Progress Report, and Today's First Flash

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I'm on the last stretch of writing Another 365 Days of Flash Fiction - and aiming to finish it either late today, or mid-tomorrow. I don't know which of those it'll be, but I have 46 pieces of flash to go, which is anywhere between 2,000 and 20,000 words, depending on how short and flashy I keep it. 

Today's first piece is a little on the long side, coming in at 331 words. Enjoy...but, now, I'm off to write some more.

Making it Right

 

Time flew, swirling around us in a myriad of silvers and grays, beyond which dwelt a solid wall of black. Time… I gripped Chagrek’s hands tightly and hoped the wizard had it right.

“Tell me why we’re doing this, again?” was a question born of nerves.

“Fame, money, glory?” I quipped.

He snorted, and I changed my tune.

“Because, ten days ago, some asshole opened a portal to the Nethers, and if we don’t stop him then, we don’t get to stop him at all.”

Chagrek sighed.

“It sounds so much more serious when you say it…”

Memory flashed, Chagrek smirking when I teased him about reading a book, Chagrek coming home surprisingly sober from what should have been his usual night’s drinking, Chagrek…

I struggled to keep the realization from my face and wondered what happened if you killed someone when they were ostensibly outside time. I figured that, with the fate of the world in the balance, now wasn’t good for testing it.

I rolled my eyes at my partner and laughed.

“Like opening a portal to one of the Nethers is ever going to be not serious.”

He didn’t laugh back, and the gray stopped swirling around us.

“This way,” he stated, “and hurry. I think our timing’s a little off.”

I wondered why he’d say that, but I could hear his voice…the voice of his previous self…echoing ahead.

“We all do things we regret,” he said, as I opened my mouth to speak, and then, he started to run.

Toward the chant.

Sword drawn.

A killing intent in his eyes.

I raced after him, not quite fast enough to catch up, or be in the back sweep of his two-handed blade.

He halted a stride behind himself, planning his strike, then swung.

“I will miss you,” he stated, his blade cleaving bone and flesh and sending his former-self’s head rolling to the floor.

The partially opened portal snapped shut, and gray and silver motes swirled around me.


 

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