“I don’t want it to hurt,” he said. “You’ll scar.”
“Good.”
The brush moved across her ribs, iodine blooming into a bruise she hadn’t earned. Steam rose from the basin, smelling of salt and old metal.
In the mirror, her reflection lagged behind, still watching, a half-beat slow, mouth delayed, gaze unclaimed.
The woman watching him paint wasn’t the one he touched.
“It won’t fade,” he murmured, rinsing the brush.
She leaned forward, studying the reflection that refused to catch up.
“Keep going,” she whispered.
He did, steadying his hand, though she felt farther than the figure in the glass
About the Creator
Fatal Serendipity
Fatal Serendipity writes flash, micro, speculative and literary fiction, and poetry. Their work explores memory, impermanence, and the quiet fractures between grief, silence, connection and change. They linger in liminal spaces and moments.
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More stories from Fatal Serendipity and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Night You Stole the Stars
You push open the door of the last video store in America and the bell jingles like an echo raised from a dead decade. The scent of plastic cases and carpet dust wraps around you, familiar as a half remembered dream. BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO glows above the counter, although half its letters remain dark. BLO K ER lingers there like a cryptic message left behind by a vanishing world.
By Fatal Serendipityabout a month ago in Fiction
If You Love Me, You'll Do It
I met Jason when I was five years old. I could say that I loved him from the moment I saw him. He was so handsome to me and I felt in awe by his presence. When they introduced him as the new kid in school, I wanted to be his friend right away. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember his smile and how he didn't seem shy. He appeared confident and ready to learn. I waved at him and said "hello," before anyone else could even say a word. He sat next to me, and I asked him if he wanted to be friends. He looked so happy as he said, "Yes!"
By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)7 days ago in Fiction
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx6 days ago in FYI
Comments (1)
Dark and eerie, with a poetic elegance that cuts to the quick in just a few lines. Wonderful piece!