Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Terrie Leigh Relf @TLRelf @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 27, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Interview 
by Terrie Leigh Relf

Anais gazed into the distance, her coffee barely touched. She had finally been hired for her first job out of university. She reflected on the day, which had been a bit disconcerting at times, what with everyone in the waiting room hearing the interviewer and the prospective new hires.

“And so why do you feel you’re a good fit for our organization?”

“Ah, because I want to research global warming . . .” After a few more questions, the interviewer said, “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry, but you’re not the type of employee we’re looking for at this time.” The interviewer paused to allow the individual to leave the room, then hit the intercom. “Please send in the next interviewee.”

After they had seated themselves, she asked “And so why do you think you’re a good fit for our organization?”

“I have worked in the field since university and I believe I have insight into global weather patterns. Currently, I’ve been working with GIS, and . . .”

And so it went for hours, it seemed.

When Anais took a seat before the interviewer, looking expectantly at the woman who said, “And why . . .” and then promptly closed Anais’ file, then gazed into Anais’ iridescent brown eyes.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity. Frankly, I’m not sure why I was contacted for this position because my field is cryptozoology. That said, I’m fascinated by your company after engaging in extensive research and I believe you may find me helpful with identifying mutations and cross-species communications, and . . .”

“Please excuse me for a moment,” said the interviewer as she stepped out of the room, informed the front desk person to send everyone home, then went into a secure office.

“We’ve got the one,” she said into the encrypted phone. She nodded, listening to her employer go through a check list, to which she answered “yes” almost every time. “Well, Ma’am, as you’ve said countless times, get them while they’re fresh out of college and in desperate need of a job. That said, her file indicated that she had diving ability and a summer internship at Miskatonic University. She looks promising.”

.

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More from author Terrie Leigh Relf:

The Sisterhood of the Blood Moon

For thousands of Earth years, the Transgalactic Consortium has had a quiet interest in this planet and its inhabitants, the Haurans. While the Sisterhood of the Blood Moon works together with the Consortium and Haurans to maintain balance in the universe, the Blood Moon is fast approaching. The power of this moon reveals untold secrets . . . including a sacred covenant with the Mora Spiders. There is an ancient pact that needs to be honored—but at what cost and for whose purpose? The world may come to an end. But will there be a chance for a new beginning?

Available for purchase from Hiraeth Publishing!

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

Posted on February 27, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Reflections of Her 
by Kathleen McCluskey 

   Samantha always hated mirrors. As a child, she’d cover them with sheets, refusing to meet her own gaze for fear of what lurked beneath the glass. But adulthood had tempered her fears, or so she thought, until she stepped into The Hall Of Reflections.

The exhibit was supposed to be an avant-garde art installation. A room lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, each reflecting endless versions of oneself. The moment she entered, Samatha felt uneasy. The air was too still, the lights too harsh and her reflection was…wrong. She took a cautious step forward. The reflections moved with her, but something felt off. In the central mirror her face was the same calm, neutral and reassuring. But in the ones flanking it, her duplicates watched her. They were unblinking and staring with a cold intensity.

A whisper, barely audible brushed by her ear. “You are not alone.”

Samantha’s breath hitched. She turned swiftly, but the room was empty. Only her reflections staring back at her. The mirrors, however, held their own truth. The reflections had now stopped mimicking her movements.

One by one, her duplicates in the glass took a step forward. But Samantha remained still.

Her pulse pounded as she watched herself, no, the other selves, inch closer in their respective frames. Their faces twisted into subtle smirks. Then, one reached out, pressing her hand against the glass from the other side.

Samantha’s instincts screamed at her to run. But something pulled her in. She lifted her hand, uncontrollable longing filled her as her fingers reached out to the ones on the other side. The moment her fingertips met the mirror, the glass rippled. With a violent jerk, Samantha was yanked inside.

She began to fall. The sensation wasn’t like stepping through water or crashing through glass. It was like being swallowed. The air was thick and oppressive, pressing against her lungs as she tumbled through the suffocating darkness.

She landed hard on something cold and unyielding. The first thing she noticed was the silence. No echoes, no hum of distant lights, even her ragged breathing offered no sound. Just an endless void of dim reflections stretching into eternity.

The world inside the mirror was not a simple reversal of reality. It was wrong. The sky, or what passed for it, was a vast swirling abyss of muted grays and blacks, as if the universe was drained of color. The ground beneath her was smooth, glasslike, but cracked in places, revealing endless darkness below.

Then she saw them.

Figures. Hundreds, no thousands, of them, trapped beneath the glass. Their faces were frozen in expressions of horror. Some pounded against the surface, mouths open in silent screams, their eyes pleading. Others stood in the distance, watching her with the same eerie smirks her reflections had worn. A cold dread crawled up Samatha’s spine as a realization dawned.

She was not alone.

A slow scraping sound echoed behind her. She turned, her breath coming in quick gasps. In the dim, fractured light, she saw them. The others. Her reflections. No longer confined to their frames, they stood freely, circling her like wolves.

She stumbled backward, her foot skimmed off the cracks. The glass beneath her groaned. The Samantha standing closest tilted her head, eye glinting with something unreadable. Then she spoke, her voice a perfect replica of Samantha’s own.

“You took my place” The words sent a jolt of terror through her chest. Her doppleganger smiled broadly. “Now, I take yours.”

.

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 , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kendra Smart @DevourAllWords @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 26, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Anchors Away   
by Kendra Smart  

“A brief warning one must receive before the tale unfolds, two voices separate from one soul shall you hear. Which one tells the truth and which reality holds you grounded is up to you. This story is about the occupants of Suite 332, Jeanette and Lana Sue Minkoff.”

 

Jeanette-

Jack had been such a kind man to pay for her ticket to the new life she had plotted out for herself. There had been others, many others, but this beau had been different. A true believer in her talents, moon eyed over her, it had been but a request and the ticket was hers. Her life had been hard but she knew a change in her luck was just around the corner. Jack had been hard to leave behind, but there was an opportunity awaiting her. 

She had a job offer waiting for her in New York. This boat would be her glamorous coach leading her to her dreams, just a few days in the breeze and salty air. She could see the newspapers heralding her features and welcoming the newest darling to shine under the stage lights. 

“New Starlet lights up the stage gracefully…” 

She would wow them with her prose and practice, all her education and cultured upbringing put to good use. Her luggage would arrive shortly, the stewards would see to that. But for now, just for now, she wanted to enjoy the moment. 

The moment before creation, the silence in the planning. She had the talent, now it was about the mindset. She would take this time as others settled to do the same. The ship would soon be underway and she would leave this city behind to begin again. 

She was expected. 

Lana Sue-

The plan for her escape onto the boat had been a success so far. All that remained was departure. Past that, all had been accounted for in her favor. Jack had been a fool and a liar just like so many in her collection of beau’s. 

That’s why Lana never wore her heart on her sleeve. No one she had encountered had ever been worthy of her love. Cupid was right to fear her heart. She had never held any false narrative in her head about who she was. She had been born from a desperate cry for help. Strength born from primal fight or flight. 

Ah, the gift of being a Watcher, but the bane of enduring the suffering of the Slayer. 

But Lana had never really felt so burdened by the slaying part so much, she relished it. After watching Jeanette fawn and coo over these simpering doll dizzy drip’s was more than she could take sometimes. 

It was a release in more ways than one when her blade could set free and she could move on with enjoying moments like these, what a glorious view. 

Better than Jack’s from the bathtub of the apartment. She had always hated those grimy, dingy windows. 

Jeanette was already awaiting a new life as a star, but the papers had been toting a new tye of star making their mark in the world of fear and pain. 

Perhaps a new challenge awaited Lana as well in this new life. 

Excellent. 

Anchors Away. 

.

Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Kendra Smart:

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Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology

A collection of poetry.

‘Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.

We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.

Available on Amazon!  

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

Posted on February 26, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

When He Goes, I Go
by Melissa R. Mendelson 

My husband was not a bad man.  He treated me with respect and talked with me as if I were his equal.  Only when we had company over or we were out in public did we have to follow the normal routine, and if he hit me, I allowed him.  If anyone knew different, they would take me away, and I was past the age of remarry.  I would go to a camp instead, and I’ve heard the horrible stories of what happens to the women there.

I looked in the mirror, seeing my mother hunched over behind me in a chair.  She was a relic, tongueless and broken.  Her hands laid awkwardly in her lap, but her eyes were sharp, watching my every move.  I wished I could hear the stories from yesterday, but those like her still left alive were seen as a threat.  After they were done with her and those like her, the relics became reminders of what we women could no longer be.

My daughter was nearing the age of thirteen.  Soon, she would be married to the next available man, and most men today unlike my husband were cold and cruel.  They wanted sons, and if they had a daughter, she would disappear or end up dead.  Only some were allowed to live, so this way, society could continue, their society.  I knew that Sophie was afraid.  Her future was bleak, and I could not save her.  My mother could not save her.  My husband won’t save her.  This was the way that things had to be, but they were different once.  But that was a long time ago.

I stared at myself in the mirror.  I looked like I was ready for a funeral, and I was.  I heard the commotion outside, and I was asked to join.  But I refused.  I wanted to stay here, and part of me wanted my mother to be spared from what comes next.  But it was her fault that this was happening.  She allowed it, and she wasn’t the only one.  And I paid the price, so did Sophie.  Having her should have been the happiest day of my life, but instead, I was drenched in fear.

Still, I was curious.  I walked over to the window and pushed the blinds aside.  There was a mob of people out there, screaming, men and women, but the teenagers refused to listen.  They were done listening, and some men were on the stage with them, tied to a pole.  They were surrounded by teen-aged girls including Sophie, and each girl held a gun in their hand.

My mother was lucky.  When the new law set in, she was already deemed a relic.  She was spared the procedure that I had to endure.  I rubbed the base of my neck, feeling the rough scar beneath my fingers.  I belonged to him, but my husband did not belong to me.  That still wouldn’t change things or de-activate the kill switch.

Each girl raised their weapon, aiming it at the men before them.  Sophie pointed hers at her father.  Her hand was steady.  She always hated him.  She hated me, and in these last few weeks, we barely spoke.  But I knew this was coming.  I heard the rumors, and the men did everything they could to stop them.  But they were deceived, and this was happening around the country like a vicious storm, a freeing wave to not return us to yesterday but to wipe the slate clean for a better, safer future.  But not for the men.  For the women.

Gunshots rang out.  The men slumped forward, dead.  My husband with them, and he was a good man.  But that wouldn’t change anything, and a chill raced down my spine.  I turned quickly, staring at my mother to see the tears coursing down her face.  I smiled as my own tears fell, my body shuddered.  A thud followed, and as my vision darkened, I watched the blinds fall back into place.

.

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

Posted on February 25, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Comfort of Nightmares
by Angela Yuriko Smith

When the dawn broke we let daydreams fall over our eyes too easily, our vision turned inward to hide from a reality that burned too bright, too harsh to behold. We remembered, imagined, how it used to be, the good old days when values still mattered. We ignored the empty farm fields splattered in blood and ash, the sullied skies shattered by metal birds that plummeted, feathered in fire. We pretended not to see when the rivers ran with blackened greed. We wished we could run like the rivers but we were too fat with fear. This was the dream we were sold, and when we saw its bloat in the light of day we closed our eyes tighter….

… but now dark falls and we take pills to let us sleep, riding the night mares and welcoming our old friends—once foes. The monsters are all we have left to guide us. They tell us it will be okay as they slice away our bits, our paper thin skin peeling away to reveal our red fright, white skin dropping to the floor while our lips turn blue. They nod approval when we bleed our patriotism, they rattle our chains and give us the freedom to suffer. Our tongues silenced, our wombs made into potholders and duty binding our eyes too tight for tears. Then an old woman speaks. She has been here before. She whispers the words of power that don’t require a tongue. She reminds us the power is within. She invokes… us.

Power in chaos—
Control cannibalizes.
Do not look away.

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

Posted on February 25, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

An Immodest Proposal
by Amanda Worthington

*Trigger warning: domestic violence; abuse

.

Muhammad’s plea to treat women kindly went unheeded

Perhaps men looked upon the curved perfection

Of hip and breast and conceded that

So sinuous a creature must be wicked

It did not keep their hands from seeking the flesh beneath

But they quickly reached the conclusion that such a treasure

Should be kept covered, hidden, under lock and key

Lest other eyes be drawn to the beauty

They had so indelicately stolen

Or bartered for in some back alley of some

Unmarked street

In some territory or other

Does it matter which one?

.

But they forgot about the rib around which the feminine was crafted

Bruised and pulled their new acquisitions in an effort to straighten

Cast bodies away when they broke

Might have gone on doing it forever

If decorum did not dictate a wedding

And one day a woman would relent long enough to warrant marrying

Never daring to resist, so afraid of the break

.

Most women would do anything not to be broken.

But Fatima was not most women

She became one flesh with the serial raper

And she did it with a smile on her face

For she remembered the rib.

And she was not afraid of breaking

To keep other girls whole.

.

She had been pushing back for days now.

It was only a matter of time

.

His pain crept gradually in while he slept

In a fit of rage he woke and swung on her

As her neck snapped back, his did the same

And Fatima started to laugh

.

They say she wears the pants in the relationship now.

Adorns herself in silk

Keeps him hidden away, covered

No one has seen him in months

No one even remembers his name

But he must be well

Because Fatima is radiant

A covered woman asks her what her secret is

And Fatima whispers something into her ear

.

No one throws stones here.

They treat women with kindness

Like their lives depend on it

***

With a start, Fatima feels the dream fade

And courage take the place of restraint

.

It is time.

.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Wynelda Ann Deaver @darc_nina #LoH

Posted on February 24, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Gauntlet
by Wynelda Ann Deaver

They say all the maidens must make it through the gauntlet to prove themselves worthy of… I’m not sure what. None of the elders tell the same story. Some of the other girls blather on and on about marriage prospects being tied to the gauntlet.

They gifted me a key ring with seven keys, all decorated differently. A set of bat wings on one, a depiction of a skull on a skeleton key. All of them are fairly ghastly—I wonder if all “maidens” get similar sets of keys. Or will the others get hearts and roses on their keys?

We are all escorted to the temple gardens, a bouquet of mustard yellow girls. The pathway is smooth stone, cold beneath my bare feet. A long brick wall covered in ivy is to the right. Seven sets of doors. Seven  “maidens”. Seven different hedge mazes.

I wonder– idly– what if anything will happen when they discover Anna is not a maiden. Or Iris. Do we each get different experiences too? Or are all expectations equal?

None of the elders are here—only priestesses. Naomi stands beside my door. She looks directly into my eyes and nods, sharply, once. If I could imagine any of us females on the battlefield it would be her. “You will get to the exit door in whichever manner you decide. Not the center. Do you understand?”

I nod, lip trembling. Stories are whispered about your destiny waiting in the center of the maze. Fairy tales, almost. My luck I would make it to the center and Zaren, who makes my skin crawl as if fire ants swarmed my body, would be there.

No, thank you.

“Choose your key and open your door,” she tells me.

I choose one resembling a sliver of bone. The lock sticks for a moment, gears grinding and turning before the door opens. I walk through, into the hedge maze, and she slams the door behind me.

I take a step forward and soon realize the small pebbles have glass scattered among them. My feet burn from this discovery. There has to be another way…

The glass has sliced open my heels. I move quickly to the earth close to the hedges, blissfully glass free. I tip toe to the first cross section, looking left and right. There’s a small bench and I go to it, sit, and make sure my feet are free of glass.

A man’s soft baritone sweeps through the maze, warming my heart. Naomi’s instructions were clear—go to the exit. Not look for the male whose singing well leaves you in a muddle.

They call the maze the gauntlet. Nowhere in there does it mention men, or love. Or even sex. My instructions were clear. Find the exit. My feet are free of glass, it’s time to move.

I stick to the edges of the maze, often crawling under the branches to hug the brick wall. His song has changed to a haunting love song. Leaves are in my hair, my dress is torn and my left arm is bleeding.

I am not giving up my objective for a man. I don’t know who it is—it could be Zaren. Zaren, who tried to take what I didn’t freely offer.

This damn maze goes on forever. I’m under a hedge when the man speaks. “I can smell you, little girl. Come to me.” Zaren tries to command me.

No! There must be a door in the next wall. I’m almost to the corner.  No hedges remain to hide in, to walk next to and spare my feet.

“Come out, come out where ever you are!” he calls.

I make a mad dash down the path. The pain ricochets up my legs. Blood flows freely from my feet now. I’m almost to the exit. I pull the keys out of my pocket and rush to end this game.

My breath shatters in my chest when I’m tackled to the ground. I kick backwards, not caring where I hit him. It just has to hurt enough for him to…

Yes! His grip loosens and I’m away. The key ring shakes in my hand while I ram the skull key into the lock. He’s coming up quickly, his hand grabbing my hair and yanking my head backwards.

 “No!” I shout the word as the door opens and I fall through. My hair rips from my head as Naomi appears, a dagger in each hand.

More priestesses flow through the door as Zaren screams. Hands touch my hair, my arms, my feet. Soft hands, caring hands.

Strong hands.

They lift me up, as Naomi drags Zaren  through the door and throws him at my feet. I don’t think he’s alive anymore.

I don’t think I care.

She comes to me, handing me a bloody dagger. I take it in hand, trembling. “Welcome to the Gauntlet.”

At least it isn’t marriage.

.

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More about Wynelda Ann Deaver:

Wynelda Ann Deaver writes in the world of dark and twisty fantasy. She is in her own words a ‘girly girl’ who loves scrapbooking. Wynelda is extremely family oriented – her father is her best friend, and her son is the light of her life. If you’d like to read more about Wynelda, please visit her online at Wynword’s Weblog.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Asena Lourenco @ElaLourenco @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 24, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

My Child 
by Asena Lourenco 

A hot flush waves over me as I trudge forward in the mud, each step requiring more energy than the last. My temples compress into my skull with force; mercilessly and without hesitation. I pull my palm away from its inadvertent position, leaving finger prints on my abdomen. My throat closes up. The world whirs around me as the ground is no longer steady. A hand grasps my own as it leads me onto a somewhat clean mattress. The sheets that await me are quickly covered in the regurgitated scraps that I forced down an hour ago. A jerk hits me from inside. It’s time. Everything goes silent as my ears tune out my own deafening screams. I can no longer tolerate the pain. Shaking violently, I push with the little might I am still able to muster. I want this to be over, more than I ever wanted it to begin. Holding the hand of a stranger is not how I pictured this day. And least of all, having to let the child I never wanted slowly slip away.

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Fiction © Copyright Asena Lourenco
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More about Asena Lourenco:

AsenaLourenco_2024

Asena Lourenco is sixteen years old. She loves playing hockey, singing, and playing piano.

She began writing short stories and poetry at a very early age, and has been writing with The Ladies of Horror Picture-prompt Challenge since she was ten!

As the youngest member of The Ladies of Horror troupe, Asena has an uncanny command of language and has handled each challenge with grace, enthusiasm, and an aptitude far beyond her years.

 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Donna J. W. Munro @DonnaJWMunro @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 23, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

You’ll Never Walk Alone 
by Donna J. W. Munro 

Cory stood in the bright square of light projected by her living room window admiring the sharp edges of her shadow against the snow-covered front lawn. The velvety black of her thin, short shape stretched across the lawn and out into the cracked asphalt street beyond.

All the other houses stood dark against the night and have been for weeks.

Only one in a million alive last time she could find an operating internet signal.

She’d never been one in a million before.

She moved away from the window, flicking off the switch so the house was bathed in the same darkness as the others on the street. No need to waste the energy.

Well, that’s what she told herself, anyway.

The truth was darkness felt better sometimes.

She walked into the kitchen to make something for dinner.

She had to eat. She’d gotten all the canned food of the neighborhood carted back everything she could find, even when she had to step over the rotting lumps that used to be her neighbors.

One in a million meant there were other people still alive. Right?

That’s what she repeated to herself as she warmed the Campbell’s Chicken Soup and forced it down, sipping water to try to settle it in to be digested.

Nothing tasted right, but she had to eat because someday she’d see another shadow spilling out of the moonlight, walking up the street to rescue her.

She was Rapunzel in the tower.

Aurora sleeping in her unnatural bed.

She was… scrawny. Wearing kids clothes now because fat didn’t stick to her anymore. Graying because the hair dye had run out. Eyes droopy and encircled with dark, sagging skin because when the pills at the CVS to help you sleep had run out, alcohol and… other recreational relaxers didn’t drive the images of Mary from next door drying out on her deck like jerky from her mind.

She shook her head and pulled on her coat. There weren’t many joys in being one in a million. Loneliness? Plenty. Anger? That too. She grabbed two pairs of socks and the skates she’d had since college. It was cold enough.

Walking down the snow dusted sidewalk, Cory watched her shadow spill long and then short as the pools of light grew bright under the streetlamps and faded in between. The pond was frozen and back when all the neighbors were still alive, it would be crowded with kids racing and teens playing hockey and people like her who knew how to spin and leap and dip on skates as smoothly as finch in flight. She’d been on America’s team back in the day. A competitive skater. It had always annoyed her when she had to share the ice with the whole damned town, but now that she had it all to herself…

Still, she had the skills and the moonlight and all that perfect ice. Sometimes, there’s a choreographed, scorable method of skating to do when people are watching. But since the world went to shit? She just skate until her legs quivered and the sweat soaks her hair through. When the ice was clear and her blades hiss across the skin of the pond and the air bit her lungs, it was a joy unlike anything else.

It was almost enough.

Especially when she spun and she looked down to see the four of her, Cory and her three shadows spinning under the bright, crossed spotlights of the park. Together, a dark flower glinting under the light of the moon. She was beautiful. Breathless. Full of strength.

In those perfect spins and jumps, the world felt like it might right itself.

And as long as she kept spinning with her shadows, she could keep believing that she wasn’t alone.

.

Fiction © Copyright Donna J. W. Munro
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Donna J. W. Munro:

Revelation: Poppet Cycle Book One

In a dark future, people with money live in doomed cities and use the recently deceased as
repurposed servants and workers called poppets. Ellie DesLoge is the teen heiress of the
company that makes and distributes poppets–your basic reprogrammed flesh robot complete
with training chips and kill switches. If Ellie does everything her Aunt Cordelia says, she’ll have a
life of wealth and power. If she chooses to be what is planned for her, life will be perfect.
Everything she ever dreamed. But something about her sweet poppet Thom goes against what
Aunt Cordelia and tradition have taught her. Will she choose to believe what everyone knows is
true or will she follow what her heart tells her about Thom? Her choice will change the world.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Suzie Lockhart @SuzieNBruce2 @Sotet_Angyal #LoH #fiction

Posted on February 23, 2025 by Ladies of Horror

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Freedom’s Penalty 
by Suzie Lockhart 

I stand, tilt my head back
         And breathe a freedom
That did not come easy.
          But today, I taste honeysuckle
On my tongue.
.
No more beatings from a husband
           Thrust upon me early on
In my womanhood; too afraid to
            Do other than what I was told.
But there was no pleasing him.
            In time, I stopped trying.
Even while the abuse escalated,
            I lacked the will to fight.
.
I was especially downtrodden the day
            I met her, my Mubashira
My ‘giver of good news.’
            We became fast friends…
Then one day we were alone.
            She slipped down my Hajib
And gently stroked my cheek
             Running her fingers through my hair and telling me I was beautiful
             My eyesocket was still discolored
From a previous beating;
One my disgusting,
             drunken husband had dished out.
Surprise shocked me with her kiss,
             Along with elation.
I had never felt loved before. Certainly,
              Never felt like returning it.
.
The next morning she assured me
              It would look like an accident.
That she would get us out of Pakistan,
              That we would go to Europe
Or America…free to love each other.
.
I confess to wanting him to suffer.
               Slipping the tonic my sāḥira,
My exotic sorceress, had concocted
               Was too simple…
because husband demanded drink
soon after he was home
 I begged her to make him suffer.
Allow me to laugh in his face
Dancing before him as I brazenly
                Relayed my betrayal…
Taking great pleasure
               in his inability to move,
his face contorted with rage.
.
I relish the sun on my face and
               breeze in my hair
as I collect the mail one morning.
               A large envelope catches my eye
I recognize the writing outside;
               my heart skips a fearful beat. tearing it. open,
to reveal photos of Mubashira and me.
               Complete with two words
which made my world spin…
               “I. Survived.”
.
Fiction © Copyright Suzie Lockhart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Suzie Lockhart:

Morbid Metamorphosis:
Terrifying Tales of Transformation

Metamorphosis occurs every day as caterpillars become sweet fluttering butterflies, tadpoles become gorgeous frog princes and chameleons become one with the beauty of nature – but you won’t find any of that here.

The transformations you’re about to witness are unnatural, sometimes gruesome and deeply psychological. They will make you question reality and take your mind places it was never meant to go.

Terrifying Tales of Transformation from Greg Chapman * Roy C. Booth & R. Thomas Riley * Terri DelCampo * Dave Gammon * Nancy Kilpatrick * Rod Marsden * Jo-Anne Russell * M.J. Preston * Stacey Turner * Tina Piney * Suzanne Robb * Franklin E. Wales * Donna Marie West * Suzie Lockhart * Cameron Trost * Daniel I. Russell * Simon Dewar * Amanda J. Spedding * Ken MacGregor * Erin Shaw * Gregory L. Norris * Nickolas Furr

Available on Amazon!

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