Category: Flash

Flash: As One

Erin Penn

Photo by Massimiliano Morosinotto on Unsplash

Warning: Language

“If the true King of Alanis arose, the three Dukedoms would rally around him and defeat the evil wizard and his minions.” The dark eyes of Duke Lyrcon burned each of his equals in attendance; old though he might be, the warhorse remained a passionate speaker.

Duke Magneek strummed the table. “I’ve looked far and wide, searching the old texts. He that will rise to defeat the Black Eagle foe, to once again sit upon the Throne Sole. The single king, the Chosen one, the Dukedoms made whole.”

“Hold up, hold up.” Duchess of the Echoing Cliff, Brigette Hunfar, pushed the papers in front of her forward and then shoved herself up against the heavy old table. “You mean to tell me, you and my dad had been waiting on some myth to fix everything?”

“Not a myth,” Duke Magneek corrected. “The fulfillment of the Roget Prophecies, the most complete and accurate seer of the Grand Age and all the ages since.”

“So some dude, with no training or experience, is to fight that fascist bastard presently rounding up all Alanis people who have immigrated over the years into GreenVows and Nissey, and, according to our sources, either experimenting on them or executing them, and until he shows up, we have to wait?” Brigette’s voice got shriller the longer she talked. “That is some kind of bullshit.”

“Please, Hunfar, some dignity.” Lurcon crossed his arthritic hands over his belly.

“No, no old man, you don’t get to say that.” Brigette rounded her chair, making her attendants dodge to stay out of her way. “You haven’t seen the refugees coming across the mountains!” She threw out her hands pointing unerringly to where her lands laid.  “It’s fucking winter, you might not know it here by the soft warm waters of Capetown, but winter is insane, and they are STILL coming across my mountains! Dying in droves, but some still make it.” She took two steps closer to the others of the Tribunal of Dukes and slammed her hands on the table. “And instead of being there for my people. For the people needing aid, I’ve been stuck here for the last week getting briefing and explanations from Diplomat this and Department Head that about the state of Alanis. And finally, finally when you make yourselves available for my final indoctrination on the privy matters only the Tribunal knows, you tell me we can’t do anything but let that madman and his followers swallow up the rest of the continent, because we have to wait for some trumped up, sugar-coated bedtime story a deadman dreamed up nearly four hundred years ago?”

“The Chosen One will appear in our greatest need.” Duke Magneek tapped the two sheets of paper in front of him. “Patience.”

“Not only no, but fuck no.” The Duchess paced the other way around the table, pulling her hand through her hair, whatever her ladies-in-waiting had styled her this morning, long destroyed. “People are dying. Dying. Do you understand that word? And you know what is really, really bad.” She crouched across the table, whispering. “People here, in Alanis, are beginning to choose sides, like there is a choice between humanity and monsters.” The men leaned forward to hear her words, her words getting softer and softer. “You even say it,” suddenly she stood and shoved the portfolio the ministers had prepared at them, screaming “in these damn papers!”

Lyron frowned, his thick gray eyebrows meeting. “What would you have us do?”

“Fight, prepare, anything!”

“We have been preparing.” Duke Magneek stood and circled around his chair, leaning his arms on the ornate carvings covering the high back. “Our armies are trained and stand at the ready.”

“Then we fight.”

“We must wait.” The Capetown Duke said.

“You said with a single other person, this maybe King, and our armies, we can defeat the Black Eagle.”

“Yes, that is the prediction. All of us must act together as one.”

“As one.” Brigette stopped her pacing. “That is the true thing we must do. To wait is reprehensible. The murders, the cruelty, the treating of humans, any human, as less than human must stop. Let us act as one. We, all of us, can be the Chosen One. The Black Eagle is still small, he barely has control of Nissey, they are fighting GreenVows incursion tooth and nails. If we act, we don’t wait for some might-be savior, all of us, as one, we can win.”

“We have always waited on prophecy.” Duke Lyrcon said. “Prophecy always provided a savior.”

“But at what cost?” Brigette extended her hands to the older men pleading. “The DragonLords left the land scarred for centuries, the Blathid desert still stretches across a third of the Nexin continent, because Tiggin the Lionheart took three generations to appear once they finished their conquering. The Webzine race is no more.” She shook her head. “We can’t let that happen again. We know what happens when tyrants and genocidal monsters are allowed gain power unchallenged.”

“What if we lose?” Duke Lycron asked.

“Then we lose, but at least we tried.” Brigette bright eyes met the other two Dukes, and they looked away first. “Our armies are large enough. The others countries will stand by us, they are only waiting for us to act. As one. We all act as One. To wait until someone else steps forward is suicide. The countries need GreenVows will fall separately, too small on their own. But the dozen cities-state, and us, and likely the Dominion Church once they see the monsters created from Our People, they will rally around us.”

Brigette looked at her two advisors. Windsor, who stood by her father for decades, and Chopard, her personal guard and dearest friend. Though they did not know exactly what question she was asking with her eyes, they nodded that where she leads, they will go.

She kept her eyes on them, because at this point she was done. “Fuck the Throne Sole. If destiny insists on there being only one chosen, then let us act. As one.” She turned back to the would-be leaders, who were insisting on waiting for someone to follow even they knew what the right thing to do was, but they feared failure. “I will be returning to the mountains tomorrow, and I will be walking across them with the first melts in two months. You may join us or not, but my people and those we are helping will be acting as one. Fascism, lies, genocide, have no place in a world I want to live.”

(words 1098; first published 12/3/2023; created 11/25/2023)

The “text” inspiration for this flash came from an upcoming Aquaman movie trailer. Someone says to Arthur Curry, “If you lead, the seven kingdoms will follow you.” implying that everyone in the underwater world will let the monster take over unless a Chosen One popped up. Like Aquaman could defeat Mantis and his army on his own, and everyone else is just along for the ride. The reality is the seven kingdoms without or without Arthur Curry would win, he is just a figurehead to rally around. Why are they not acting NOW?

That got me thinking about how people wait for someone else to be the first to stand up against evil, letting evil gain power and strength. But if each person acted individually, yet also “as one”, evil won’t gain a foothold. Sometimes systems work against us, but sometimes they can work for us. Be loud. Define the system you want. Make a good system and act “as one”.

Flash: Song for Rosalynn

Erin Penn

Image from Habitat for Humanity

I hate my life.

Waking in the middle of the night humming means someone is going to die. The worst thing is they aren’t dying right now, which means the song is stuck in my head and it is the worst. I mean the song itself isn’t bad, majestic yet homey and full of laughter and loyalty, but it has this annoying jingle theme mixed in that is just addictive. It’s not time to sing it yet, but it’s eating at me and I didn’t get a lick more sleep after it woke me at two am.

I made my way to the office coffee for the third time this morning.

“Hey Sullivan, you are a banshee, who’s dying?”

“Huh?” I grunt setting back the coffee pot onto the counter after pouring out the little skim at the bottom. Someone before me had made very sure to leave just enough in the pot they weren’t the ones needing to make the next one.

Rude.

I slug back the charred liquid in the hopes it would wake me up enough to make more.

“Dying … as in about to end?” Chad Parfait from claims leans against the counter. “Who is about to go to the big party in the sky?”

“Wouldn’t know.” I mumble after dumping out the filter and spent grounds. Looking inside the holder for the filter, I see spludge clinging to the sides but don’t have the energy to walk all the way to the bathroom to rinse it out. I drop the next filter in the basket and pull the coffee canister to me.

“Oh, come on.” He pours on the charm. Really, he should be in sales instead of claims the way he can just turn it on. “It’s not like it is a big secret. It’s all over the news, banshees everywhere are humming. Something big is about to go down.”

“Not my Composer, not my song.” I lpull the canister lid off.

Fuck, just enough inside to not quite fill the scoop.

I kneel down and open the cabinet under the coffee station.

“Fine, be that way.” He huffs, waving his fingers around. “You banshees always got to be all spooky mysterious.”

When we aren’t wailing on walls at the top of our lung, sure.

Coffee! I pull the new yellow plastic jug out and hug it to me, standing.

I empty the old container, then dumped that betrayer in the trash can on top of the grounds, and then add the prescribed additional scoops from the new one and set the brew going. I ignore everyone else approaching, staring at the whining machine like a kid focused on an ice cream cone. They, unlike Chad, respect the space of an addict and her addiction. As soon as the wake-up nectar starts flowing, I pull out the pot and place my mug underneath.

Once full, I switch the two containers back judiciously so none of the go-juice splashes out.

On normal days I would add enough sugar to qualify for diabetes, but this Friday is a black-black-black Anish-Kapoor-isn’t-allowed-to-buy-it-black day. No additives needed.

***

The Underwriting vice president pulls me into her office after lunch, officially checking to see how I’m doing now that I just passed my three-month probationary mark. A banshee herself, she was touching base with all the wailers in the department. I had noticed her asking each of us to report to the office. I’m number three and the last one.

Don’t ask me why insurance companies like us banshees in the life insurance underwriting business. It’s not like we know a person’s death date unless they are in our Composer line. Yes, meeting a person who will die within the day usually sets off a tune, but that isn’t useful in modern insurance with computers creating a barrier between us and the person we are evaluating. Still, somehow, we have the reputation of precognitive ability outside of our very limited real abilities. (If we actually had solid precog, do you think any of us would be working with the lottery available?)

Admittedly, the actuaries have run the numbers and we are 2% more accurate than average humans, enough to be statistically significant, but not really a big thing. But when one talks about insurance companies, 2% adds up over time and they snap us up like candy.

I’m not going to turn down a guaranteed job and went the easy route in community college, picking the courses needed to land me an insurance career.

Dr. Foster is humming that dang jingle theme under her breath when I enter. I still haven’t placed it, though it seems familiar.

“I give up, what is that song?” I say after closing the door, hoping I’m not out-of-line with my guess that this is an older banshee checking in on a young one, not a VP touching base with a recent hire.

The manager waves to the chairs in front of her desk. “Oh, an old commercial. Kids back in the day would make fun of presidents, back before … sorry, no politics. Anyway, all fun and games. How are you holding up?”

“Not my first rodeo.” I shift, getting comfortable in the chair.

Her face firms, slightly sour and in control. I imagine it is how my grandmother would have looked if she had been able to keep ahold of her sanity as long as Dr. Foster has. Late fifties is an accomplishment and I really would like to learn how she did it. I should be listening to her instead of acting strong. “But waking up in the middle of the night is rough.”

“Isn’t it though?” Her black eyes soften, lines crinkling at the edges. “I’m used to it as an old woman. The bladder doesn’t hold it well anymore, but a midnight song is never easy. Did you talk to anyone about it?”

“Umm, no.” My fingers twist in my lap. “I know that the counselors recommend talking it out, but I don’t have any roommates. I just moved here for the job.”

“No boyfriends, girlfriends?”

I shake my head.

“Could you call your parents? Your mom likely would have been up with this one.”

“Dad is the line and so it skipped a generation.” I shrug. “And it was 2 am.”

She didn’t ask about the previous generation, grandma. Banshees rarely live long.

The VP taps a beautiful blue and white decorated almond shaped nail against her wooden desk. “You need to get someone. A banshee buddy or other supernatural, even a human … boyfriend?” The last word raising in a question.

I nod. “Guilty, straight as an arrow.”

“No shame in that.” Dr. Foster smiles at me. “We got enough to deal with, adding anything out of the ordinary just makes life exhausting.” She should know, being the only black VP in the company, and the only woman VP, though the female thing is fairly common in life insurance underwriting departments. Banshees getting special attention and all that.

I mean, look at me, three months in and getting a one-on-one with the Vice President of my department, skipping right over my supervisor. I know Kelly is Dr. Foster’s special choice to replace her when she retires, but if I do things right, and don’t go mad before Kelly takes the seat, I could be Kelly’s protegee.

“I’ll think about it. Do you think one of the other banshees here could buddy with me?”

“Sadly, all of them are in committed relationships and depend on that person for their support system. Besides, it’s usually better when it is someone other than another banshee, that is only a last resort.” She rotates her chair sideways and stands. I stand with her. “When it is two banshees, they end up talking over each other when they get the same song, instead of listening.” Dr. Foster places her hand on the doorknob of her office door. “Better to find someone else, but if you can’t link up with the Banshee Wall. A great community, you can get some really helpful hints there.”

She opens the door. “Keep up the good work and welcome to the team.”

“Thank you, I really am enjoying working for Jackson and Prior.”

***

Mr. Lincoln, my direct supervisor, gave me a delivery to take up to the fifth floor soon after my meeting with the VP. Nothing really out of the ordinary. The owners of the company are vampires and prefer to do things the paper way. Usually Mr. Lincoln delivers the end-of-week report for our group upstairs after emailing Dr. Foster her copy, but he wanted to serendipitously find out what happened behind closed doors.

I lied, saying she was just welcoming me to the team, and he lied saying how he loved how our department is a family and Dr. Foster inspires him with her teambuilding. He really is a good manager, but the glass ceiling in underwriting clearly makes him bitter. Mr. Lincoln should transfer to a different department if he couldn’t handle banshees jumping past him in the hierarchy.

Women have to deal with it everywhere else. Suffer.

The Chorus hit while I was upstairs.

Normally I already be in the bathroom hoping no one needed a big shit until the song completed, but company policy allowed us to take over any conference room, as they all had soundproofing, even shutting down a meeting if needed and kicking everyone out when a wail takes over. I manage to shove open the door to the executive meeting room, Crone-blessed empty at fifteen of five on a Friday, before the opening notes hit.

The room is amazing. As an insurance company we have pretty nice things, but top floor rooms take it to the next level. Brown carpet soft under the feet, unmarred wood table with an audio call-station in the center and room for eight large ergonomic chairs around it. Wood paneling instead of obvious acoustic tiles. No beat-up chairs line the wall, like they do in underwriting for when we had to get everyone in the room. I cross to the window overlooking the city as the evening lights start to flicker on under the setting November sun. Lugh was showing off with a display of red, orange, and yellow.

Tapping the glass, I confirmed the sound of shatterproof, bulletproof material. I can blow out my lungs, and the glass wouldn’t end up on the street five stories below.

Music flows, filling the large space. I can hear my sisters sing of hope and love. Determination. The woman we sing of isn’t dead yet, but her final coda has started. Two days and our predictions will become reality and the rest of America will mourn with us.

May your melody be heard and your memory bless those that know you Rosalynn Carter. You did amazing things.

Sometimes I love my life.

(words 1,818; first published 11/26/2023)

Ymir’s Songs series

  1. Fifteen Minutes (10/09/2022)
  2. Song for Rosalyn (11/26/2023)
  3. D is for Done (4/6/2025)

Flash: Raptors by the Sea 2 – Outside the Aerie

Erin Penn

Photo by John Bell on Unsplash

After her late return at sunset, Mave had to sneak out of her parents nest before Brita did more than pink the edges of the world. She flew hard and fast to be over the horizon before the morning hunts and harvests began.

Her adventures were coming to an end, her parents made that clear last night after the aerie meeting when yet again her suitors laid valuables at her parent’s feet and Mave remained empty-handed. Killean and Fion preened and pecked, nearly coming to blows. Dahee and Oghan let the hunters courting her act like groundlings, hoping the idiots would take it one step too far and eliminate themselves. Excellent artisans both, they couldn’t compete physically for the hand of the heir presumptuous, putting them a little lower in the bidding war status.

As the Clan leaders, once behind closed doors, Donal and Kiera let her know a choice would be made at the next clan meet in three sunsets or they would make it for her. The strife must end.

All four suitors brought something to the nest, but all lacked the mud to hold it together somehow. Her parents preferred Fion, but the very loyalty to the Clan that made him attractive, also meant he didn’t question. As her husband, she would need him to question her decisions. Plus his attitude toward the unchanging made him problematic.

Killean flew the highest and furthest of the male hunters, but his drive and hers clashed like Nephele and Aquine during hurricane season.

Dahee made amazing nests, and baskets, and his gardens grew the tallest, but flying to the meeting cave challenged him; he often joined the unchanging climbing ladders. As the highest flyer, would he grow jealous of her over time? Every mixed couple, raptor and unchanging testified this end. Nuala, a recent widow and a somewhat better flyer, would be perfect for him once she finished mourning, although they hadn’t landed on the same tree to realize that yet.

That left Oghan, a deep cave. His stone magic would make her nest strong, but he had no down. All rock, no soft. He was a welcomed advisor, nearly five rotations her senior; she could only see him at her side at the clan meetings, not in her nest. But if she was forced to choose one of the four, he would be the one she would dance for if only so her aerie didn’t lose his wizardry at the Aviary Gathering next spring. He wanted a mate, and he would build his nest where he found a female willing to fly with him.

The landscape shifted below from prairie scrub, to a short strip of green with trees and fields dotted with groundling houses, then quickly to rocks and sea. Mave banked west toward yesterday’s cove hoping her searching had landed her a fifth option.

Bryce sat at the bottom of the wind-scraped tree them met at yesterday, with a small pile of fish beside him. He may fail at flirting, but the man knew how to start a courting. Mave approved with a loud cry, gliding through the coves unpredictable winds, she transformed as she landed.

(words 529; first published 11/19/2023)

Raptors by the Sea Series

  1. Raptors by the Sea (9/10/2023)
  2. Outside the Aerie (11/19/2023)
  3. Oghan’s Return (12/17/2023)

Flash: Honey’s Adoption

Erin Penn

Image by Nika Benedictova on Unsplash

“Aw, isn’t she the cutest.” I hunch down beside the black cat. “Look someone has put her in a costume.”

“Jessie, it has orange eyes.”

“I know.” I sit beside the cat, not directly in front of it so she (or he, I wouldn’t want to misgender the black beauty, but in my mind all cats are girls like my calico pair at home) could decide if we might be friends. “And believe me, if it’s owner is around we would be having a talk. But I don’t think they are contacts, they look natural.”

“Its nails are blood colored.”

“They did not!”

The cat hissed at my sudden outburst.

“So sorry honey,” I say looking down at the cat, “but did your owners paint your needles of death? If they did, that is so rude. Could I see, please?” I hold out my hand carefully, waiting.

Turning towards me, the cat holds out a paw, her claws extended.

They are indeed red, but it appears the keratin is naturally that color. I take the foot and press the toe beans to extend the claws further. “All good.” I whisper, assuring her and myself, letting go of her foot. “Gill, they are fine, she just has some unusual coloring.” The cat stands up and saunters over to me, standing on her back legs and raising her small body so her front claws prick at my jeans.

I hold my breath, and Gill, bless his overcautious body, takes a step back. She pushes off and lands in my lap, the wings opening and closing with the movement. Turning around in a circle in my crossed legs, she presents me with her long black tail with a swish across my face, an extra smack against my nose, and an unmistakable view confirming she is female, before settling down. I start scritching her behind the neck and she arches into it.

“Where…” Gill coughs. “How are those wings attached?”

I dig into the fur, looking for strings or some sort of wire frame, maybe a leash support. The wings look leather with very short fur over them, almost a felt, thick along the lead edges mimicking bones; whoever made the costume did an amazing job. “Not sure,” I answer, “I can’t find anything.” I frown. “Not even a collar.” I run a hand down the body. “Oh, honey, do you need a place to live?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“No?” I raise my eyebrow at my live-in fiancée.

“No, we do not need another cat.”

“We can’t take her to a shelter, not this close to Halloween. All kinds of kooks grab up black cats this time of year.”

“No. She is a demon cat, look at her.”

“Darling, they are all demon cats.” I lean closer as I continue to pet her. “Isn’t that right honey? Do you have a name? Would you mind if I call you Honey for those beautiful eyes of yours until we figure it out?”

Gill sits on a discarded can in the alleyway. “No, please do not name the demon cat.” He covered his face with his hands. “We will have to take it home, then keep it separated from the others for two weeks, then all the new vet bills, explaining why the fuck Honey has wings.”

“So you think Honey is a good name?” I ask happily. Honey’s body is doing a deep, nearly silent purr against my hand. “She likes it.”

“Right,” Gill sits up straight. “Honey,” he says to the cat and she lifts her head to look at him. “Oh, this is going to be a fucking disaster,” he mutters, before continuing in his I’m-in-control voice I enjoy so much in the bedroom. “Do you want to be adopted?” he pauses and her head tilts sideways. “By us. We have two cats, normal ones … well they are both whack jobs and Patches ain’t too smart.”

“An understatement,” I whisper to Honey, “but I love her for it.”

“Queen Bee is gonna to do the territory thing. But she is lazy about it and will wear down. But,” Gill held up a finger and I felt Honey tense under my hands, “Jessie and I are engaged. We plan on getting married next June after I finish college and we will be having two children.”

“Four,” I whisper really soft to the potential adoptee, Gill was an only child didn’t know just how big his heart could grow. I felt Honey relax back into the pets. A full house doesn’t seem to be a problem.

“You must treat these kids well. No harm to our children, to our present fur babies, any future fur babies because Jessie collects them as you can see, or to us.” Gill dropped his hand to his knee. “If you came to live with us, you are welcome, and we will protect you as one of our own, but we expect the same courtesy.”

Honey looks back and forth between us, takes a gentle swipe at my hand, and then leaps out of my lap. Those gorgeous wings do a quick spread for the perfect landing then pulling against her body. Whoever made them did an incredible job. She walks away, her tail swishing.

“Oh, oh well,” I say, disappointed. “I guess, as clean and neat as she is, she already has an owner.”

At the entry of the alleyway she meows in annoyance, turning her orange eyes at us. The sunlight streaming in from the street made them look like they were glowing.

“Oh, wait, she wants us to follow!” I jump up and go to where Honey is sitting, waiting for us, her wings completely blending into her fur.

Gill reluctantly follows. “No, I think she is waiting for us. God help us.”

Honey hisses at Gill.

“Sorry, no G word. Got it.” He shrugs. “We don’t use it much.” My patient, forgiving boyfriend pauses in the twilight between the noon sun on the street and the midnight dark of the alleyway. “Blessed be better?”

Honey stands, flicking her tail high before walking over and rubbing his legs.

(words 1022; first published 11/20/2023)

Flash: A photo forever

Erin Penn

Photo 120139056 | Chorizo © Bhofack2 | Dreamstime.com

Chorizo sizzles on the stove, while I pinch some thyme and marjoram for chopping. I move the egg bowl aside for the long reach to the windowsill jungle to break off just one more bit of thyme. My phone buzzes indicating an incoming text where I had it stuck on the wall charging. “Bestie!” I shout in joy. “Siri, activate voice to text.”

Morning going well?

“I’m making chorizo breakfast tacos. Want some?”

You know I do! Take a picture.

I tell the phone to take a shot of me as I hold up the sprig I just trimmed in one hand and my chopping knife in the other. A wave of dizziness hits me, and I hear the knife clatter when I grab ahold of the counter. “Ay, Dios.” Pork and spices drench the air while I wait for my vision to clear. I blink rapidly.  A ding, then another, then a third happen as the green bits on the wooden cutting board come back into focus.

When the black clears, I see that my phone had sent my distress cry as a voice to text message. Narcisa responded immediately with:

U ok

What happened?

Come on girl respond.

Another ding comes through, I’m calling.

The phone instantly shows a red and green circle. As it starts vibrating, I tell the phone to answer. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” I say before she even gets a word out. “Just a little dizzy.” I put the sprig on the cutting board and lean over to pick up the knife.

“Again?” Narcisa asks, worry boring through the distance between us. “Emilia, you need to see a doctor about that.”

I puff a breath when I stand straight. “No, it isn’t a problem.”

“Yes, it is girl. You haven’t biked in months, not since the last fall when you hurt your wrist.” My bestie’s voice firms. “You love biking. Whatever this is, is affecting the quality of your life. That is doctor’s time.”

“I’m fine. Really I am.” I laugh as I chop the last bit. The laugh is weak.

“I don’t believe you.”

I turn to toss the fresh herbs into the meat and give it a stir.

“Don’t ignore me.”

“I’m cooking.” I say, twisting around to where the phone hangs. “Give me a sec to make sure this doesn’t burn.”

“Only one.” A pause follows that is barely a pause. “Times up.”

“If you are so worried, why don’t you come on over?” I dare ask her.

We met online a couple of years ago and just clicked. Instant best friends forever soulmates. But we have never met in person, even though the social media tags shows she lives in the same city as me. Narcisa has serious body image issues; there isn’t a picture of her anywhere online, though her video feed is full of puppets used to talk about everything from politics to books she’s read to stories from her retail job. She has this amazing alto voice, and when her mermaid puppet sings, pure goosebumps. I’ve dueted a couple times, spinning my unimpressive soprano against her magic.

“You know, I just might.”

“REALLY!” I jump up and down, excited beyond measure.

“Ouch, no screaming girlie girl.”

“Sorry.”

“Forgiven.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Yes, I think everything … I think I’m ready.”

“You are for real.” I whisper. I turn off the flame and set aside the wooden spoon. Crossing the small kitchen in a single step, I pick the phone up and repeat where she can hear me. “Are you for real?”

The silence makes its own statement.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” I fill the air with words.

“No, no, I do want to.” Narcisa responds. “I just … what if you …”

“I will love you no matter what. Fifteen, fifty or five hundred.” I assure her. “You could look like a bulldog for all I care. You are my best friend.”

“Can you take one last picture? Before I come over. I need to know. You know, that you mean it. Just your eyes,” she says, “they have your soul and I want it.”

“No problem.” I say, pulling the camera in for a closeup of my black-brown eyes. After hitting send, I hit the floor with another round of dizzy. I can’t make a sound.

“Be over in five. Don’t go dying on me before then girlie girl.”

(words 743, first published 11/5/2023)

I want your photograph Series

  1. A photo for now (7/9/2023)
  2. A photo forever (11/5/2023)