Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Angela Yuriko Smith @AngelaYSmith @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #poem #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Train Going Down
by Angela Yuriko Smith

Churning…burning…
churning…burning…
churning…burning…
Whoooowhoooooooo!
The train going Down,
Down grinds in with a huff and vehemenous clouds
of poisonous smoke boiling through oily air
stinging your eyes with brimstone and tears.
There’s no forgetting, only regretting
and a voice in your head that sings…
All aboard, you’ve packed your bags
and the train is leaving the station.
Don’t worry about your travel plans.
This is your final destination.
Your ticket was paid with your deeds as trade—
you made a road with all of the stones you threw.
So now Down, Down the train must go.
Wheels scream and cry against smoking iron.
Every star turns in shame. The day falls away
like a shroud. Your life is forgotten.
Churning…burning…
churning…burning…
churning…burning…
Whoooowhoooooooo!
Fiction © Copyright Angela Yuriko Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Angela Yuriko Smith:

End of Mae

Mae was small town newspaper reporter with bigger dreams. Her life’s passion was to find the ultimate story. When the local homeless start vanishing, her community puts the blame on the Jersey Devil legend. Excited at the prospect of finally uncovering a big story, she spends the night in the woods with a homeless woman. Mae discovers that the whispers are true — there is something sinister wandering the Whitebog area at night. Little did she know that the ultimate story would be her own… and she’d by dying to tell it.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Ashley Davis @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Dragons in the Sand
by Ashley Davis

The sunrise and sunset always look familiar, but the blue sky of day feels wrong. Am I from a place of perpetual long wavelengths? Am I accustomed to the edge? Night, dusk, and dawn—the only times that feel real. The shadow birds still come then, but they always keep their distance in a darker sky. My memories are filled with splinters from old beach-house porch steps, purple clouds over crashing waves, misty dunes, and a deep desire for something I cannot yet understand. I’ve been there a million times, but I don’t know when or who I was. Invisible feet climb a staircase to a destination just out of reach. What will I do when I reach the end of the concrete steps, where it drops into air? There are ticking clocks among the dunes, but what do they measure? Or maybe the clocks are really dragons, come to take back one of their own. I know they see me. I weave magic with words, see through multiple eyes, and always dance on my toes; am I a witch or a prophet? Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow. It’s what I know, and it comes from inside, but I don’t know how it got there. I used to know my braids and my house and the dark voice that shadowed me, and the beach never recedes. It’s always a darkening sky. The wind is always full of salt. The tide is always coming in. There are no seashells on this coastline. The perpetual tide brings something else. I know the darkness that calls me must live in the water, though its voice calls from the clouds. Bring me broken boards, broken shells, broken souls, and I will mend or destroy their essence.
Fiction © Copyright Ashley Davis
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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Poetry by Ashley Davis can be found featured in the fall 2017 issue of
The Horror Zine

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Bailey Hunter @DarkRecesses @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


May Day
by Bailey Hunter

Two weeks in May was all it took.
One minute life was normal, the next everything stopped.  Cars crashing, planes plummeting from the sky, no communication, no electronics of any kind. The world got loud, then very quiet. Fear will do that.
Everyone hid hoping that somehow it would be fixed. Instead the sun became poison, killing most everything it touched. And what it didn’t kill, it turned into death.
The thing that gave the planet life, took it all away in a raging fury, then simply went back to being the sun.
The world, lost everything. The few that were able to escape alive, emerged into a new world. A world without connection or control. A blank and barren land. It didn’t take long for the takers to band together in ruthless scavenger mobs.
There were helpers too, much fewer it seemed. The Scavvies recruited like the warlords before. The Helpers did their best to evade them and liberate those who wanted to share instead of hoard. Apparently, war is a matter of human nature, no matter how much or how little there is to fight over.
Some call it Judgement Day and bemoan that they were not lifted away before it rained down, some call it the Apocalypse and think the Scavvies are zombies.
Me? I call it May Day. The day the Earth sent out a distress signal, unheard by anyone except those of us trapped on this dying planet.
Fiction © Copyright Bailey Hunter
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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More about Bailey Hunter:
Bailey is a publisher with Dark Recesses Press.


Dark Recesses Press is a publishing house dedicated to providing high quality dark fiction in its many forms to the reader. Our end goal is to impress and entertain, no matter what dark recesses we dare shine our light on.

DarkRecessesPress.com

 
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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Naching T. Kassa @NachingKassa @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Skinwalker
by Naching T. Kassa

Rick Redbird stood beneath a moon of dark tidings.
Clouds skittered across the wide sky, blotting out the moonlight and casting shadows over the desert. Red, sandstone boulders grew up out of the earth like strange monoliths and carrion eaters cawed as Rick approached the rusted old Ford. Once, it had been a work of art which belonged to his grandfather. Now, it was a mess of shattered glass, graffiti, and missing pieces.
Just like Rick.
The young man looked down at the tattoos which adorned his skin, felt the gaps between his teeth with his tongue, and blinked through his cracked glasses. He crossed to the pickup and gazed inside. The key was in the ignition, a worn and denuded rabbit’s foot hung from it.
“Hello, Rick,” a male voice said. “I’m surprised you had the guts to come find me.”
The young man turned. A tall man, dressed in black had appeared near the largest of the boulders. He leaned against it, smiling from behind his Ray-bans. Moonglow filled each lens, shone in his oily hair, and glittered in the studs of his leather jacket.
“Your fight was never with me,” Rick said.
“I beg to differ, grandson of my enemy. It became your fight when your grandfather died. He cheated me of my revenge when he snuffed it in his bed. If I can’t exact my revenge on him, you’ll do just as well.”
He sauntered over to Rick and joined him beside the pickup.
“It’s not personal, you know. It’s just…well, I have a reputation to maintain and your grandfather humiliated me before the public eye.”
“My grandfather—“
“Was an old fool. He was no medicine man. He was lucky he died before I killed him.”
“Grandfather wasn’t—“
“Smart? What kind of man screws with a skinwalker? He didn’t have to tell everyone what I was. An intelligent man wouldn’t have. An intelligent man would’ve profited from the situation.” He patted the truck. “Or, turned the situation to his advantage.”
“You were frightened of him. You should—“
“I should what? I fear no man. No mortal poses a threat to me.”
Before Rick’s eyes, the skinwalker shifted form. He dropped to all fours as fur sprouted over his skin. Within seconds, a coyote had taken his place.
The carrion birds cawed as though laughing.
Rick watched.
The coyote spoke in an unnatural tone as his tongue grappled with the human words.
“The fastest car can’t outrun me. The strongest jaw cannot equal mine. I am a killing machine.  So, tell me. What do I have to fear?”
A grin spread across Rick’s face.
“Do you know how to kill a skinwalker?”
“There is no way.”
“You speak their true name.”
The coyote vanished and a man took his place once more.
“How do you know this?”
“I’m adept at the Enemy Way. You feared my grandfather. I’m the one you should fear.”
“You don’t know my name.”
“Why do you think I came here tonight? To beg for my life? I came with only one thing in mind…Jim Crowhorse.”
The skinwalker screamed. He fell.
Red and angry wounds appeared on his face and hands. They bled. His screams gurgled in his throat as he convulsed on the dry, cracked ground.
Rick opened the pickup’s door and slipped inside the cab. He turned the key and the engine roared to life.
Rust and age fell away from the vehicle within an instant. Time turned backward and the machine shone in the moonlight.
Rick did too.
The skinwalker lay still as he drove away.
Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Naching T. Kassa:


Final Masquerade

It’s the Final Masquerade and it’s your turn to dance.

The evening is ending and the guests are ready to leave, but the final event of the evening is just beginning — the unmasking.

Welcome to Final Masquerade where no one is who they seem.

Stories written by Daniel I. Russell * Ken MacGregor * J.C. Delisle * Joshua Chaplinsky * Lori Safranek * D.S. Ullery * Samantha Lienhard * Thomas Kleaton * Josh Strnad * Naching T. Kassa * Roy C. Booth & Axel Kohagen * Sheldon Woodbury * Craig Steven * Gregory L. Norris * Jay Eales * Dale W. Glaser * R.K. Kombrinck * Jonathan Cromack * Brian C. Baer * Adrian Chamberlin

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Tawny Kipphorn @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Residual
by Tawny Kipphorn

As the sky turned to an ominous charcoal, and the clouds swirled in a circular motion, a feeling of unease was cast over Alessa. An opening to a wooded area beckoned her with the promise of calm and security, away from the watchful eye of the impending storm. As she wandered deep into the woods’ darkened womb, she noticed how eerily quiet the world had become. It was as if time itself had stopped and the world outside this place had become its own separate existence.
She thought she heard the whistling of a train approaching, and it was at this moment she realized she was standing on the tracks, fixed in place by an unseen force. No matter how hard she tried, her desperate attempts to flee were useless. The whistling rang out through the dead air once again as the sparks flew violently erupting into flames, and Alessa stared in horror as the black engine barreled towards her.
As she braced herself for the impact, like a mist, she felt her body evaporate into the air. Tomorrow will be no different for the poor girl. Alessa has no idea she’s been dead for over a century, and is doomed to relive her tragic end for eternity.
Fiction © Copyright Tawny Kipphorn
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Tawny Kipphorn:

A Shadow of Autumn

Fall—a season as beautiful as it is foreboding. A Shadow of Autumn takes you back to childhood nostalgia while peeling away the mask to reveal things that haunt your worst nightmares. Within these pages, you’ll find the usual denizens of the holiday—demons, witches, ghosts, and bloodsuckers—along with strange and unknown creatures lurking everywhere from innocuous cornfields and pumpkin patches to basement hatches and high school dances. These fourteen tales of fall magic and Halloween horrors will keep you looking over your shoulder long after the last light of October has waned. Don’t say we didn’t warn you…

Available on Amazon! 

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzanne Madron @suzannemadron @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Icarus
by Suzanne Madron

Twenty minutes into the flight everything went wrong. He turned to the co-pilot and nodded toward the sky surrounding them.
“Did you see that?”
The co-pilot was a new guy and he couldn’t remember what his name was. He just thought of him as CP.
CP squinted through the cockpit window at the miles of clouds. He shook his head. “What’d you see, Frank?”
Frank Capretta – Cappy to his friends – pointed. “That cloudbank over there. I swear I saw something.”
“Something?” the younger man echoed.
Cappy nodded. “Looked like a guy out there with wings.” He shook his head and laughed. “Probably just tired is all.”
Both men jolted in their seats as something slammed against the window of the cockpit.
“Jeesis H!” Cappy shouted.
The man staring in at them looked as surprised as they were, except that he was crushed against the glass and dead. Feathers blocked their vision as the dead man’s wings pressed against the window.
Before either of them could react, the winged man slid along the window. His blood smeared in his wake and his body continued its journey around the side of the plane. As he disappeared, they heard a horrible noise from one of the engines on that side of the plane.
“Oh no. You gotta be kidding.”
As if in response, lights began to blink. Somehow the body had taken out the engines on that wing.
Cappy kept the plane as steady as possible while CP got on the intercom to tell people to buckle up and return to their seats, that they would be making an unexpected stop. Cappy could already hear the panic beyond the cockpit door, the passengers had seen the body and they were freaking out.
On the ground a man watched the plane descending toward the desert. He shook his head and folded a pair of wings into a carrying case. He had warned his flying partner not to fly too high, but the young man hadn’t listened. He could have told him that bad things happen when you fly too high.
Fiction © Copyright Suzanne Madron
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzanne Madron:

For Sale or Rent

The house across the street seems to go on the market every few months, but this time nothing about the sale is normal, including the new owners. No sooner has the for sale sign come down and the neighborhood is thrown into a Lovecraftian nightmare and the only way to find out is to attend the house warming party.

 

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Christina Sng @christinasng @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction #poetry

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

All the Monsters in the World
by Christina Sng

Two minutes remaining.
We dash out of the clearing
And there, the abandoned boat
Lying sideways on the shore,
Too heavy for us to push
But we have to try anyway,
Channelling what remains
Of our dwindling adrenaline stores.
The sound of thundering footsteps
And furious ravenous screams
Spur us on to push and push
Till we see an inch of give
And then a foot and then another
Till gravity helps us out
By sliding the old boat
Swiftly into the water
Just as the monsters emerge,
Shrieking and shaking with rage,
Their prey just out of reach.
Now they turn to each other.
I hold my children in my arms
Till the island’s out of sight.
We remember those we lost,
No longer the people we love,
Ghouls on a deserted island,
No longer our island home.
“Where do we go now, Mom?”
My littlest daughter asks.
“We will find a place, somehow,
Somewhere safe, I promise.
Far from this plague I created
To reset our dying world.”
The expanse of sea surrounds us.
Death surrounds us.
A world of possibilities surrounds us.
Hope surrounds us.
Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Christina Sng:

A Collection of Nightmares

Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
Dream carefully.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author A.F. Stewart @scribe77 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

No Escape
by A.F. Stewart

“There’s a strange beauty here, my sweets.” Pausing in his journey, his voice echoed into the desert. His companions, two crows, settled to rest on a dead tree and a dusty rock. “Look at it. Just a rusted truck, another carcass mired in this cracked, hard-packed dirt, but see how the moon reflects off its metal. So pretty.”
He smiled. “Where were they heading, I wonder? Hoping to make it to the last city? Or simply fleeing blindly, trying to outrun their fate?” He looked out at the horizon, seeing the faint outline of a domed city in the distance. “They were so close. I wonder if they made it on foot?”
He moved closer to the truck, placing a hand on it. “It doesn’t matter though, does it, my sweets?” He rubbed a finger over the metal and the truck crumbled to metallic dust under his touch. “They can run until the end of time and I will still find them.” He started walking again, back on his path to the outlying city. “I will find all of them.”
Fiction © Copyright A.F. Stewart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from A.F. Stewart:

Horror Haiku Pas de Deux

In the shadows—voices.
Calling, screaming, moaning.
Countless tongues telling tales…
of Hell
of Monsters
and Unnatural Things

Come chase the dark words, fall into the spell of terror and sit with the poetic weaver as you watch the world burn. Horror Haiku Pas de Deux is a volume of poetry mixing horror with haiku and verse to chill your bones.
Poetic beauty lives forever with the undead.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Rie Sheridan Rose @RieSheridanRose @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Clackety Clackety
by Rie Sheridan Rose

The rail running through Lost Acre Wood has been abandoned for ages. They quit running trains through there in the 70s. So, when Carter Essex pulled me aside after Spanish class and said, “Listen, dude…you’ve got to come to the Wood with me. I have something amazing to show you,” I thought why not?
“Sure. When do you want to go?”
“Saturday morning?”
“Sounds good.”
It was Thursday, and I had a test the next day, so I kinda forgot about the whole thing until he called me Friday night.
“We’re still going to the Wood tomorrow, right?”
“I said I’d go.” I was trying to hide the impatience. When I said I would do something, I did it.
“I’ll be there to pick you up at 8:00.”
“Why so early?”
“You’ll see.”
I sighed. Great. Saturdays were the only chance I got to sleep in, and now, I wasn’t even going to get that. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”
At exactly 8:00 the next morning, Carter pulled up in his clunky old jalopy. I could almost see the excitement radiating off him. His black hair fell over one glittering eye, and his fingers were drumming on the steering wheel. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt with a red vest and black slacks.
“What’s with the get-up? You look like a cartoon villain.”
“All part of the surprise,” he murmured, leaning toward me. “You’ll love it.”
It made the rest of the ride rather awkward. I didn’t really like Carter at the best of times, and he was really starting to creep me out a bit.
“Don’t look at me like that, Sarah. This will be awesome.”
He stopped the car and reached into the back seat. “Here, put this on.” He handed me a long pink dress.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“C’mon…humor me.”
“You’ve gone a bit gonzo, Carter.”
“Just put it on, Sarah, please.” There was a naked pleading in his eyes that really surprised the hell out of me.
“Oh, all right.” I pulled the dress on over my jeans and T-shirt.
The minute I acquiesced, Carter’s face resumed its characteristic sneer. He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”
Trekking through the woods is hard enough at the best of times. He was making me do it in a long dress that caught on every fallen twig.
“Much further?” I was beginning to pant from the pace he was setting.
“Nah. Here, sit a minute. I have snacks.”
He gestured to a blanket spread on the ground. There was a picnic basket to one side, and a small cooler. Had he come out here at the crack of dawn to set this up?
I sat down on the blanket, and Carter handed me a glass.  He made a great show of opening a bottle of soda and pouring it into the glass. The cooler had done its job, and it was very refreshing after the hike out here.
“My mom made cupcakes.” He passed one over.
The cake was delicious, red velvet—my favorite.
“You know, I really liked you, Sarah. And then, you turned me down for prom.”
My arms and legs were heavy. Moving was becoming harder and harder to do.
“Lie back, Sarah. Rest. I know it’s early.”
I couldn’t help but oblige. As I fell backward across the blanket, my head connected solidly with something. Something that was vibrating. I heard a faint “clackety, clack” noise, coming closer.
I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t obey me.
Carter reached into the basket and pulled out two lengths of clothesline.  “I’ve always been a fan of melodrama,” he remarked casually, bending to tie my ankles, and then pulling my hands over my head to do the same. “Things are always so simple in melodrama. There are villains, and damsels in distress…and, in your case, no hero to get in the way.”
The clackety, clack was getting closer.
“So, I found some interesting facts in the library. Did you know that the last train to travel these tracks went off the rails in a fiery collision with a boulder that had fallen off that hill.” He pointed behind me. “The boiler exploded, the cars caught fire, everyone died.” He leaned in close again, his eyes glittering maniacally. “They say the ghost train still comes through here—and it does, I’ve seen it. Today, there will be another bump in the tracks.”
He laughed—I swear, he must have been practicing his evil villain cackle—and swept away towards the car.
I can feel the tracks vibrating even stronger now, and I think I just heard a whistle over the clackety, clackety, clack…
Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Skellyman

“I have always preferred the supernatural in tales of horror, the knot between life and death. Rie Sheridan Rose’s Skellyman is cool and creepy. Her first horror novel is a chilling read.” — Charlee Jacob – Stoker winner, Best novel, “Dread in the Beast”

Brenda Barnett is trying to cope with raising her four-year-old daughter all alone after an accident tore her family in half. As she and Daisy go for a much-needed treat, the little girl spots a Skellyman on the corner.

This pivotal encounter leads to a wave of mounting terror as Brenda’s life begins to come undone around her. Who is the Skellyman? Why does he keep appearing? Can the sympathetic policeman Brenda turns to stop the madness before it is too late?

And why does Daisy insist that her dead brother is trying to tell them something important?

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lydia Prime @LydiaPrime @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

25.000°N by 71.000°W
by Lydia Prime

On flights like this, I sometimes wondered about the saying, ‘The captain must go down with the ship.’ A trope overused for sea captains, those who frequently have a choice. For someone in my position there is almost never a feasible option but to go down with the aircraft. My co-pilot, Tim, interrupted my musings to point out there was a storm brewing just ahead. I assured him we would get through it unharmed. I strapped into my chair as we grew closer and advised Tim to do the same. He ignored me, as usual, then I made a call to the passengers to let them know we may be experiencing some turbulence; nothing to worry about.
As we flew through the storm clouds I glanced at our location, 25.000°N by 71.000°W. I noticed Timmy becoming unnerved. He was staring at our compass and fuel gauges, he seemed to be bothered by what he saw but I didn’t notice anything. He began rocking and frantically tapping at the gauges. He was whispering something, I just couldn’t make out what; I screamed to him, trying to get his attention. He turned towards me and seemed blank. The rocking stopped and his eyes glazed over with a smoky gray film.
“S-Sir…” He struggled on that word.
“Are you alright, son?” I asked him. He was shaking, his teeth chattering. He pointed out the window and my eyes followed. Another plane! X804 was soaring right at us. I pulled on the yoke to avoid the crash; as did they. The nose of their plane smashed right through ours, exposing us to the elements and causing electrical fires all around. Timmy flew from the cockpit. I watched helplessly as he flailed, trying to grab onto anything. I bit through my tongue and tasted the blood as it pooled in my mouth. Strapped in tightly, I braced myself for impact as the land below came closer; we were dropping, and there was nothing I could do.
As we slammed into the ground debris from the plan scattered. The engines blew and fires roared high into the sky. I crawled around, eyes closed, screaming in anger and fear. I could smell the burning bodies, the fuel leaking. How did I survive? I looked up to the storm clouds, I could still see X804 circling over head. What the..? Just then I felt something on my leg.
“Sir! Are you alright, sir?” Timmy asked. I jolted upright. “Your were screaming sir,” Timmy said.
“Sorry my boy, must of dozed off for a second! Glad we have you!” I joked, my chest still spasming; goose bumps were rolling through my skin.
“Sir there seems to be a storm stirring up in our path.”
“We’ll be alright, Tim, not to worry!”
On flights like this I sometimes wonder about the saying, ‘The captain must go down with the ship.’
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Lydia Prime:

Lydia grew up in a small, ‘Mayberry,’ sort of town, in New Jersey. She thoroughly enjoys gummy bears and laughing through the darkest depths of life. More often than not, she writes about demons and monsters, however, being a recovering addict tends to turn inner demons into fearsome foes to be fought beyond the constraints of the mind. ‘Sometimes,’ she states, ‘what’s inside, is scarier than anything reality throws at you.’

Please visit Lydia on Facebook for more info. 

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