Miro

I was about two years old, cradled in my mother’s embrace in the living room. She was lulling me to sleep but I wanted none of it, squirming and turning my head around for something that would grab my attention. My eyes focused on the mirror hanging on the wall and I reached for it with my short arms. It felt like it was a whole world away and I had the taste of tears and defeat in my mouth when I saw the image of myself in there, doing his best to reach back to me. So I pointed to my own image, looked it dead in the eyes and uttered my first word. Not a simple word like ‘dada’ or ‘poop’ but a real word.

“Friend.”

Here, my memories differed from my mother’s. She told me that she swiveled around and showered me with kisses, happy that I said such a beautiful word. I had some additional images. As she swiveled around, my eyes were still focused on my own reflection, who split into a wide grin and mimed the same word I just said.



The first day in school, first grade. I was a shy person but didn’t know how bad it was until I entered the classroom and noticed how a dozen curious gazes stared at me like I was a new toy. The low mutters and whispers shared between my classmates hummed in the background as I stuttered through my presentation, reciting the script I practiced the night before with a thousand yard stare, not daring to meet my peers. My chest tightened as I prattled on. There were some mild applauses when I reached the end of my presentation and I hurried to my desk, sight locked on the floor. There was this mantra that echoed in my mind, I don’t remember if it was my mother or father who said it to me when I shared my worries with beginning school.

Don’t make a big deal out of it. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Don’t make a big deal out of it.

I didn’t hear what the lesson was about, but I was aware of other small sounds. Someone repositioning, sighing, craning their neck. I swear I heard them glance towards me, how their skin creased when turning their heads.

When the break began, I rushed to the bathroom and shut myself in there. A bleak small room with thirty-six grey floor tiles, I counted them all in an attempt to calm down, but my breathing only turned more erratic. Then, through my peripherals, I noticed the mirror above the basin. I stared at it and told the reflection that this was a stupid situation. That I should calm down. Take deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

The image didn’t follow suit. He observed me with a puzzled expression, then shook his head and made a grimace. Rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue and pushed his nose upward so you could see the holes. Finished by grabbing his cheeks and rattling them, like flabby skins.

I laughed. Not a small chuckle but big, gasping laughs that made tears run down my cheeks. I’m not really sure why I laughed at something like that. Maybe I was so tensed up that I would’ve reacted to anything that was remotely funny.

It helped. The breathing got easier.

I looked at the image, who nodded and slapped himself proudly on the chest. I mouthed “thank you” to him and he responded with a thumbs up.

That was the first time Miro helped me out. The moment I began to interact with him daily. How could I not? Miro was the greatest of friends, always close by and always ready to cheer me up and brighten my day. Even if I didn’t look in a mirror, I could see him wave at me through my peripherals whenever I passed something with a reflection. Each time I felt distraught or panic, I would go to the closest bathroom with a mirror and Miro would calm me down. Either by being funny or by just being supportive. He knew my pain and anxieties. He understood them. And somehow, knowing that there was someone else who was aware of my own problems made it a little bit easier. Miro was my closest friend. I would wake up, brush my teeth and see his image do the same and then break off doing something else. I would always go to the bathroom during breaks and spend time with Miro. I even learned how to read lips to understand him better.

But Miro wasn’t real. At least that was what my parents said. They were worried about me and my imaginary friend, that I spent more time with Miro than with the other kids in school. I was a loner in the eyes of the teacher. No, I was a loner in everyone’s eyes - shutting myself in the school’s bathroom whenever I could.

To not make it a bigger deal, I began to have long grueling sessions with this strange lady who prodded me with questions. She would look at me through her big, square glasses and her hands would scribble in the notepad whenever I mentioned Miro. She would ask me about father, mother and other relatives. The neighbors. She would always have something to ask and I tried to answer as well as I could. Often time it would be about some facts and curiosities like what my father did for work or what do I see myself doing in five years time. But sometimes, she would do a polite cough and ask something strange or uncomfortable.

“Do you feel safe?”

That question took a lot out of me. I think I said ‘yes’ quite fast. She nodded, scribbled something down and moved on. My head ground over that question for days, I had so many things to back up with my answer. My parents loved me. My mother listens to my worries and my father takes me to the cinemas and theme parks every now and then. The neighborhood was a quiet place and if anything dangerous would happen, my father would probably come to my rescue. Sirens blaring, gun blazing. Of course I felt safe. Else I would just be ungrateful.

That took a turn when high school started. There was this big guy who took a liking to trip me up or shove me to the wall whenever I tried to go to the bathroom. I tried to avoid him as much as possible but it only made him more daring with his attempts, more reckless.

I soldiered on. Miro suggested that I should tell the authorities about it but I shook my head. His eyes were filled with worries. He didn’t try to cheer me up or support my decision. For once, Miro looked uncertain and scared. I could see in the reflection that his body was closed, his arms crossed and his expression thoughtful. I touched the glass and he did the same. I had a smile while he bit down on his lips.

I remember saying, “It’s not a big deal.”

And then it happened. One day, the bully said something aggravating. I don’t even remember the words. Only that I pushed him down the stairs. His face filled with panic and his hands grasped the air. The low thud. The blood. The screams and shouting. The ambulance.

I was at the scene, taking everything in. I read the lips of one of the medical personnel. Fatal head wound. Need immediate operation.

Both parties' parents were called into the principal’s office and the shouting match began. Accusations, insults, and finger-pointing. I couldn’t find a mirror there nor was I allowed to go to the bathroom. I sat in a corner, my mother holding me tight and kissing my forehead, her face haggard, her hands trembling. My father, stood straight and tall, taking the harsh words and countering with his own. Both parties never agreed to a conclusion that afternoon and both left with an empty pain. My father met up with some friends for advice and my mother headed to bed, too exhausted after today’s incident.

It became a big deal after all. The lips of the medic replayed in my mind. I didn’t want to become a murderer. The image of the blood seeping out from the head flashed before my eyes. What would happen next? I didn’t dare to imagine. I just wanted it all to end.



Miro was shocked when he saw me in the bathroom holding my father’s gun. His lips were soundless but I understood.

Don’t do it.

I didn’t have any words for him. Only tears and a grim expression.

Don’t do it.

I sobbed and removed the safety from the gun. Pointing it to my head.

Lukas, please. Talk to me. 

Miro started to bash against the mirror. It was strange to see him use so much force but I still couldn’t hear anything. His mouth contorted in a soundless scream as he tackled the mirror with his shoulder.

I closed my eyes. My face pulled into a strained grimace. My finger quivered.

The sound of shattered glass exploded in my ears. Something struck my gun hand. A deafening bang. But there was no pain, no end. Instead, the warmth of a person embraced me.

“Lukas, please don’t do it.” I could feel his body tremble. I could hear his voice crack. I could see him in front of me, no mirror separating us anymore. “I’m sorry that you feel this way. I know that it hurts and you’re feeling guilty. It’s okay to feel this way.”

My head spun. I didn’t know what was happening, everything was in slow motion. I heard my heartbeats, the glass clinked against the floor. My vision blurred and faded into darkness.

“Please, it will get better. Don’t end it.”



I woke up in a hospital bed. My mother found me unconscious in the bathroom with splintered glass all over the place and called the emergency hotline. My father joined soon after.

There’s this faint memory of me tensing up, bracing myself for my punishment. I was ready for them to lash out at me, all furious and accuse me of being a coward. But instead, they hugged me tightly, saying again and again how they’re glad I’m alive. They were thanking God. They even thanked me for being brave and not taking the last step. And everything inside me gushed out. I apologized over and over again, through heavy sobs and coughs, I apologized for everything. I didn’t want any of this to happen, but it still did. It was beyond my control. I apologized until my voice grew hoarse.

It turned out just as Miro said. It got better.

Seeing the World

“Happy birthday!”

Confetti and cheers exploded as I opened the door to my home. My parents blew the party horns with all their might and my friends dragged me inside and threw me on to my weathered yellow sofa. The apartment walls were covered with big balloons and the floor was now buried in glitter.

My girlfriend popped out, carrying a tall white cake with yellows swirls with the number 25 glazed on top. Someone started to sing the birthday-song and everyone quickly joined. I nodded along and waved my hands like a conductor, my face split in a wide grin. The cake was cut and handed to everyone, except for me. Instead, a pair of sunglasses plopped down on my lap. They probably were from an expensive brand since everyone encouraged me to try them on.

It didn’t block that much of the light, I could see my girlfriends face clearly, especially her hair grabbed my attention with...
I blinked, removed the glasses, looked at her hair. Put my glasses on. Inspected again.

Everyone held their breath while I did this. The cacophony from before had become tense with expectation.

I reached out, touched the hair. Stroked it.

“Is this red?” I asked.

“More of a dark orange,” she said, smiling.

“It’s so...full,” I continued. “It’s so beautiful.”

Eyes watched me as I looked around. I pointed to one of the balloons, a strange paradox of blue mixed with shades of light and dark. “What’s that?”

“That’s purple, dear.”

“Really, that’s purple? I never knew.” My gaze landed on my dad’s shirt. “I never knew there were so many greens.”

“If you want to see real red, look at your shirt, son.”

I looked down and jumped. It was so screamy. I never knew that a colour could be so screamy, a colour that craved so much attention.

“Look at the cake, look at the cake!” someone else said.

My girlfriend handed me a plate with a bit of the cake. The outside wasn’t white anymore. It had some of my shirt and my significant other’s hair mixed inside. It was pleasant to the eyes.

“Is that...pink?” I asked my girlfriend. She nodded.

I sat stunned, staring around my apartment in awe. “Is this how you see the world?”

A pair of arms embraced me and my focus was filled with eyes of the most beautiful green I’ve ever experienced.

“Yes,” she said again. “And now we can see it together.”

Reddit Flash Fiction - Zoo and Backpack

Source where you can read other peoples wonderful submissions.

* * *

“Is it true that you’re mixed?” asked the boy.

Luna stared, her face frozen in a polite smile. It's not even been a week since the transfer, has someone already spread rumors about her?

She looked around but no one else met her eyes. The others watched the teacher, who was pointing at some chimpanzees and spewing out facts about them in his own portrayal of Discovery Channel.

“Is it true that your dad’s white and your mom’s black?” The boy’s eyes glimmered with curiosity.

Images of a ruined locker and ripped school books flashed before her. Sniggers. Silence. Tears. She clutched the straps of her backpack and lowered her head. Her mouth felt dry. She would have to switch school. Again.

The boy crinkled his brows, his expression confused. “Hey, what’s wro-”

A tall girl with a ponytail appeared, shaking the boy’s shoulder. She pointed to the teacher, now screaming and yelling with the other classmates laughing.

“Hey Joey, go to the front!” said the girl. “The monkeys are flinging poop at the teacher!”

“What? No way!” The boy disappeared to get a better view of the spectacle.

A sigh of relief escaped from Luna before she noticed and covered her mouth in panic.

“Sorry for that,” said the girl with ponytail. “Joey’s nice but he has no idea what privacy is.”

“Thanks.” Luna wanted to say something more to show her gratitude, but nothing sprang up in her mind. "Thank you." She pinched herself for not coming up with anything better.

“No problem,” said the girl and headed to the front while shouting so that everyone could hear, “Mr. Rolowski, can’t we look at the pandas soon? They’re my favorite!”

The others murmured in agreement, none noticing the sweet smile spread across Luna’s face.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

The Lies of Goroh

Footsteps echoed through the wooden floor as Vai darted around the fireplace, opening cupboards and chests. Tiny hands grabbed cheese and bread, filled a skin with water and pinched slices of smoked pork into a cloth bag. Brown eyes glanced around and ears tensed for slightest movements. When the bag was swollen, Vai headed towards the door with a smug smile plastered across his face.

The door squeaked open, revealing an older woman in a dark brown dress. Her hair ashen and skin weathered by time with the same lips as Vai, mirroring the smile. The boy let out a yelp and jumped back in surprise.

"Vairatia, where are you going?" asked the woman, heading inside with a basket of freshly picked vegetables.

"Ju- just out, ma," said Vai, staring down at the floor.

His mother dropped her basket on the table in the middle of the fireplace and began sorting the greens. Vai picked up a hand brush hanging from the wall and joined her, cleaning the sorted vegetables from dirt. But his concentration wasn’t on the food, it was on his mother’s hands. Blemished with spots and the veins distinct through the skin. The hands looked frail like twigs next to the smoldering fire. The hands looked like they would break any day now.

"To the forest again?" asked his mother. 

“Yes, ma,” said Vai. “I like the forest this time of the year, it looks beautiful.”

She was silent for a moment before asking, “Don’t you want to play with the other children in the village?”

“I like the forest more.” 

His mother sighed and hugged Vai tightly. He could feel the warmth of her body spreading to him and the smell of grass was deep in her hair and clothes.

"Don't play around there too much," she said. "Pike mentioned that there might be some strange things out there. His guardian idol told him to beware of gorohs.”

Vai returned the hug and kissed his mother on the cheek before releasing himself from the embrace.

"That's just a fairy tale," he said. “Besides, even if it was real. How dangerous is a goroh? They can only tell lies.”

"But something’s been spotted in the forest," said his mother. "It might be nothing but it would mean a lot to me if you played in the village, at least for a few days.”

Vai didn’t respond. He fiddled with the strings on the bag with food, his eyes wandering out of the wooden hut they called home. A hand grabbed his attention, stroking his cheek with calloused fingers.

“You have your father's blood after all," she said, her voice filled with reminiscence. The hand reached upwards and played with Vai’s tousled hair.  "Always need to go out and explore."

"I'm not like pa," said Vai, stepping away from the loving hand. "I don't disappear."

"He's just on a journey, like you going to the forests."

"I always come back, unlike him."

"He'll be back in due time."

"Yeah, right."

His mother's smile shrunk into a thin line, Vai knew what that meant. Mother was hurting inside but tried to not show.

"Please be careful out there when you’re playing,” said his mother. “Do you remember what to do if a stranger approaches you?"

"Ask a question with an obvious answer," recited Vai. "If the stranger lies, run away. It might be a goroh."

"That's good," said his mother and stepped closer, kissing Vai on the forehead.

"But I don't understand why," said Vai. "Are gorohs really dangerous?” 

"Gorohs can never speak the truth," said his mother. 

“And that’s dangerous?” 

“Very.” She kissed Vai once more and opened his bag to check the content, giving it a nod of approval. "Promise me to be careful, and return before sundown.”

Vai beamed and hugged his mother before leaping out of the hut. His sprint came to a stop as he turned around and met his mother’s tired eyes with a pleading look.

"Ma, why don't we move closer to the village?" asked Vai. "Why do you insist to stay alone in the outskirts in this hut?” He pointed at the cracks on the roof, signs of the structure past its prime. “If we move to the village you will have it closer to your friends and they can help you with the crop.” He fiddled with the strings on the bag again. “I’ll even promise to play with the other children."

His mother smiled. "I would like to be here when your pa returns. He would be so lost if he didn’t find me here.”

“But how do you know he will come back?” asked Vai.

“I know he will,” said his mother, but Vai noticed something frail in her words. 

He didn’t dare to push further and instead slung the cloth bag over his shoulder. “Well then, I’m off, ma.”

“Take care, Vai.”

* * * * *

Vai followed a small road, kicking up dust and stone whenever he felt like it. Soon, the road split into two paths. The left revealed buildings and smoke on the horizon, while the right pathed deep into a forest of pale red and yellow. He turned right without hesitation and picked up the pace, his face growing brighter by the second.

The trees stood tall in the forest with leaves of fiery colors, making him think of blazing fires. The bright petals in stark contrast to the white bark were mesmerizing. A hint of sweet earthiness wafted through the air and Vai inhaled with deep breaths, welcoming it. His feet led him to the biggest tree in the forest, its trunk three times as wide as his reach and towered over the other trees, but the branches naked. The bright-coloured leaves laid scattered on the ground, the colours faded and disappearing. The back of the tree revealed a big hole, easy enough to hide a small person inside. He knocked on the trunk.

"Hey goroh," said Vai into the hole. "Come out, I brought food for you."

Two yellow dots shone in the darkness and the sound of water splashing echoed from the trunk. Out crawled a thin girl, not much taller than Vai. Her hair bushy and white, eyes black in stark contrast. Cheeks sunken and bones poked out from her skin. Her body clothed in a linen shirt reaching down to her knees.

Vai opened up his bag and emptied the content on the ground. The girl grabbed the bread and wolfed it down, coughing as she swallowed.

"Is it good?" asked Vai, handing her the waterskin.

The girl gulped down and responded, "No, I hate it." Her voice clear and high.

"I see, glad to hear that," said Vai and offered the smoked pork and cheese. 

He then sat and watched in silence as the girl ate. The girl’s shirt had stains of dried blood and bruises covered her arms and legs. She noticed his wandering gaze and shrugged.

“It’s been easy,” said the girl and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. “Humans seem to love me.”

“It’s because we don’t know better. Sorry,” said Vai. “But you don’t seem that trustworthy when you’re always lying.”

The girl sneered. “And human’s always speaks the truth.”

“Well...sometimes,” said Vai. “But at least we don’t have any magical powers. Speaking of which…” He clapped his hands with eagerness. “Won’t you transform for me?”

The girl swallowed the last piece of bread and shook her head. She raised her hands up in the air. The hands dissolved, turning into water and soon the rest of her body followed suit, splashing down on the ground, forming a pool of liquid, only to rise up and transform into an adult man. He was tall and bald, with eyes like a hawk and a white thin scar on his right cheek. A dark, red hood cloaked his body.

"Hey, that's Pike!" said Vai, applauding. "Can you do anyone else from the village?"

The form of Pike turned into a pool once more. This time, it reformed into an old woman with a hunched back, smiling a toothless grin.

Vai clapped once more. “That’s so amazing! Can you do animals and trees?”

"Yes,” said the granny, the old wrinkled face scrunched up and frowning.

Vai leaned closer. “You can only do people?”

“No, I can transform into everything.”

“It’s still amazing,” said Vai and grabbed hold of the older woman’s hand, there were barely any meaty parts, only bones and veins. “How do you do it?”

The goroh shrugged and changed back into the white-haired girl.

"Is this your true form?” asked Vai, touching the hair paler than the bark on the trees. “You always return back to this one.”

“Yes,” said the girl. “I just hate this form.”

Vai pointed at the bruises, “Are those...real?”

The girl looked Vai dead in the eyes, flashing a sad smile. “Humans seem to love me.”

Vai looked at the ground. “Sorry.” 

“But you seem to hate me,” said the girl and grabbed hold of his hand. “Thank you.”

The goroh’s hand was cold but soft. The fingers were slender and so pale. 

“Can you turn into anyone?” asked Vai. “Any person at all, or must you have met them before?”

The girl looked up at the sky, biting her cheek in thoughtful silence. “I can’t turn into anyone as long as a human nearby knows the image.”

“Then I have a request.” 

The girl’s expression grew wary and she pulled back her hand. Her body tensed up, like she was bracing herself.

“Can…” Vai swallowed, before continuing. “Can you turn into my pa?”

The girl relaxed, but with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, it’s okay, if you don’t want to,” said Vai hurriedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for asking.” He held out the waterskin. “You want some more?”

The girl nodded. “Yes, I’m still thirsty,” and pushed back the offer. “Why do you want me to turn into your father?”

Vai bit down on his lower lip before. “Ma is getting old, I wish for her to live in the village, with the others. But she insists staying in the hut, because of stupid pa.” He fiddled with the strings from the bag. “If you could turn into pa and tell her to move to the village, she will probably listen.”

A moment passed and then the goroh said:

“I won’t help you.”

* * * * *

Inside the hut, the mother prepared a meal for her son. A bowl with meat and beans simmered above the fireplace and the chopping of vegetables echoed through the hut. She took a moment to wipe away the sweat from her face and massage her aching shoulders.

‘Ma, why don't we move closer to the village?’

She smiled sadly to herself. She knew that Vai meant well, but the hut meant so much to her. It was the last remnants she had of her husband besides Vai. Leaving the hut would mean leaving him. She couldn’t do that.

“Alara?”

She spun around, reacting on instinct, not to the words but the inflection and timbre of the voice. A voice she only had vague memories of.

Standing on the doorway was a man with raven-black hair and sunkissed skin. A full beard, trimmed and proper. He wore a clean white shirt and on his neck danced a necklace shaped like a fish.

“Alara,” said the man again. “I’m back.”

The mother stood still. Her hands cupped her nose and mouth, tears running down her cheeks. She slowly shook her head.

The man stepped inside and embraced the mother. The smell of the sea filled her nose, mixed with the musk of him. She cried and held him tight.

“I doubted,” she cried out in his embrace. “I waited for so long and I began to doubt.”

“I’m back,” repeated the man.

She kissed him and stroked his hair. “What magic is this?” she asked, looking at him with wonder. “You haven’t aged a day since you left.”

The man released her from his embrace, grabbing her shoulders and staring at her with serious eyes. “Listen to me Alara, move to the village. Forget about me.”

The mother was stunned. “What?”

“I’m just a ghost, a remnant of my former self. The real me…” his voice cracked and he had to gather himself with a breath. “...is buried beneath dirt and earth. I was caught in a landslide.”

“I don’t understand.”

The man knelt down, his hands grasping hers. “I’m just a ghost given a moments grace by higher powers. A moment to tell you how much I love you.” He hugged her, burying his face in her stomach. “I couldn’t stand seeing you like this, always suffering alone because of a slim chance that I might return.”

“But you’re here,” she said, kneeling down to level with her husband. “I can touch you, I can smell your scent. Your warmth, your heartbeats. It’s you!”

“Yes,” said the man, in a grimace of pain. “But I will leave, again”

“No,” said the mother, shaking her head. She knelt down and clung to her husband like he was driftwood in the open sea. “No, no, no, no…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stay, don’t do this to me again. I can’t handle it,” the mother rocked back and forth as if to calm down a crying baby.

“I’m sorry.”

The couple stayed in the embrace, the man stroked her back and hair, repeating the same words over and over again. A long moment passed until the mother broke the silence.

“Something’s strange here,” she said, her voice hoarse but hard. “All this time, you never even once mentioned about Vairatia. It’s like you didn’t care about him, about our son.”

“Of course I do.”

“Then answer this question,” she asked, her hands squeezing his. “Do I have a son?”

Silence filled the air. The man couldn’t respond.

The mother pushed the man back with all her might and grabbed hold of the vegetable knife, pointing it at the man.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, goroh,” said the mother. Her tone low and growling. She swung once and the man jumped back. “But you’ve gone too far.”

She swung again and drew blood as a gash appeared on the man’s chest. The man howled and sprinted out of the hut.

“I’ll kill you!” the mother screamed and chased after. “I’ll kill you for playing with me like that.” 

The man ran as fast as he could, fearing for his life. It made his legs feeble and a misstep later tumbled him down on the ground. Before he had a chance to stand up, a shadow loomed over him. She was thunderous, her eyes bloodshot with tears still flowing down the side of her face. The mouth twisted in rage with the teeth showing, clenched tight.

“Ma, stop!”

A boy ran out from nowhere, shielding the man with his small body. 

“I’m sorry, ma!” the boy wailed. “I’m sorry, I just wanted you to move to the village!”

The mother lowered her knife, but she was still teething. The man tried to hide behind the boy, it was almost comical.

She wiped her tears with her free hand, her lips forming a thin line. “Vairatia.”

Her son sprang forward and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, ma. I’m, sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you so, it’s my fault, I asked the goroh to imitate pa. It was wrong, I’m sorry.” He continued to repeat the same words, tears flooding down his cheeks. 

The mother patted her child, but her gaze still locked on the monster shaped like her husband.

“Answer me this question,” she said to the cowering man. “Is my husband dead?”

The man stood up on shaky legs, his eyes glancing towards Vai.

“Answer me!”

The man took a deep breath. “Your husband’s alive.”

A moment passed in silence. 

She pointed the knife at the man. “Don’t show your face here again. Run, run for as long as you can. Because if I see you again, I will kill you.”

The man nodded, and escaped with trembling steps.

“A goroh can’t speak of truths,” said mother to Vai. “And that means any truths. He can never speak of a single thing that is true.” She gripped Vai tightly on the shoulders, the fingers trembling. “We’ll move to the village.”

Reddit Flash Fiction - Lakeshore and Birthday Candles

Source where you can read other redditors wonderful submissions

* * *

The kayak wobbled and almost toppled me into the clear water. I pushed the paddle into the shallows to regain some balance, but the small bag on my side fell overboard during the tumult. I jumped into the piercing cold water and grabbed hold of the bag, clutching it close to my chest.

I’ve always had a fear of water. I remember that I bawled my eyes out when school had a swim-day and my older brother had to cradle me to his chest, silencing me with half of his donut. While he rocked me back and forth, I noticed how loud his heart sounded. He explained that his heart beat strongly because he had so much he wanted to do. Didn't have time to worry about any fears.

He was always the adventurous one, talking about traveling the whole wide world with eyes that matched the intensity of the sun. He dreamt big enough for both of us.

It felt good when I returned back to the shore and stood on solid ground. Droplets of water dripped from my hair while it gushed from the bag. The contents were spoiled. The matches and the birthday candles drenched and the donut soggy.

I pierced the snack with the candles and placed it on top of the shore water. My fingers slid across the surgical scars on my chest as I watched the waves grab the donut and sail away.

My brother’s heart thumped strongly inside me.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Reddit Flash Fiction - A story set in a forest and somehow include a pocketwatch [300 words or less]

Source where you can read other lovely submissions made by other reddit users!

* * *

Why was it known as the ‘Sea of Trees’?

When the wind brushed past the forest, the leaves rustled like the ripples on water. A popular explanation that I didn’t agree with. I had my own idea.

Just like the seas and oceans, secrets rested at the depth of this forest.

The woods welcomed me with the smell of earth. A stillness permeated the air. No birds chirped. Only the sound of my footsteps trodding further inside.

I saw the remains of humans in the forest. Some decomposed beyond recognition and giving off a vile smell that made me gag. I grimaced when I passed an especially rotten body, wondering if I would turn out like that.

My eyes scanned around, determined to find a suitable tree and it only took a few more encounters with the dead until I stumbled upon it. Tall with a glorious crown of leaves. The trunk, however, all thin and gangly. A breeze of wind made it sway, releasing a groaning creak. It threatened to break if pushed just a bit more. Yes, this one was perfect.

I hurried closer but saw in horror that it was already occupied. A dirty skeleton in its Sunday clothes rested next to the trunk. I gazed down and saw its bony hand holding a golden pocket watch.

I knelt down to get a better look on the ornament. The once white dial now a faded yellow and a large crack split the glass in three. The watch ticked loud and clear, matching the beats from my heart. Time was still moving.

The sun had faltered when I left the forest. The golden watch in my breast pocket ticked softly.

Would I return back to the bottom of the ‘Sea of Trees’ when it stopped?

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Talvella [Flash Fiction; Fantasy]

Snowflakes floated down in the winter-adorned forest, building layers upon layers of the white cold. Vanja stretched out her tiny hands towards the ice crystals, determined to not let a single snowflake touch the land. She ran back and forth with open palms, ignoring the prickles and chilling stings from the snowflakes thorns. Her auburn eyes widened when the crystals she gathered turned into water.

Vanja grinned and sipped the cold water, grateful for the snowflakes consideration. The running had made her a bit thirsty.

She squealed and jumped into a pile of snow, back first, and enjoyed its closeness. It was as if the snow gave her a hug. She laid there with a big smile on her face, watching the breaths she made drift away before getting up and brushed off the snow from her red overall and corrected her matching beanie. Vanja turned her attention towards a boy who had been watching her the whole time, sitting under a snow-covered fir tree The boy wore the same colour as the sky, a blue overall with an equivalent blue cap, only revealing a pale face with sapphire eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Come Manu, help me build a snowman!” said Vanja and waved to the boy. He shook his head, or maybe he was shivering due to the cold. It was hard for Vanja to know.

“How can you stand this?” complained Manu. “How can you like this more than hot cocoa and marshmallows?”

“It’s so beautiful!” said Vanja. “Look at all this white snow, waiting to be shaped into something wonderful. We should help it change!”

The boy sighed and kicked the snow. “Maybe it doesn’t want to change?”

“Of course it wants,” said Vanja and pointed at her marks in the snow. “Look, it follows my form. If the snow didn’t want to change it wouldn’t be so quick to turn into something else.”

Vanja piled snow on top of each other and rolled them into balls. Manu pouted in the background, his hands hugging himself as protection against the cold. He leaned against the tree but jolted away as if he got burned on a hot stove. His brows furrowed. The coal-dark tree bark flashed a shade of fiery yellow. Manu blinked and threw a glance at Vanja who was immersed in transforming the snow. He touched the trunk and his lips curved upwards.

The smell of burning wood made Vanja stop in the middle of piling two balls on top of each other. She turned around and saw Manu next to a burning tree, crackling and popping with vigour. The boy had his hands close to the bonfire, his eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his face.

“What did you do?”

“I found a fire spirit floating around,” said Manu, his voice relaxed and cheerful. “So I urged it to set the tree on fire since it’s so cold.”

“But the tree was wet from the snow. It must’ve been tiring for the poor spirit,” said Vanja, frowning.

“It’s fine. Look, I’ll show you.”

Manu snapped his fingers and rubbed the hands against each other. Small threads of smoke started to ooze out. A small pop was heard and then his hand encased a fiery elemental. The flame moved in heaving sighs, like a person out of breath.

“See, look how tired it is!” said Vanja.

“It will get better,” muttered Manu, looking down at his feet.

Vanja pulled out a mitten from one of her pockets and dropped it inside the fire. But the flames didn’t attach itself to the fabric. The crackles that usually was heard from a fire were muffled.

“I don’t think wool is the best thing to feed a fire,” said Manu.

“But I don’t have anything else on me,” said Vanja as she picked up the singed mitten and threw it in the snow. “Do you?”

The boy shrugged. “I’m not stupid enough to destroy my clothes for it.”

Vanja’s eyes narrowed and said with a stern voice: “Manu, you asked the spirit for a favour. It’s only polite to return something. Empty your pockets.”

Manu grumbled as he lowered the fire spirit onto Vanja’s hands and rummaged around his overall-pockets, revealing some chocolate and a pack of tissue.

“You have paper and you didn’t say anything?” said Vanja, her voice shifted higher both in volume and pitch.

“They are for my runny nose,” said Manu in a low mumble. He knuckled up the tissues and dropped them in the fire. The papers wrinkled like black worms and disappeared inside the belly of the flame. The fire grew in size, almost covering Vanja’s palms.

“There you go Pienet Neljä,” said Vanja with a softer and sweeter voice, the same she would use when talking to an adorable puppy. “Feeling better?”

The flame wiggled its core and waved its fiery tips. A drawn-out crackle came from the fire and reminded Vanja of when the neighbour’s cat purred.

“Let’s go home,” said Vanja, her eyes never leaving the flame. “Let me introduce you to our fireplace.”

The boy picked up Vanja’s discarded glove and glanced towards the burning tree. He took a deep breath and exhaled. A cool wind escaped from his mouth and extinguished the fire, leaving half-burned wood and trails of smoke hissing up into the skies.

“Vanja, wait for me!” Manu shouted as he ran to catch up with the tiny girl who held a dancing flame in her hands.