“She’s got the sight,” Mama hisses, makes a forking gesture with arthritic fingers.
“Don’t talk rubbish, woman.” Papa’s whiskers tickle my ear. I feel safe curled in his lap, until I see him make the forking sign himself, down the side of the armchair where he thinks I won’t see.
Rebecca Fraser is an Australian writer whose short stories, flash fiction, and poems have appeared in various anthologies, magazines, and journals since 2007. She holds a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing, and her fiction showcases her fondness for all things darkly speculative. To provide her muse with life’s essentials, Rebecca supplements by copy and content writing, however her true passion lies in storytelling. See more at rebeccafraser.wordpress.com
“They die,” she whispered. “Everyone I love… They all die.” A tear; then she burst, unable to contain it anymore. She sobbed. “Why is this happening to me?”
My words stuck. I didn’t want to tell her, or admit I could see her clearly. “Layla, you… You’re a death omen.”
Hazel is a girl who aspires to write but doesn’t find much time for it.
Jeff sensed their empathy as he recalled the loss of physical sensation and the absence of fear.
Feedback from the invisible audience strengthened as he remembered his awareness of others, the unheard words understood.
A surge of shared understanding reached him along with the sound of the Crematorium oven closing.
Jim has been a member of a Writing Circle for just over a year. He initially wrote this story as a 250-word story before adapting it to the 50-word format.