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The Fickle Flame of Fate
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| Contest: | Microfiction Challenge 2020 |
| Round: | 2 |
| Genre: | Fairy Tale and/or Fantasy |
| Action: | Extinguishing a Fire |
| Word: | Clear |
| Results: | pending |
“Who are you?” Abigail gazed upon the robed figure before her bed. The figure’s face was hidden beneath a cavernous hood, two red flames for eyes. Abigail was not afraid. She’d been ill for many days, confined to bed. The only people she’d seen were her parents and doctors. Even the doctors had stopped coming. It was nice seeing someone new, even one so strange.
The figure spoke with a deep, dispassionate voice. “I am the destroyer, the taker of life. I am the dark shadow of creation, ever present, ever patient; the inevitable end to all that begins.”
A moment passed. “Oh,” she said.
“Are you not afraid?” the figure asked.
Abigail shrugged. “Should I be?”
“I have come for you, Abigail. It is your time.”
“Oh,” she repeated. “Why?”
The figure answered, “From the moment the flame is lit, it is doomed to sputter and die, from the smallest ember to the mightiest of suns.”
“What about you?” asked Abigail.
“I am the destroyer,” said the figure.
“But—”
“Enough talk! All will become clear.”
The figure waved its arms. Abigail’s chest grew indistinct, a tiny flame burning fitfully within. The figure floated closer and closer. Abigail took a deep breath and closed her eyes. At the last moment, she yanked the figure’s hood and blew with all her might. The figure shrieked as the fires of its eyes flickered out, the whole of its spectral form dissolving away into nothingness.
“Now I’m the destroyer,” said Abigail.