Flash Fiction: Awakening

The whistle of a teapot assails me, and I rise from my mat. Bleary eyed, I cast about the room. How many years has it been?

The homunculus on the shelf leers at me, black eyes twitching fervently, eagerly awaiting something, but I can’t think straight enough to know what.

A throaty chuckle floats in through a window, and without thinking I leap to the casement, flinging it open.  There stands a twisted mirror of my memories of self.

I thrust my hand out, snatching the homunculus, and stuff him into my mouth, his squeaks reverberating through my skull as I crunch his bones.  Power surges through me.

“Bring it!”

Have you ever written a story where you just let it come out and then at the end said, “What the crap was that?” 

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3 thoughts on “Flash Fiction: Awakening

  1. Ack! I didn’t see this posted until just now!

    I feel like I’ve come in the middle of something. I really have no clue what’s going on here. Wizard of some kind awakens, is disoriented, and then must fight a dark image of himself? Not sure what to make of this… sorry…

    1. It’s too bad we can’t count how often we flex writing muscles — it’s not like counting how many sit-ups we can do, you know?

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