Every so often, there is a mortal being inducted into the siren’s sisterhood. Our linear, finite lifetimes necessitate that this happens only when such a person has finished her last song. When that happens, the sirens come to guide her past their mother-heart to a place where time has no meaning.
She was wearing a green dress that flattered her curves in all the right ways, and I couldn’t stop staring at her. She glowed, especially around her neck where a maroon choker rested, right around the hollow of her throat.
At first our relationship was tenuous. I wasn’t sure where to put my hands, how much pressure to use. Sometimes my hand would slip, or I’d lift the wrong leg, and my foot would make abrupt contact. It hurt me far more than it did him.
Basil reached out and brushed some of my hair out of my face. “It is true that I do not require sleep,” he said in a gentle tone. “But I am capable of sleep. However, I do not believe that is your real concern. You have ‘crashed’ here many times while I was working or writing.”
She traces the switchback paths with her whole body, one quadrant at a time until the circle is complete. The sun is partially occluded by lingering morning fog, but she likes it that way. It makes this place feel more mystical.
#audio. #flashfic #flashfiction Twisted fairy tales and bottled tears.
She’d cut him. Not her father, but the wolf. She’d drawn his blood while he never drew hers. Well, not with a knife. But she’d been a virgin the first time he’d lain with her, and that kind of bloodstain was better earned.
#audio. #short-short. Sun, Sand, Sea, Kindred Spirits, and Spirits of Another Kind.
She likes the way his kisses taste like salt-water taffy, and the way he’s totally comfortable in rolled-up khakis and a chambray shirt, sitting on the sand near a bonfire, and equally comfortable dressed in a coat and tie and shoes (she still hates shoes, but she wears heels because they’re better for dancing) that gleam from shining.
#audio. #flashfiction #basilandzoe A look at one or two of Basil’s log files.
The Cousteau has just completed a humanitarian mission to the planet we refer to as Aquaria Three, though the native population – a race of sentient marine mammals not far removed from the Terran cetacean species – has a different name for their world. The organic beings among our crew have been unable to reproduce the name, but I have managed a close approximation that the locals told me was ‘close enough for krill.’