Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elizabeth H. Smith @bethsmithwrites @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 25, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Good Company
by Elizabeth H. Smith

As I gaze upon the shifting colors in the sky, I feel the warmth leave the air as the sun sets. Its waning light caresses this field in which I lie with a soft hand, a kindness in its glow. Far more kind than what brought me here, left me on my back, alone with nature, and with nature, alone. The songs of insects are a dirge for my fading self and my ears are forced to hear every note.

I feel grass brush against my skin in the light breeze. It feels nice. A bird flies above, quickly entering my field of view, and quickly leaving it. I can’t move my head. Only my eyes can shift where I want them to. I want to flick off the spider crawling up my arm, but my body won’t respond either.

As the back of my shirt soaks up more blood, I feel cold. Each breath is harder to take. I feel my heart slowing its beat. As my eyelids begin to close, I think about the spider on my arm; maybe it’s better to have its company, maybe it’s better to not die alone.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elizabeth H. Smith
Image courtesy of Pixabay
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More About Elizabeth H. Smith:
Elizabeth H. Smith is a storyteller who writes while trying to keep her cat, Luna off the keyboard. The musical group, Rasputina is her muse. She was born in the state of New York and would never feel at home anywhere else.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Jaime Johnesee @JaimeJohnesee @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 25, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Don’t Make a Sound 
by Jaime Johnesee 

I pause by the wall, waiting for the guard to leave his station. Out of view, I clench my now canine-esque teeth together. “Don’t make a sound,” I tell myself in my mind.

Pain shoots through my hands as the bones lengthen–the tips tearing through my flesh and left protruding as claws.

I sniff the air quickly, drawn to his slightly sweet scent.

Too much sugary food, but Lord, it made the meat so sweet. I wasn’t supposed to do this anymore. I was supposed to be good.

Yet here I was, inhaling that scent, my stomach rumbling, soul and beast yearning, begging, to taste that sweet flesh.

Just one little taste.

I mean, we can take down one guard, they’ll never know…right?

.
Fiction © Copyright Jaime Johnesee
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Jaime Johnesee:


Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery

When a serial killer begins leaving remains of victims in hotel bathtubs all over town FBI Agent Samantha Reece makes it her business to stop him.

This detective’s got an ace up her sleeve in the form of her ability to shift into the guise of a were panther. As she tracks down the cold-hearted murderer she also has to contend with an anti-shifter group determined to destroy her.

Not to mention the black jaguar who turned her decides to come sauntering back into her life.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amanda Worthington @AmandaW58679588 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 24, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Even the Cake was in Tiers
by Amanda Worthington

You can’t help what you’ve become, he’d said, voice gentle

Full of heartbreak and self-loathing and love

He’d reached out to caress her bare shoulder

Like the contact would bring absolution for his absence

The night she’d been bitten or scratched or stung

Or however she was made into this husk before him now

Pale and thin and wrung-out

.

She’d shrunk away from his touch

And he’d have let her drain every ounce of his blood

Endured the hard road of immortality

Or whatever curse disguised as a blessing

Waited on the other side

All in exchange for a smile, a kiss, a sigh

.

Once, they’d spoken of fleeing the busy-ness of their big city existence

Hiding out in the mountains of Alaska for awhile

But the idea of a midnight sun terrified her into silence

When he brought it up

He was quiet more often these days

Knew he should speak, but wasn’t sure what he should say

.

He was a pastry chef, not a shrink.

And naturally, that realization brought to mind cake

He baked while she slept

Had just lit the last of the candles

As rubbing sleep from her eyes, she came into the room

She blinked several times

Her lips pulled into a taut smile

As she beheld the love of her life

Dressed almost like he was playing at groom

.

“I’m not asking you to make me like you

But will you do the honor of this dance

And this cake that is the purest way

I can think of to love you the way I know how”

.

There were tears in his eyes as he reached out a hand

Drew her close, kissed her wan cheek

And she let herself be captured.

I heard this all secondhand

I don’t know if the cake was ever touched

Or if she let him join her forever

Or if they just forgot their plight for a night

I don’t know if they ever made it

To marvel at Mckinley’s height

Despite her saying she couldn’t bear it

.

I like to think he became linked with her the moment they touched

That their retreat into immortality was bloodless and refined

.

I think of them sometimes

When I’m layering the cake

That decades before

One of my ancestors taught his son

How to make.

.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Lynn Ruzzo @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 24, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Herbs and Soup
by Lynn Ruzzo

Long, smoke-filled days entrapped Ren year after year. She was the tender of the daily soup, just one part of lunch for those who had, made by those who had not. It was no more than a living, survival in a world that wasn’t what it had been so long ago, when she was a child playing in grass under a bright sun.

Those days no longer existed.

The clouds cast woe upon the world, and people starved by the millions. In the end, some ended up with power, others did what they had to do to survive this new era.

Ren was grateful she didn’t have it so bad, as there were much worse lives to live. But she never forgot the things her family taught her. She refused to surrender her pride in who she truly was beneath the forced conformity.

She found others among her fellow workers who were raised under similar faiths. They met in secret, beneath the light of the moon. It was in a forest of dead trees outside the compound that they practiced their ways and formed their plan. They convened not only with one another, but the spirits who haunted that desolate, forgotten place. They agreed this new society would not be accepted.

So while Ren and others in her circle prepared the daily lunch, an ingredient was added here and there. A blend fit for the new era to be quite short. Those who consumed it, the overlords of that place, would be rendered under Ren and her coven’s control. They’d soon be helpless puppets to their new masters, and the world would start anew.

.

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

Posted on May 23, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Red Rain at Dawning 
by Rie Sheridan Rose 

 One morning in early spring, the day dawned crimson. The sky was blood red and roiling with clouds. People moved to stare up at the changeling sky.

We whispered among ourselves, theorizing about the cause… “The sun is failing!” “The weather god is angry.” “There must be a dust cloud coming from somewhere…is there a fire?”

And then it began to rain.

Instead of normal, clear droplets of water, thick red drops began to fall upon our upturned faces, smelling of blood and decay. Those the drops touched screamed in agony, boils burgeoning upon exposed skin. Everyone darted back into the shelters, and huddled in the corners, listening to the rain pounding on the roofs and praying to the gods.

When the susurration of the rain finally eased, we peeked cautiously outside the huts. The sky was no longer red. The clouds were gone. As was every living thing that had been outside. Every blade of grass; every tree; every animal in their paddocks…everything.

We wandered about the town in a daze, looking for anything that might have survived. There was nothing.

As I say, it was early spring—we had survived the winter in decent shape, but the coffers were depleted. Now, the grains and fruits that had begun to sprout were gone. How would we be able to survive the year? We might be able to replant some of the crops, but there were few reserves. And we had to survive until harvest.

The farmers began to replant before the end of the day. The fields were soggy, the soil red-tinged, but we had no options. Even the children helped sow what little was left of the grain.

By the end of the day, all were exhausted. We stumbled to our beds and slept like the dead.

When we awoke, we were met with another astonishing sight. The grain had sprouted overnight, already standing six inches high. And the stalks were blood-red.

.

Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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519RiHK+1wL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_

Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

Poems exploring hell and damnation. Tales of sorrow, vengeance, betrayal, and redemption. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons stalk these pages. Don’t read in a lonely house…in a darkened room by a single candle…

…unless you like the touch of an icy finger up your spine.

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 23, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!


Echoes in the Mortar 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

   I don’t remember the blow, just darkness and the sound after, silence. It was a sharp, wet crack that ended my life. Then nothing, as if the forest was holding its breath. I linger here, fused with the rot of this crumbling wall. I am alone. Eyes I no longer have strain to see the last place I stood. The sunlight mocks me now, slipping through branches where my blood soaked the leaves. Something waits for me just beyond that corner, something that wants me to follow. Something that knows me.

My body is gone, torn from me in one awful second. All that’s left is the impression of myself, like a smudge in the air. I feel stuck. I do not know how long I’ve been here, time has no meaning in this place. I try to move, but I don’t. I hover. I sink. I seep into the moss and the bricks. The dirt where my blood sank deep has almost vanished.

Now, I hear it. A sound beyond the corner, soft, distant and terribly human. Weeping.

It’s not my killer. I’d know his voice, even distorted. He didn’t weep. He grinned. He looked right into my eyes as he raised that stone and smiled. He had led me to my demise, his soft blue eyes hid his malice. He planned his treachery, then gently holding my hand, he led me here.  No, he did not weep, it was not his nature. This weeping does not belong to him. It doesn’t belong to anyone I remember.

But it’s there, steady and mournful. It weaves through the trees like a current pulling me forward. To finally turn the corner. It almost sings with an ache to drift, to advance, to see. Though I have no legs to walk, its pull still tugs at me. It calls to me deep within the current.

The wall’s edge is sharp in my mind. It was the last thing I saw clearly. Red bricks, some crumling, others scarred with age. Moss crawling up like fingers, trying to bury what happened here.

I float at the edge and the weeping grows louder. It’s a woman, I think. Or maybe a child. No, it is something in between. The kind of cry that doesn’t belong in the world I knew. It doesn’t stop. It’s endless, melodic and strange. Is it grief? Is it a welcome? Or could it be something worse?

I wonder if it’s the path to Heaven. Or to Hell. Or some space in between, where the broken voices gather. Maybe they all come here, those who died like I did. Violent, sudden and forgotten. Maybe the weeping isn’t for me, but for all those who never got a chance to say goodbye. Those of us that were caught off guard by a broken trust. All of us that didn’t want it to end, the robbed ones. I must know.

I brace myself and lean toward the sound. I can hear my name. Not spoke but wept. It’s like a sound shaped into my name, buried in the crying. Drawn out, mournful, unmistakable. I find myself comforted but it’s paired with unease.

I try to pull away, but there’s no “away” to go to. I have nowhere but this corner. My world has narrowed down to this ruined wall, this patch of dirt and this sound that was never meant for living ears. I think it is time to move past the corner, I am not afraid.

I don’t know what waits there.

But I know it knows me.

And it’s been waiting a very long, long time.

.

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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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 22, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Parlor Room 
by K.R. Morrison 

Todd had been told about this train system, and the art along its walls. But he had not been prepared for the cave-like features that the architects had added.

He stepped off the train and just stood awestruck.

Surprisingly, it was not the walls or the fairy lights that enchanted him. Hie eye had been caught by a young lady in the far corner, next to a small restaurant. Even though her nose was in a book, he could see the beauty she was hiding behind that novel.

She looked up at the same moment, and gave him the sweetest smile. And…a nod?

His legs took over, and before he knew what was happening, he was standing next to her, gaping like an idiot.

“Hello.” She closed her book. “May I help you?”

When he stammered something, she tilted her head, uncomprehending.

He shook his head. “Ummm…yeah. I…need to get…”

“Dinner?”

That sounded right. “Yeah. That.”

She smiled that sweet smile again. “This place is the best in the station. Come in and we will dine together.”

Wordlessly, he followed her into the place. As they moved along, he noticed that the staff seemed to treat her like royalty.

“My usual, please, Jakob,” she called out to no one in particular.

Everyone moved. If Todd had been paying attention, he would have noticed that the movements contained a bit—no, a lot—of nervousness.

They came to a door in the back, which was opened immediately by an elderly waiter. She motioned Todd inside, where he was once again awestruck.

The place looked straight out of a fairy tale. Or maybe a place where the Phantom of the Opera may have resided at one time.

Their waiter pulled a chair away from the table with a flourish, and she sat down, indicating the chair opposite. Todd sat.

“We’ll have the usual, Jakob,” she said. The way she said it indicated that there would be no argument.

The waiter gave Todd a look of pure misery, which he missed, and hurried away.

“Do you like my dining room?” she asked Todd.

He stared at her, unable to take his eyes off her. “Um…yeah.”

Something cold landed on his arm, which startled him out of his bewitchment. He looked down and saw a strand of spider web on him. He whisked it away.

She looked up. “Sorry. The spiders. We can’t seem to keep them out.”

Todd shrugged. “No worries.”

They talked for what seemed to him like hours, heedless to the fact that no food ever appeared.

Todd was tiring, and—didn’t he need to catch a train?

He tried to stand up. “I…thanks, but I have to go.”

And he didn’t.

With growing alarm, he realized that he was stuck to his seat by great piles of spider web. And wisps kept falling.

He turned to his dinner companion, and gasped.

The smile on her face was no longer sweet, but very predatory.

Her eyes—now there were eight of them!

The red diadem she had worn as a necklace was now very much a part of her skin.

The last thing he knew, before the web took him completely, was the sight of two long fangs protruding from her mouth and coming at him…

 

She burped as she took up her spot outside the restaurant again. Almost immediately, a gape-mouthed young man came her way. She giggled to herself as she closed her book.

At this rate, she’d never finish reading this story.

.
 
Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More from K.R. Morrison:

Enoch’s Return: Pride’s Downfall Book 4

All hell broke loose, as demon fought saint, and undead fought mortal. Fangs and swords, fire and light, mingled in a cacophony of noise that would have awakened the dead — if they hadn’t already been in the pitch of battle.

Toby was looking forward to celebrating his 21st birthday with family and friends. However, the day is shattered by the arrival of his sister, Erica, fresh out of the juvenile detention center, where she has lived in isolation most of her life. There is something very wrong with her still; witness her biting the ear of her taxi driver and licking the blood from her lips, and the way she antagonizes everyone around her. The other thing that is very off-putting about the day is a gift he receives – a musty tent and a few iron spikes that have been lying in the ground for years. Toby faints at the sight of the “treasure,” while Erica reacts violently and runs off to who-knows-where.
While he is unconscious, Toby learns who he truly is, and of his mission.

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 22, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Monsters  
by Alex Grehy

“Child, next time you tend to the dragon’s fire use this timber.”

The Eldest passed Ayesha the carefully chopped wood, each piece honed to the perfect length and depth to provide consistent heat to the incubation jars. Her hands appreciated the oily smoothness of each log, glad that tomorrow, at least, she would not spend her evening picking splinters from her palms. 

She looked round the ring of Elders, her tribal leaders, leaning forward to bow to them in gratitude

“Not too close to the fire, child, we must not char our gift to the dragons.” the Eldest cautioned.

“A gift. How lovely, I am sure the dragons will be pleased…”

Her voice trailed away. The dragons rarely showed any emotion that a human could read. The fact that Ayesha hadn’t been eaten or incinerated was as near to satisfaction with her work as she would get.

“A gift is long overdue. Have we not been neighbours for many centuries? Do the dragons not give us employment, protection and a rich living on their lands?” the Eldest said, while the circle of Elders nodded gravely.

“True, they take a tithe of three Elders each year, but that seems too little a tribute to show our…appreciation. The wood is a simple gift, but one which we think they will remember for many years.” The Elders nodded, a faint ripple of laughter passing between them. 

 “As we remember those of the wise who were taken.” The Eldest concluded.

Ayesha clutched the bundle of logs, her eyes downcast. Delivering a gift to the dragons sounded like an honour she had not earned.

“Eldest, may I ask a question?”

“Speak, child.”

“I am not worthy to approach the Great Dragon with this gift. Surely one of greater worth should present this token of our gratitude.” 

The Eldest leapt up from his seat, his agitation moving around the circle of Elders like a whirlwind in a field of wheat. The Eldest walked into the circle and put his hands on Ayesha’s shoulders.

“No, no, you misunderstand your importance. You are nursemaid to the dragon’s eggs. It would be crass of us to present a gift to the Great Dragon in a ceremony, better to deliver a more…personal…honour. We praise the dragons by tending their young with especial care. Just stoke the fires tomorrow as you would any other day. There is much respect and esteem in your work.

***

“What have you DONE?” roared the Great Dragon.

Ayesha knelt in the cage of his talons; eyes downcast.

“I was caring for the eggs, as is my sacred duty. I don’t understand what happened.” She coughed, trying to rid her lungs of the acrid smoke surrounding the incubation jars. The special wood, the gift, had exploded scant minutes after being placed on the night’s embers, fracturing the jars and wreathing the leather-hard dragon’s eggs in a poisonous fume. 

“None survive.” The Great Dragon’s partner said, lifting her head from the disconsolate heap of eggs she had gathered from the shards. Some of the eggs had split, the iridescent infants within fully formed, beautiful beyond words, and utterly still. 

“Your DUTY? To whom?” 

Ayesha lifted her eyes, driven by the Great Dragon’s hypnotic compulsion. She saw herself reflected in his pearlescent eyes – a ten-year-old girl, covered in soot, her skin red where flying embers had flayed her clothing into rags. Her hands curled with pain, burned as she had tried to roll the eggs away from the poisonous fumes.

“The Elders told me the wood was a gift, that they owed you gratitude for the quality of their lives…”

Ayesha faltered as a great drop of warm liquid splashed over her face. She flinched, then looked down at her hands, her skin was new, soft and pink, healed by the dragon’s tears.

“A gift? Indeed.” said the Great Dragon. “A gift of malice from creatures who thought nothing of killing our innocent young, of destroying a whole generation.”

“I am sorry! Please, take my life in lieu!” Ayesha cried, feeling the unbearable weight of her people’s betrayal and the dragon’s grief.

The Great Dragon released her from his claws.

“No! We do not take the lives of innocents, we are not monsters.” he replied.

.

Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

Last Species Standing

Alex Grehy (she/her) enjoys writing quirky, thought-provoking horror and is a regular contributor to The Sirens Call and Ladies of Horror Flash Project. Her fiction and essays on being a lady of horror have featured in a range of publications, including Spread: Tales of Deadly Flora. Alex’s first poetry collection, Last Species Standing, which explores mankind’s relationship with nature and technology, is available on Amazon.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Elaine Pascale @DocLaney @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Reap What You Sow 
by Elaine Pascale 

The man swings his scythe through the wheat, cutting it from its source. He needed this back-breaking work. Last harvest, he had wielded a bayonet, reaping what others had sown. That work had been brain-breaking, destructive. He found psychological shelter in the productivity of farming.

He hoped to harvest and bind his acres within the week. That would require long days which would hopefully induce sleep-heavy nights. He silently begged whatever god was still listening for dreams absent of the cornfield at Antietam. He prayed to be free of the memories of the bloodiest day this soil had seen.

One sweep of the scythe severed a good five feet of wheat, distributing heads to one pile, stems to another. The wheat was high but only half as high as the corn had been and one-third as thick. Bullets had cascaded through the rows of corn as they had fought blindly, not knowing if they were harming the enemy or their own. Losing sight of what it meant to be the enemy or their own.

As he worked, the ground beneath him puckered and he imagined it to be full of his transgressions, of the bodies he felled for a cause he no longer believed in.

The days were growing short, his shadow growing long enough that it could swallow him several times over. Being submerged in blackness did not sound bad. Especially if it meant freedom from the visions of that cornfield.

The man had stopped swinging, yet he heard the sound of a scythe sweeping behind him. Being alone in the field, the noise should have been terrifying, but the pendulum rhythm lulled him. A shadow fell over his own, longer than his own, stretching on until it covered not only his farm but all the land that had been doused with blood when brothers had fought brothers.

“I know who you are,” the man whispered. He had seen that shadow and heard that sound in the cornfield. At that time, it had passed him over, taking instead hundreds of others.

The sound of the scythe grew closer. If he could see his own eyes, would they look like those he had encountered on the battlefield? Terrified yet world-weary at the same time?

He knew his eyes would appear empty. He had lost the humanity required for fear. He simply regretted not being able to finish his harvest.

.

Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com

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More from Elaine Pascale:

TheKitchenWitches_ElainePascaleThe Kitchen Witches

The women of Cape Cod have a story that is dying to be told. If only they could live long enough to tell it.

When Fiona Walker is contracted to write about a party attended by her social circle, her friends begin dying. She captures the competition and misery of the women around her through three different stories.

In Wishes, Melanie Voss discovers a Time Between Time where nothing that happens counts. Initially, Time Between Time is a welcome escape from a life spent watching the clock while doing chores for her family. But something sinister is in the Time Between Time and it is headed straight for Melanie.

Death and Taxes tells the story of Nashville DeCota, the Cape Capo. Nash swears that she is not the Island Impaler, nor the Tooth Snatcher, but she has just as many skeletons in her closet. When her husband, Derrick, is kidnapped, she has to come clean about her crimes if she ever wants to see him again.

Fiona tells her own story in Hazing, where she finds that the real source of evil behind the deaths of her friends is worse than she could have ever imagined.

Available on Amazon!

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

Posted on May 21, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Keep Your Hands To Yourself
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

A little girl stood beside her mother, who picked through fruits and vegetables at the local farmer’s market.  She twirled around and around, enjoying the sunlight, trying to catch it with her hands.  She looked up into the bright blue sky with soft, little clouds and glanced at her mother, and she blew a strand of brown hair off her face.  She took a step away to see if her mother noticed, and she didn’t.  She moved further away.

The farmer’s market was small, several booths close together.  The little girl glanced at her mother and then peeked into each booth that she passed.  She kicked at the ground with her small, brown shoes, and she watched a car drive by.  She spun around again, ready to return to her mother when she noticed a man putting white paint against a red brick wall, covering something up that she guessed wasn’t supposed to be there.

She stood behind the man as he continued to coat the brick wall in white, and she listened to him mutter under his breath.  She smiled as he moved away to get more paint, and she glanced at the fresh white in front of her.  She quickly placed her hand in the paint and then hurried away.

She returned to her mother, who was paying for a bag of fruits, fruits that she wanted no part of.  Her mother glanced down at her and smiled, and she returned her mother’s smile.  But her mother’s smile disappeared as she noticed the white paint on the little girl’s hand.

“What is that?  What do you have on your hand?”  Her mother grabbed her by the arm, forcing the little girl to show her.  “Is that paint?”  Her mother looked around and noticed the man that was painting the red brick wall was now talking to a law enforcement agent.  “Come on.  We’re leaving.  Now.”

The little girl was dragged away by her mother, but then she heard someone say, “Stop.  Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

Her mother stopped in her tracks, glaring down at the little girl.

The law enforcement agent approached them, his hand on his holster.

“Would you really shoot me?”  The little girl asked.

The law enforcement agent grabbed her hand and looked at the white paint.  “You know the law.”  He glared at her mother, still holding on to the little girl.  “Hands.  Handprints are illegal.  We are entrusted to his hands and his hands only.”

“I know that, sir, but I didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Because you weren’t watching her,” an older woman said from nearby.

“You know the law,” the law enforcement agent said.  “She’s a minor, and you’re her parent.”  A white box appeared in his hands.  “She used which hand?”  He glanced at the little girl’s hand.  “Left.  Your left hand.”

“Can we talk about this?”

The little girl flinched at her mother’s voice; how bad it was shaking.

“She’s just a child.”

The law enforcement agent grabbed her mother, forcing her left hand into the white box.

The little girl watched the bag of fruits fall to the ground, apples and oranges spilling out everywhere.

Her mother screamed as the white box turned orange.

The law enforcement agent released her hand and moved away.  “Next time, watch your kid.”  He glanced at the man near the red brick wall with a white paintbrush in his hand.  “Cover that up.”  He stormed away.

The little girl knelt down and picked up the fruits, placing them back in the bag.  She glanced over at the small handprint pressed into the white paint on the red brick wall and shook her head.  It was a stupid thing for her to do.  She flinched as her mother hung her hand in front of her face, forcing her to touch the dead flesh that was left on her mother’s hand.

.

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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