A 50-word micro fiction horror story
A fifty-word micro fiction horror story.
His eyes are blue, mysterious oceans, and his lips so soft and full. Once I stole a lock of his auburn hair from the back
My “flight” was late, and it never was. Punctual were the returns to Heaven after deeds were done. But her skin glowed under the moonlight,
“My flight was late,” I confessed. The sweet, sultry memory stirred. Rare for me to concede to desire, but our dance’s push-pull elevated want to
My flight was late, teetering on the edge between life and death. I closed my eyes and considered existence, suspended in this space. My toes