HT100 Flash Fiction Challenge #13 -- Under Cover of the Night
I just wrote this in record time - and it feels really good to write again. Chris Keller bullshit, of course.
Title: From A Quiet Place
Author: Ralu
Word Count: 429
*****
My mother showed it to me once.
She took a kitchen knife - and we didn't even have a kitchen, but we had lots of knives - and she put it to my neck. Her eyes were blue, dark blue. Like mine. She told me very, very slowly that I was hers. That she made me and I belonged to nobody else. And nobody would take me away from her. Ever.
Never ever.
Then she told me that she could never live without me.
Of course, that's a lie. Something I made up. Kids do that all the time.
I do that all the time. Just a question of faith.
I've never felt so much love my whole fucking life...as I felt then.
Never ever.
Love is when you can't let go because you don't wanna let go 'cause you can't let go...kind of like murder.
An act of will.
And being loved is...well, being loved is also just a question of faith, ain't it?
Ain't it?
And I *do* have faith...if only because of that kitchen knife sliding across my throat very, very slowly, every breathing night.
That's what love is.
Of course, I ain't gonna tell him that. He wouldn't understand.
Beecher dreams of car crashes and dead little girls riding their bicycles in the middle of the road, over and over and over. Beecher's dreams are all about what he used to be, of what his life has turned into.
Beecher's dreams are nightmares.
I don't have nightmares.
I dream of love. Every night. Love.
Unconditional.
Just a question of faith, I guess.
And I *do* have faith.
It's pretty fucking late and I'm thinking I oughta be asleep by now instead of listening to Beech's breathing above me, watching Mineo swinging his flashlight over my face once every two hours, listening to him breathing very, very slowly...until I'm thinking he ain't breathing anymore.
It's pretty fucking quiet now.
No more footsteps, no more flashlights. No more harsh breathing.
And I'm thinking that...maybe, maybe I'm dead.
Maybe this is what death is.
And I'm thinking I could fall asleep now. Maybe I could dream now.
Safe enough, I guess...
Maybe she'll show it to me again. I *know* she'll show it to me again, she always does.
She's my little girl riding her bicycle in the middle of the road, over and over and over.
Except...I ain't scared. And I ain't running away from her either.
Because I know she loves me.
Unconditionally.
I don't have nightmares; I dream of love.
Just a question of faith.
---the end---
Title: From A Quiet Place
Author: Ralu
Word Count: 429
*****
My mother showed it to me once.
She took a kitchen knife - and we didn't even have a kitchen, but we had lots of knives - and she put it to my neck. Her eyes were blue, dark blue. Like mine. She told me very, very slowly that I was hers. That she made me and I belonged to nobody else. And nobody would take me away from her. Ever.
Never ever.
Then she told me that she could never live without me.
Of course, that's a lie. Something I made up. Kids do that all the time.
I do that all the time. Just a question of faith.
I've never felt so much love my whole fucking life...as I felt then.
Never ever.
Love is when you can't let go because you don't wanna let go 'cause you can't let go...kind of like murder.
An act of will.
And being loved is...well, being loved is also just a question of faith, ain't it?
Ain't it?
And I *do* have faith...if only because of that kitchen knife sliding across my throat very, very slowly, every breathing night.
That's what love is.
Of course, I ain't gonna tell him that. He wouldn't understand.
Beecher dreams of car crashes and dead little girls riding their bicycles in the middle of the road, over and over and over. Beecher's dreams are all about what he used to be, of what his life has turned into.
Beecher's dreams are nightmares.
I don't have nightmares.
I dream of love. Every night. Love.
Unconditional.
Just a question of faith, I guess.
And I *do* have faith.
It's pretty fucking late and I'm thinking I oughta be asleep by now instead of listening to Beech's breathing above me, watching Mineo swinging his flashlight over my face once every two hours, listening to him breathing very, very slowly...until I'm thinking he ain't breathing anymore.
It's pretty fucking quiet now.
No more footsteps, no more flashlights. No more harsh breathing.
And I'm thinking that...maybe, maybe I'm dead.
Maybe this is what death is.
And I'm thinking I could fall asleep now. Maybe I could dream now.
Safe enough, I guess...
Maybe she'll show it to me again. I *know* she'll show it to me again, she always does.
She's my little girl riding her bicycle in the middle of the road, over and over and over.
Except...I ain't scared. And I ain't running away from her either.
Because I know she loves me.
Unconditionally.
I don't have nightmares; I dream of love.
Just a question of faith.
---the end---