Seasons

Thoughts nobody asked for, flash fiction, poetry, and micro news

Autumn smiles ever so warmly, but I know his cold heart. His kindness comes with a high price. He harvests the riches Spring and Summer have grown with their tears and sweat. He steals the light of day, minute by minute. A cold thief hiding behind short, warm days, beautiful colours, pumpkin pies, and warm drinks. The bright colours are illusive, the joys given by Autumn are short. One day we marvel over the colourful leaves, only to walk over their wet, rotting corpses the next morning. Autumn laughs at us, “All shall pass, you fools! All shall pass. All beauty dies, exposed to the cruel passing of time.”

Winter comes with brutal honesty, exposing the lies of Autumn. All the colours, all that beauty was a lie. A fleeting moment, between the heat of summer and the winter frosts. A cosy denial, an attempt to cope with the cold, harsh nights.

Winter comes with cold honesty, Spring with hope, and the promise of new life, Summer – with hard work, heat and passion, but Autumn comes with beautiful lies.

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Now some pieces of new flash fiction and a poem.

Cage

How could you? I’m trapped in your cruel words in your hateful stare, crushed like a half-dead spider I’m crawling into the corner of the cage, wrap my arms and legs around me, crouch into a ball and wish to dissolve in the dark. How could you? You made a cage for me, I fell into the trap of false impression that you loved me…only to discover your love is a cage to keep me near and stab me with your cruel words whenever you wish. You turned me into an ugly animal, only to mock your own creation.

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Undercover

“Well, maybe I’m a secret agent undercover,” he said grinning.

“That’s the dumbest pick-up line I’ve ever heard!” She exclaimed, bursting out in laughter.

He didn’t look offended at all. The casually dressed guy who sat near her at the bar, laughed along with her. She liked his laughter… a couple of drinks later, when she went to the ladies’ room, he received a phone call.

“I’ve made contact,” he said coldly, “further instructions?”

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Shovel

He worked long into the night, sweat dripping, heart pounding, he dug deep scars into the earth. Piles of dirt growing along with large holes across the old garden. The ground hadn’t been touched for years! He didn’t see any signs of somebody digging here before him! It couldn’t be, it shouldn’t be - how could she not be here, where he buried her all those years ago? Her body, stabbed to death had lost all blood right here under the old apple tree. He just sat there, petrified, watching the soil absorbing the blood. When the night came, he took the old shovel and buried her. But she was not here anymore! The girl he saw at the train station today looked just like her. No, impossible. As he sat down pondering, he didn’t notice the shovel rising from behind him without a sound…

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Trash

“Burn, you pile of trash!” the writer yelled as he set the manuscripts and the laptop ablaze. Sprinkled with the remains of his whiskey, the paper exploded in blue and orange flames as soon as the burning match touched it. The drunk writer laughed until the stench of the burned paper and melting plastic made him sober up.

“Oh, no! What have I done?!” he kneeled clutching the ashes, and flame-deformed laptop, ignoring the pain of his burned skin.

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Autumn

You came with a smile,

My cold-hearted friend.

A golden leaf crown,

And a kind word at hand.

But the rich gifts you bring

Always come with a price.

Your warm-smiling daylight

At night turns to ice.

Never trust Autumn,

His treacherous harvest,

Of wondrous sights

Is a beautiful lie.

Killing with kindness

Behind his warm smile,

He’s a thief of light.

A looter, robbing

The riches summer

Left behind.

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Some information about the upcoming week:

• On Monday, September 9, I’m sharing something different. Not horror, or fantasy. I don’t know what it is. The first part of a short story Life. Guard. It might be called a contemporary short story, with a bit of magic realism sprinkled in, and a romantic subplot.

• On Thursday, September 12 I’m sharing Thorny Thursday, a compilation of romantic pieces by other Substack authors.

• On Friday, September 13, I’m sharing another flash fiction chapter from my Sci-fi story The Gravediggers of Orpheus.

• No fantasy this Saturday. I have to figure out what story to share next.

• As per usual - expect surprises. I might share a non-fiction rant or a flash fiction story.

• On Sundays I share new short pieces, poetry, and a huge Thank You to you, lovely readers and/or subscribers.

I must confess, I’m going through the edits done by the professional editor I hired. My novella The Last Daughter of Wolves is becoming a book. I guess, I’m self publishing. And I’m scared to death. Wish me luck!

Love,

Kathrine 🩶