Don't worry, it's not as bad as it sounds ... this is just a few of my flash stories. Each write around 1000 words from a range of science fiction, fantasy and horror genres (22 SF, 2 F, 1 H).
Eleven dead men. One dead woman. Bloodied bodies scattered upon the less travelled road; horses too. The mystery of their deaths sent a chill down San's spine.
Beasts? Men? If men, then who, as the soldiers had been Fordic, and they had left their destroyed enemy behind; San should know, they had laid waste to her town. Now, they held all land west of the Divide.
A cold wind surged from the west, San heard the autumn leaves shifting before she felt it bite through her clothes, numbing her nose and burning her cheeks already raw from the flames; but the gust passed as quickly as it had come. The refugee sniffed and thought about turning back to where the old road met the highway and a more travelled path. But, it was a time of war, and the people she would meet were likely to be just as dangerous as any wild beast to be found here. San decided to continue on, east.
As she moved to pass, the dead woman, eyes wide open, gave San a cold stare stopping the refugee in her tracks. San spat, "your fire, your swords, you've taken everything from me!"
A cold fly buzzed onto the dead warrior's face.
San softened, see what your waring has gotten you?
She bent down and shut the eyes of the corpse, noticing that she could not see a serious wound on this one. She considered a fall from the horse--broken back. As if in answer to her suspicion, San found the woman's mis-bent arm and hand gripped to a saddle bag beneath her.
San's stomach growled, although her body didn't need to remind her that she needed food. She pushed the soldier over and quickly rummaged through the pack. Inside the leather bag was everything she would need for her journey. Except...she looked to the fine woollen tunic under the soldier's chain, and the cloak with hood too would be required when she reached the snow, high up on the mountain pass. The woman's boots seemed to be of the most beautiful leather.
It took longer than she liked, but San removed the clothes from the corpse and transformed herself into a warrior, albeit, in appearance only. It was as if the two had swapped places, being of similar age, shape--even their hair--in another world, they might have been sisters. But, swapped, now the dead woman was poorer than San would have ever been as a simple villager.
San dragged the lifeless, naked body down a gully and covered it with sticks and leaves, which was a close to a burial as she could manage.
It was nearing dusk when she heard hooves chasing up from behind; it was too late to hide. The rider, a handsome young man in armor, pulled to a halt before her. "General Firth! The man shouted dismounting.
"I saw what had become of your company and held on to hope when you were not to be found amongst the dead." The man was panting heavily as if the horse had been riding him.
"Forgive me, my Lord." He dismounted and fell to one knee. San was stunned and speechless.
After a moment, the young man stood, "How callous of me. You have been unsettled by your ordeal. Please, again, forgive me. I am Sir Jeremy, I was until recently squire to Sir Ruskin, but he fell at Renaise. The King sent me from the fort to give you a message and offer you service.
"Please, let me escort you to your destination. I am yours to command." The knight, reverted to his kneel. His eyes were an intense, dark brown.
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San had recovered, "You've ridden hard, would you like a drink?" She asked, reaching for the dead general's wineskin.
In awe, Jeremy answered, "I had heard that you were a benevolent leader, my Lord, but I am fine. Take my horse? I will run."
Of course, she could ride the old shire horse in town, but not the tall war breed before her. "It is fine, Sir Jeremy, thank you. Let us rest the horse for a while and walk. Then, for speed, we can ride together."
They continued until dark and beyond spending days on the road. During their journey, the two travellers had become familiar with each other; they laughed at each other's jokes and took turns at making the campfire at night. Finally, at breakfast on the last day before reaching the high pass, Jeremy, with his dagger in hand, sliced a piece from an apple they had collected from a tree the day before, and asked. "My Lord, I am curious."
San's heart stopped, he hadn't addressed her formally like that for days. The breeze changed, and the steam from the pot drifted into her face.
His tone was neutral, "This whole time, you haven't asked me for your message." Jeremy tilted his head, bit the apple from the point of his blade, "My Lord?"
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