Flash Fiction – Corner of Words

A Reward for the Victor

March 10, 2023April 24, 2023 Sinclair CoxLeave a comment

As the ashes of the scorched city and its citizens crunched beneath the mercenary’s leaden boots, he could not help but mull over the circumstances that led him to his present state; victorious, yet broken.

The fall of an empire was his only command. Invade. Kill. Burn. Destroy.

Mindless but tactful decimation was his only priority—is his only priority—yet why does he feel so lost?

He has done this countless times. Brought about the end of many nations, many lives. He was taught and trained to abandon his humanity. It was inefficient. It was weakening. It was unnecessary.

Those who falter have no place here, no place being alive. So why is he still alive?

He breached the capital’s walls, slaughtered their people, burned every building, and destroyed the last embers of hope.

He has done his part, but he feels a lingering dread. Something must be amiss. He must have left a building unburned, left someone alive, allowed hope to creep through. That can be the only reason for his misery, his desolation.

He was raised as a machine, a tool for the king, so he will finish what must be done.

He is heartless. He is ruthless. He is no longer human.

Still, why does he feel so broken?

Small Moments of Yearning

October 3, 2022April 24, 2023 Sinclair CoxLeave a comment

Do you sometimes find yourself awake at night with nothing but the rhythm of your beating chest and the faint sound of your breaths keeping you company? The silence around you becomes a third companion, one that doesn’t come from you, but it’s one you’ve come to expect. You’ve become accustomed to the many forms of silence: the slowness of time as people are greeted with sleep; the stillness that accompanies you when the world is awash in shadow; the vastness that fills up empty spaces. You can forget that there’s a lack of presence when you welcome silence; you can forget that you’re alone. Tonight, though, is different. You wish for something more. You itch for a sign that you’re not the only one awake.

Your eyes roam around until they settle on your bedroom window. It looks out into your neighbor’s window just a few yards away. Their curtains remain drawn and you can’t recall whether you’ve ever seen them open. That obstruction doesn’t stop you from imagining them awake like you, staring through their window with the same longing.

A sliver of light interrupts your thoughts as it intrudes upon the darkness. It’s coming from your neighbor’s window. You’re drawn in as you sit up in bed trying your best to focus on what may lie beyond their curtains until, suddenly, they’re drawn wide open. You rush to lie back down and pretend to sleep, feeling as if your neighbor’s light is shining directly on you.

Nearly a minute passes before you inch your eyes open and lift your head just enough to see your neighbor sitting on the edge of their bed. You can’t tell what they’re doing, but it looks as if they’re staring out, possibly waiting for the last remnants of sleep to drift away. The position of their bed nearly mirrors yours and you wonder whether they’re aware of your watchful eyes.

You can’t tell how long it’s been before your neighbor finally gets up and walks over to their window. Your eyes remain on them as their silhouette drowns out some of the light. They stand at their window and you stay in bed. This moment feels private enough to feel intimate and you wonder how you’d react if you could see their face clearly, and they yours.

As quickly as the moment begins, it ends when your neighbor turns around and shuts off their light. Darkness fills your room once again, but you don’t feel alone. You know that at least one person is still awake. With that knowledge, you close your eyes and allow the rhythm of your beating chest and the sound of your breaths to guide you back to sleep.

Grandma’s House – A 100 Word Story

January 31, 2022April 24, 2023 Sinclair CoxLeave a comment

The corners of windowsills crusted with dust and dirt. White paint peeled off the edges to reveal rotting wood underneath. I place my hands on the window’s latches to free the locks, but they don’t budge. More white paint comes off, sticking to my hands. The sour scent of rust lingered. “These windows haven’t been touched in ages,” I tell Grandma, “When was the last time you opened them?” She doesn’t answer. I turn around to ask again, but she isn’t there. “Grandma?” I call out. As I leave to look for her, I hear soft laughter behind a door.