Memories of the End of the World

This is an incomplete compilation of flash fiction, all taking place within a few days of each other. Each paragraph is its own, individual story.

The hollow-eyed muse sits in the chair, patiently waiting in her black lace dress for her new master. She tips her hat down, as the room had gotten too bright. Her blond hair streams out behind her as she smiles with a toothless grin. Her memories are that of a world that has past, soon to become the stories of the world that is now.

Come hither, keeper of the light. Dance your dance down from the heavens to sing us the song of what once was. Tell us of the past and guess at our future. The world is calling you, oh keeper of the light. Awaken the sleeping child and let your light shine upon the end once again, until the new world is born.

Oh little mother, where has your child gone? Is he down by the shore, building a sand castle at the sea of the dead? Is he in the square playing tag with his frozen shadow? Is he on the hillside, picking burnt flowers? Oh little mother, where has your child gone? The sun is about to set.

A lone soldier stands on the muddied field, aiming his weapon at the horizon. He bathes himself in the orange hews that burst along the edge of the night sky. Both brother and foreigner have departed this place long ago. Stepping over a rag doll he makes his way home. The game has been called on account of acid rain.

The little blond girl dances round and round the empty square. Her sullied dress hugs her chest, retaining its last shred of dignity before that too departs. The parents are gone, the children are gone. All that remains is the light flurry of ash falling from the sky, sinking into the red ooze her last three teeth soak in on impact. Round and round she dances in the lamp light, her fate still uncertain.

Echo, echo, echo... The sound of the silent clock tower resounds into the night, calling out to who might still roam at this late hour. None heed its call though, for its meaning has faded to those who still trot those formerly hallowed grounds. Man’s greatest invention has fallen to the wayside in the perpetual night, but the tower’s hand still tick in reminiscence of what was lost.

“Aren’t you going to eat honey? Your food is getting cold.” The dark haired man set down his knife and stared across the candle lit table. It wasn’t set in any romantic sense, just for some reason the power had been out for days. The graying cut of meat opposite him remained untouched. The man waited a moment and shrugged, resuming his meal. Removing its diamond ring, the man finished the morsel in front of him.

He had never really had a lust for power, or at least that was how he saw it in his old life. None the less, he had become king of this new paradise. Picking up his glass of red wine, he walked over to the observation window looking out on the vacant city below. As the sun began to rise and the last fires began to dissipate across the crater formerly known as downtown he proposed a toast. Glory, to the king of naught!

After the dust cleared and settled back upon the debris the boy gazed up at the sky. It was good. If it could stay that way, it would be even better.  Looking back down at the patch of dirt he had cleared. Earlier he couldn’t have been sure if it was there or not, but now he was sure. Even the earth could eventually learn to forgive. Satisfied, he laid down next to the blade of grass and watched the clouds pass.

Little one, what lies across the sea of the dead?  The old man in the water didn’t say. The fish nibbling on him didn’t give a hint either. What lies behind you, little one, past the shore of the damned? Has the silent carnival closed yet for today? Does that ever spinning Merry Go Round still have its golden ring? The crimson festival is almost over, but you have anyone to go home to?

A small bell rings across the sea, flowing through the silent night fog.  Tolling over and over, its clockwork sound announced both departure and arrival.  Slowly the glow of a lantern crept out of the fog, projecting a giant silhouette to those few remaining on shore. This would be his last pickup before the arrival of the new reality. Pulling up to shore, the water around his boat bled crimson.