The Graveyard’s Graveyard: A True Story

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

Piles of broken vases and cracked offerings, dead flowers and torn silk petals and all manner of other spoiled things mingle in the haphazardly raked leaves where they are shoved to the edge of the graveyard. It is the graveyard’s graveyard. Amongst them, buried to the side, lies a teddy bear, cold and damp and half rotted.

It still smiles.

Forgotten. Disrespected.

Chills run up my spine as I crouch to take a picture. The hair on my arms prickles and stands up. Unease settles throughout me.

I should not be here.

I am not wanted here.

Someone is watching.

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Countdown.

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

One. Two.
I can hear him coming, the click-clack of his feet hitting the ground, purposeful but soft.

Three. Four.
My heart is beating faster and faster.

Five. Six.
There is nowhere to hide.

Seven. Eight.
I don’t know what to do. What can I do?

Nine. Ten.
He is here.

Eleven. Twelve.
He can see me.

Thirteen. Fourteen.
He is coming closer.

Fifteen. Sixteen.
He is smiling, mouth stretched wide with hard eyes.

Seventeen. Eighteen.
My palms are sweaty, adrenaline is making me sick. I can’t get away.

Nineteen. Twenty.
He is here.
He is here.

This is it.