The List – flash fiction
I have been following and voting in WRITE CLUB 2019 and voting on the excellent final 30 entries in the Preliminary rounds. I plan to continue voting in subsequent rounds hoping my favourites win.
I submitted an entry – under a pen-name – but did not reach the standard of other entries. Re-reading my submission, I know why.
But what do you think? Should I have used this for the April WEP/IWSG Challenge, Jewel Box? All critiques and comments welcome.
THE LIST
by Zilarrezko Ezpata
Supercilious servants seldom deserve attention when they thrust a drab
packet into my hands. Howsoever, this maid is incessantly thus. Why her
mistress accepts her insolence vexes me. I accept the delivery but offer no acknowledgement
and send the servant on her way, back to my sister-in-law’s house on Harrison
Boulevard. My man can convey my response.
Locking out the oppressive heat behind the front door, I walk across the tiled
hallway. The package is lighter than expected. Dreary plays my brother intends
for his conjectured theater, or native artifacts I will capitalize? My throat
constricts but my mind exalts.
I discard the brown paper as I carry the tawdry ivory-inlaid box contained within
to the maple desk in my tranquil sanctuary.
Placed inside the ruby-red interior are ten jewelry cases that flush my body
in warmth. A sealed message lies on top. The wax has an imprint, but somehow blurred.
Intentional? Never. Made in haste.
My heart beat rises. Profit beckons. My stomach flutters.
Fingers caress the soft vellum envelope. I falter
at the unusual leopard-spotted variety but dismiss an irrational image. The
perfume pervading the room banishes the remembrance. I break the seal.
Only my love,
Arantxa dabs Angel’s Trumpet on her
missives.
A precious and profitable attachment.
My spirit soars on pounding beats, body burning.
Zigor
I return the gifts you used to seduce
me, without success. Unlike base men such as you, I am neither a heart-cheater nor
a soul-thief.
Herewith, the moonstone pendant. You
promised a diamond as in the book, but that was beyond you. Why didn’t I take
heed then?
The crude cameo locket that will never
be me. Not even an old-fashioned eye portrait. My eyes are blue not black.
The Art nouveau enameled barrette affronted
me.
One pearl earring shed like a tear,
the other dust. You are the dream-crusher.
Did you intend the amethyst bracelet
to enslave me?
The faux emerald and sapphire choker?
Tighter than a scoundrel’s purse. My breeding detects peridot and topaz so as paltry
as you.
The rough-cut ruby brooch that drew
more than my blood. Why the deceit with a mere red garnet?
Perchance, the diamond necklace you
locked around my neck meant aught. But never was I gulled by your growing
falsehoods.
Can a lie-weaver ever repent? No, thus
I spurned this silver band stolen from some naïve conquest.
Only overreached by the gold ring that
never engaged my soul or eyes.
I am smothered by her two-faced words.
My head whirls, and my mouth burns. Confused, I stagger to my armchair. I read
her last lines.
This blood-lined box that holds your
cheap baubles, unfit to grace this lady.
Finally, the Palouse colt. Or what
remains of him—the vellum produced from his skin.
And his gore spilled in your name.
Hark the Devil’s Trumpet as you perish.
[image error]
**
Let me know what you like and dislike about this flawed piece of flash fiction, please.
