Happy Wednesday, everybody! Today’s piece is another flash fiction story. Like the last one, Shore, this is from a prompt based on the photo above. Let me know if you guys like it!
Horizon. A symbol of possibility, of hope, of infinity. Seafarers and frontiersmen looked to it and saw adventure, destiny. No matter where you go, it always waits ahead and beckons you to catch up. A tease. Beautiful. Eternally out of my grasp. On sleepless nights when nothing else can soothe me, I ride out of town and up toward the mountain to watch as the sun rises over the horizon. A slow reveal, black fading into orange into blue.
Tonight is such a night. Perched on a rock amongst a set like seats, the horizon plays under the waking sun. Another stretch of mountains gives the horizon a rugged and uneven line. The town splays out in between us. While the rising sun lurks behind those distant mountains and sheds its light upon all, another brushstroke of orange paints the town. It begins at the cathedral, runs down the boulevard, and shares its hue with the houses along the way. Before long, the whole of the town takes on the color. The rippling cascade engulfs all, making clouds of gray and black that stretch heavenward. Accompanying the melody of the lapping flames is the harmony of screams.
Wrapping my shawl around myself, I bask in the glorious acapella. It sings deep into the morning, eventually fading into the single lustful burning. The walls of the town keep it contained, and as I watch I wonder who, if anyone, escaped. And among them, who would track down the arsonist? Perhaps they would include me in their list of victims. After all, such a blaze leaves few identifiers. Maybe the smoke in their lungs would get them sooner rather than later and thus tie up such loose ends.
The horizon calls my name. I answer, for a witch’s work is never done.
Tyler Gohde 