navigates the guilt of her past, the promise of a future, and the imminent dangers of her present.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 28, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Feathered Witnesses 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

The flock of birds rested silently on the electrical wire, their feathers ruffled with an uneasy tension. They were to become the silent witnesses of the events unfolding below. A small convenience store stood at the end of the silent street, its neon sign flickered intermittently in the eerie twilight.

As dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the pavement, the atmosphere grew thick with anticipation. Suddenly, the store’s front door burst open. A figure stumbled out clutching a blood soaked bag in one hand. His other hand was waving wildly behind him, as if he was trying to shoo away a housefly. The birds stirred, their eyes fixed on the scene below. The figure shrouded in darkness, staggered forward, its movements erratic and jerky. It seemed to be pursued by an unseen force, a malevolent presence that lingered just beyond perception. With each step the form contorted and twisted as if being manipulated by unseen strings.

The birds watched in horror as the figure collapsed onto the ground, writhing in agony. Shadows coiled around it, tendrils of darkness snaked across the pavement like living entities. The air grew colder, thick with the stench of decay and despair. Then, from the depths of the darkness, emerged a shapeless mass, its form shifting and morphing with rapid fluidity. It hovered above the fallen figure. It slowly lowered itself beside its prey. The ground trembled beneath the weight of its hooves as it created large cracks in the concrete. The birds cawed in terror, their cries echoed through the abandoned parking lot.

In that moment the true horror of the event unfolded. The figure was not being pursued by a mere mortal assailant. It was being hunted by something far more sinister. A creature from the depths of the supernatural realm. As the night descended into madness, the birds scattered into the sky. Their wings beating frantically against the oppressive darkness. For they knew that whatever had emerged was not meant for mortal eyes. They were but silent witnesses to a horror beyond comprehension.

.

Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Melissa R. Mendelson @melissmendelson @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 27, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Even At Peace, We Still Seek Ruin
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

It was another beautiful day.  Another lavender sky, green, lush grass and pink and purple bushes.  The wind was gentle, a kiss on a cheek, fingers running through hair.  Even the stone steps were not jagged.  But I was.

My grandmother was quiet today.  Usually, when we took our strolls, she would talk a mile a minute.  Maybe, it was because my grandfather, her husband was gone.  He closed his eyes one night and drifted off to heaven, but everyone said that earth was the same as above.  Did my grandfather have lavender skies, green, lush grass and pink and purple bushes?  What if he went to hell, but no one believed in such a place.  No one except for me.

“How was school?”  My grandmother asked me.

“Boring.  As usual.  Just factual information.  Only the facts,” I said.

“Well, opinions a very long time ago ruined this world.  We didn’t have the peace and beauty that we have now.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss it?”  My grandmother stared at me, and I flinched at her stare.  “All the senseless violence and death?  The lies?”  Her mouth twisted into an ugly snarl.  “You’re lucky that you live in peace.  We all could’ve been dead.”  She walked ahead of me.

“Why does everyone die in their sleep now?”  I asked.

She was quiet for a moment.  “Even Death has had their fill, and a lot of people died.”

“But Nature kills people,” I said.

“That was before she retired.”  My grandmother sat down on a stone step.  “Anyway, we can’t change the world back.”  Her gaze rested on me, and I could feel its weight pressing down on me.  “Not without a sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?”  I asked.

My grandmother closed her eyes.  She let the wind caress her face.  She breathed in deeply, enjoying the lavender air.  Her eyes remained shut, but she asked me, “You’re not of age yet, but when you are, would you want to bring a child into this world?  Would you want them to live in peace?”

I sat on the stone step beside her.  I played with some grass, wondering what it would be like to cut my finger on a blade of grass.  I was never injured, never sick.  I was just…. Bored.  “No,” I finally said.  “Life has no more meaning.  We’re born, we drift around for whatever time, and then we go to sleep, forever.  The world’s not changing.  No one’s inspiring anyone.”

My grandmother opened her eyes and stared at me.  “Inspiration comes with a price,” she said.  “People will love you, and people will hate you.  Do you really want that?”

“We’re not connected anymore.  We just…”  I stared up into the lavender sky.  “Exist.”

My grandmother moved fast.  I never felt the knife against my throat, just the warmth running down my neck.  I opened my mouth to speak, my fingers clutching at the open wound, but all I could do was stare at her.

“The world can’t remain this way.”  My grandmother didn’t even shed a tear.  “I’m bored too.”

As I fell back against another stone step, my blood raced downward across the green, lush grass and into the pink and purple bushes, and the sky darkened, a rumble of thunder heard in the distance.  But I would never see the storm.

.

Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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About Author Melissa R. Mendelson:

Melissa R. Mendelson is the author of the Sci-Fi Novella, Waken.  She also has a prose poetry collection called, This Will Remain With Us published by Wild Ink Publishing.  Her short story collections, Better Off Here and Name’s Keeper can be found on Amazon/Amazon Kindle.

If you’d like to learn more about Melissa, you can visit her accounts here: www.MelissaMendelson.com

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Sue Renol @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 27, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

As Expected
by Sue Renol

The sound isn’t anything like you’d think – it’s wild, animalistic, untamed. Even the plastic on the furniture in the formal front room is peeling back in an effort to finally free the fabric trapped within.

Something about the creaks and moans of the old house lighting sends chills up my spine. It didn’t have to be this way, all they had to do was want me, but no – that was too hard. So I drop a tab or two when I hang out with my friends, big deal! That doesn’t make me a troubled teen, or some friggin’ degenerate, just someone trying to have a good time.

Who’s having fun now?

There’s running overhead, I hear them scrambling to get out, but the muffled thump from above means someone didn’t make it.

They made their choice; they sent me there. They knew what those people did to me. They knew how harsh and cruel it was, yet still, they let me suffer. They said they couldn’t deal with a drug-addled delinquent. So that’s how I went in, on a NARCS watch; stripped of my clothes and dignity, deloused, every orifice searched and voided. They starved me for the first three days, and put me on suicide watch. Have you ever been on suicide watch? It’s almost as though they’re trying to convince you to do it. But all the Nurse Crotchets in the world weren’t going to save me from myself, or them from me. They didn’t even tell me about my new little sister. I guess I’m not good enough for her either.

I’ve been in the basement for about six minutes now listening to it burn above me. My sheath of flame tinted hair a fair greeting for what will soon be coming down the stairs. Do you think the flames will recognize me as their maker? Will they revere the shade I’ve donned for the occasion?

The stench is overwhelming – greasy, oily smoke is starting to seep under the jam and build a rolling cloud. The victory may have been short lived, but for a moment, it was mine.

I think I hear the baby crying…

.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 26, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Watching the Murder of a Soul  
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi 

You flutter across my mind, and

what my eyes see is enthralling,

but your narcissistic behavior has

led me to a fork in the pines. Are you

.

authentic, golden, or are you hiding,

going to manipulate, quietly rip me

apart behind the scenes, behind my

eyes, would I ever be whole again, or

.

would I have to wander the streets of

my heart – wrenching, clenching in

confusion and unbridled pain?

.

Would I have to find you there and

tear your heart in two so it stops

beating with mine, turn my eyes into

.

your mind and search, grip tightly

your essence and citrus squeeze

you into pieces as you did me?

.

Would butterflies then grace my sight,

would their wings carry me to peace?

Would their beauty make me breathe

.

again, would it make me whole again,

would it let me sit and enjoy the flowers?

.

Would it let me live again carrying pain

but seeing the beauty of the world.

Can you only see the purest things

if you backpack the hurt and the murder?

Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

ErinSweetAlMehairiErin Sweet Al-Mehairi is an author, editor, journalist, and publicist with thirty years of experience in communication fields and Bachelor of Arts degrees in English, Journalism, and History.

Breathe. Breathe. was her debut collection of dark poetry and short stories in 2017. She has poetry and short stories published in several anthologies and online, and was co-editor of a half-fiction, half-poetry Gothic anthology. She’s currently compiling and writing several poetry collections, an essay collection, a short story collection, and a novel.

She is a chronic pain warrior, the mother of three humans and several spoiled rescue cats, and while born in England, now lives in a forest in Ohio while managing her editing, writing, and PR business.

Find Erin at her website Hook of a Book or on most social media platforms.

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Women in Horror Month, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amy Zoellers @breakfastpoet @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 26, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Sparked
by Amy Zoellers 

Their plan is to summon storms,

to whip them up in their flights of audacity

Their plan will stir up tragedy and ghosts,

ghosts to lure you to wayward and shadowed alleys.

No good, no rest will find you there.

They flap and flail death and catastrophe.

The tree falls through the kitchen window and roof,

where are you?

They flail, stir the vengeful ghosts

whose bitterness has nothing to do with you,

centuries have passed, but you are handy

for the haunting.

Just rows of birds on wires

heeding their conductor.

.

Fiction © Copyright Amy Zoellers
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.
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More from Amy Zoellers:

OrdealInFrenchLipstick

Ordeal in French Lipstick

Art! Fun!! Poetry and song! Portraits, dolls, prints, jewelry… and so much more! Find Amy on Instagram:  Hipness and Outrage 

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alyson Faye @AlysonFaye2 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 25, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


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Lords of Chaos
by Alyson Faye 

The sullen purpling of the sky wasn’t the main thing bothering Hannah, nor was it the never-ending crazy paving stones of the path, it was the lack of phone signal, the empty water bottle and her sprained ankle; every step sent millions of fire ants racing through her muscles. She sat slumped on a rock, and held back tears.

No point losing more water.

She glanced at her phone screen and the silent clamour of texts she’d read ten times:-

DON’T GO UP THERE!!!

Leave it, Hanns, forget him.

You’re on your own, girlfriend. Be it on your own head. 😦

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the so-called ‘devil’s steps’ meandered up, up toward the ancient burial mound of some long-dead king, or so the local lore went.

Something squeaked and rustled in the heather. Hannah leapt up, stumbled and fell, grazing her knees.

‘Ow!’

Turn back or go on? He said he’d be there. He’s testing me and our love.

Hannah strapped her scarf and belt around her swollen ankle, and limped on, whilst the sky turned maroon, then plum.

The rhyme she’d learnt years ago at primary school trickled into her head –

Never take the devil’s steps

not in winter, n’er in spring

not even when the sky is blue

and never when it’s pink.

His blind eyes see you coming

from his throne inside the mound.

He who lives forever

will keep you at his side . . .                                                                                                   

A fat raindrop landed on Hannah’s shoulder. Head down she limped on, watching the shadows consume the heather, until she had to use her phone torch to light ‘the devil’s steps’.

By nine pm she was at the foot of the mound, soaked through, shivering, but ,in the glow of a lantern, she saw a pitched tent.

He’s here. I knew it! Huh, that’ll show ‘em.

A tall shadow stepped out from the tent, waved at her and Hannah hobbled on towards her lover, heart light with joy.

* * *

Eldred embraced his latest love, and savouring his victory. Hannah had proved herself, ignored the naysayers, walked for miles, in pain, following the devils steps. All of this under the pink sky which prophesied …

He glanced at the mound, his father’s burial tomb. Soon, he would free him . . . and share his crown.

As his girlfriend snuggled him, Eldred felt the usual wave of revulsion for this pathetic human weakling.

* * *

Behind them the mound’s surface began to crack and shudder, spewing out mud, bleached bones and rocks. Hannah turned, horror-struck, and began to scream, but Eldred stood firm, a smile on his lips.

‘It is time.’

The widest crack split further, became an opening they could walk into. Eldred grabbed Hannah’s arm, dragging her towards it.

‘No, get off me! I don’t want . . .’  Exhaustion weakened her. The stink of wet earth, and something fetid overwhelmed her. She gagged. ‘Are those human bones?’ She pointed.

‘Sacrifices, just like you will be,’ her love announced, expressionless.

Together, they entered the maw of the mound, wading ankle-deep in mud, Eldred tugging Hannah along.

‘My Lord is waiting.’

‘Who? What? Are you mad?’ Hannah tried to pull away.

Rats, the size of cats, scuttled away from them. ‘Grave vermin,’ Eldred spat. ‘Begone.’

The tunnel opened up into a chamber. Hannah stood, stunned by the size of the tomb on a dais, and the array of lavish grave goods at its base. Eldred strode over to the tomb, knelt and touched the carved stone sides. ‘Father. I am come to free you. I have your final bride with me.’

Bride? Wtf? Hannah jerked back. Her eyes meanwhile ranged over the piles of golden treasure and heaps of dazzling gems. Her hand reached out for a diamond necklace; she couldn’t help herself. As Eldred fastened it round her neck, the tomb lid slid sideways with a ghastly grating and a spindly, fleshless figure climbed out, with eyes of jade and bones of coral.

‘Master,’ said Eldred, bowing. ‘Take this offering. Come forth into the world. Chaos rules there. We will be Lords of the furies.’

The mythic King lurched towards Hannah, jaws open, black tongue protruding and Hannah screamed …

Fiction © Copyright Alyson Faye
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Alyson Faye:

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The Lost Girl & Spindleshanks

The Lost Girl
A nailed-up door. An inheritance which comes with a ghost. A missing girl. A fifty-year-old mystery. Parapsychologist Berkley Osgood is hired to investigate. What he uncovers reveals secrets the living want to hide and the dead will never forgive.

Spindleshanks
Adam is having nightmares about a skeletal shadow figure, who he calls Spindleshanks. Soon his whole class are sharing the same nightmare. Adam’s dad, Rob, knows that Spindleshanks can’t be real. But is he? One terrible night Rob has to face his son’s nightmare creature and fight for his son’s life. What would you sacrifice to have your child back safe?

“A decent two-for-one. Alyson Faye brings the engaging and eerie in equal measure.” CC Adams – horror / dark fiction author

Available on Amazon!

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 25, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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My Perfect Lover 
by Marge Simon 

We met through a friend, and really hit it off. After just one date, we were having dinner at his place. He made quite a fuss about the wine being very special, a fruity bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle Gewurztremainer. He had picked it partly because it had my name, but also because he said it was “light and sweet, like you, my dear.”

Of course, I’d thought that was so clever, everything about him was perfect in my eyes. Surely, he felt the same about me – well, almost. There were a few things he felt I should do, if I really wanted to please him. He was so gentle, so loving when he mentioned he would prefer I had red hair instead of “that shade of mud”, which meant dishwater blonde, I guess. So I died my hair bright red (he picked the shade himself). I hated it and broke out in a rash, an allergy to the dye. But anything to please him, anything.

The following weeks, he romanced me, wined and dined me until I thought it would never end. But came a call one afternoon. He wanted me to help move two big overstuffed chairs to the basement. He said he was tired of looking at them. I cheerfully helped cart them down the steps. The basement was cold and damp. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not a good place for the upholstery,” I began, but he cut me off, scowling. “You’re quite right, Michelle, but it’s a good place for you! You’re no longer light and sweet. You’ve been putting on the pounds. And I decided that shade of red doesn’t help your personality at all. With that, he ran back upstairs. Before closing and locking the door, he said “I’m off to Florida for a few weeks. Au revoir!”

I slumped into the biggest chair and cried. I should have known he couldn’t be a totally perfect lover. Maybe I’ll have shed those extra pounds by the time he returns. My head itched.

.

Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Marge Simon:

Victims_MargeSimon

Victims
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

The title of this collection sets you up for the surprise of lyrical stories of victimizations with unexpected endings for the villains. Be ready to have your heart opened and cheer for perceived victims, human (made and unmade) and other life forms, victorious in the hands of these two award-winning poets. —Linda D. Addison, award-winning author, HWA Lifetime Achievement Award recipient and SFPA Grand Master.

Across histories and cultures and from Auschwitz to Babylon this book leaves you questioning who are the victims, and regardless of your conclusion you’re likely to get throat-punched. This is horror where everyone has a knife, and is ready to deliver this message: “Remember, you are always guilty. —Herb Kauderer, author of Fragments from the Book of the After-Dead.

Simon and Turzillo have only gone and startled me again. What a collection! Brutal. Beautiful. This quiver of poems strikes with the unflinching truth of persecution and oppression as seen through the lens of feminism. Prepare to come away bruised and yet strangely bolstered by Victims, a symphony of sadness orchestrated by two masters of dark poetry. —Lee Murray, Bram Stoker and Shirley Jackson Award-winner.

This is one of the braver dark poetry collections I’ve seen in a while. Horror poets generally employ victims in their work, but the focus is generally on the Evil. Turning the camera the other way is unusual, unsettling, emotionally risky, and surprisingly effective. From their stark opening take on Pygmalion, to the ending poem about the wasted life of Stateira of Persia, this powerful collection teases apart an impressive number of the threads of victimhood. Some are the usual cases, but quite a few are surprises, or reversals, or cases with unexpected layers. There is nothing repetitive about this collection. —Timons Esaias, winner of the Asimov’s Readers’ Award and the Winter Anthology Contest

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alex Grehy @indigodreamers @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on April 24, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Tear Drinkers  
by Alex Grehy

They meant well, the empaths, bowed under 

the weight of the world’s distress, their gaze

forced to the ground where the bliss of butterflies

grazing in flower-filled meadows, touched their 

imaginations, beautiful metaphors of transformation 

and mindfulness, focused only on harvesting the

sweetness of nectar and sunshine.

.

It was a small step of selective breeding that gave

the gift of peace to the world. Iridescent butterflies,

wings blue as the summer sky, edged with the comfort 

of midnight and its welcome sleep. Light and gentle, they

drank the bitterness of our tears, harvesting our pain,

absorbing our troubled feelings. We wept and they eased

our heartache; how we welcomed them.

.

They were natural creatures, with all the imperatives of life,

to thrive, to evolve. They drank our anguish until we lived

in ecstasy, the heartbreak of the past a distant nightmare.

The adult butterflies, grown so strong on the nectar of our

tears watched despairing as their young ones starved,

there was no sustenance in our joy. 

.

The imperatives of life – to evolve, to protect, to survive.

We bred them to harvest our pain, they evolved to cultivate it.

The butterflies lay their eggs of doubt and mistrust in our skins; 

we scratch until we bleed, we weep in agony, the young ones 

drink our tears, how we welcome them.

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora

Green Thumbs Beware!

Plants are beautiful, peaceful, abundant, and life-sustaining…

But what if something sinister took root in the soil, awakening to unleash slashing thorns, squeezing vines, or haunting greenery that lured you in? Perhaps blooms on distant planets could claim your heart, hitch a ride to Earth on a meteor, or simply poison you with their essence. Imagine a world where scientists produced our own demise in a lab, set spores free to infect, even bred ferns to be our friends only to witness the privilege perverted. When faced with botanical terror, will humanity fight to survive, or will they curl and wither like leaves in the fall?

Read ten speculative tales ripe with dangerous flora to find out.

Available on Amazon!  

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @darc_nina #LoH

Posted on April 24, 2024 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Critical Bird Song, or The Rising Costs of Beachfront
by Angela Yuriko Smith

The birds played a dirge upon the wires, a last mournful tune for the forest, for the meadows, for the world. No one listened to their lament for melting ice and dusty lake beds. No one looked up to see the silent bird song, punctuating a plea across our landlines. No one cared. We the people, the perpetrators, went on our way full of bustle and hustle, far too important to heed a band of birds making random patterns. What do birds know?

… until the birds went silent. Then we looked up to find the trees emptied of bird song, leaves and the annoying cicadas that horrified us. The barren landscape was finally devoid of spiders, dandelions and other pests. Flies and mosquitos, both history. We rejoiced at our newly created beachfront properties, and moderately mourned those now under the sea. With the rising temperatures, every state could be Florida. We celebrated, but what did we know?

Critical bird song
but our complaints were so loud
we missed the message.

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

Angela Yuriko Smith is a third-generation Ryukyuan-American, award-winning poet, author, and publisher with 20+ years in newspapers. Publisher of Space and Time magazine (est. 1966), two-time Bram Stoker Awards® Winner, and HWA Mentor of the Year, she shares Authortunities, a free weekly calendar of author opportunities at authortunities.substack.com.

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Posted in Authors, Dark Fiction, flash fiction, FREE, Horror, Ladies of Horror, Writing Project | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments