A red would not tolerate such blatant disrespect. No, Perseida thinks as the tinkle of her brass scales announce a sudden itch she works with a clawed foot. No, a red would tromp on out there and take the man’s head as an appetizer. Yet she doesn’t because whatever deed brought them here some bardContinue reading “Brass Therapy”
So this is suicide. The moment of great death. A silly expedition towards inevitable failure. The monstrosity brings his weapon back and all air disappears from the battlefield. Then he swings it forward and a hurricane-like gale batters all. The commander watches twenty go down with the blow. One of his men gets back up.Continue reading “Flash Fiction: The Beautiful End”
The evening smells like jasmine and a thin reminder cinnamon was an ingredient in dinner. Warm air and lilac clouds, even at midnight, remind her the sun never wants to set on Nippon. These are the perfect conditions for what she intends, revenge and she sniffs again.