Flash Fiction Thursday: A Coin

A Coin.

The coin felt like hope in her hand.

Jessalynn smiled as she held it flat against her palm, rubbing it's cold, bumpy surface with her thumb.  This coin - this was the first.  When the man handed it to her, so many years ago, it felt as heavy as the burden it implied:  murder.  Now it was light, and murder was child's play.  She stretched out her legs and flipped her hair over her shoulder, watching the black and white television screen intently.

The world she had come from was much like the one she watched now.  Dirty children on the street, playing in the mud.  Her gunman were already moving in on the filthy little urchins.  The firecracker noises of gunshot only widened her already devious smile.  Silly little innocents.  She saw no crime in wiping their filth from the earth, the way her employer taught her to do.  That was how empires were built, and there was nothing that an empire could not do.

This was her empire, and it began with a single coin, a single small favor.

She kicked her feet off the table and cracked her neck.  The cafeteria was serving real fruit today.  Best she get there before the street trash corrupted the rarities.

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Author's Note:  It's been a long time since I've written any flash fiction, ficlets, or generally anything shorter than a chapter or two in a novel, so I'm rusty, and I apologise for that and welcome any critique.  I do realise I need to get out there in the literary community a little more, and since my work schedule only allows me the time and energy to read about two books a month... hopefully a little flash fiction will help.  Here's to bringing in the New Year right!

flash fiction thursdays: acceptance

Acceptance

Her eyes lurked in the shadows.  She saw the haggard man there and the scuffed iron pistol he held in his shaking hand, but she pretended she didn't.  If Vengeance deemed she was going to die between these red silk covers, then so be it.  But she would die with dignity.  When the gunshot sounded and the burning metal pierced her soft bronze skin, she was ready.

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Author's Note:
In both my writing courses this past year at college, my professors emphasized that a story doesn't have to be long to be a story.  I recognize length as one of my weak points in creative writing.  I am inclined to be incredibly long, even if I don't need to be.  I think these five sentences give enough information to relay character and basic setting to the reader, but I'm interested in your thoughts- how can I make this better without making it longer?
Much love,
Amber.

flash fiction thursday: come on, get higher

So far so good on another weekly commitment- I bring you this week's "Flash Fiction Thursday".  All typed on my boyfriend's computer while he is at work.  And he has this snazz-tastic illuminated keyboard.  Squee!

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Come On, Get Higher

L'Hotel Promenade in Paris overlooked the most beautiful, bluest part of the Seine.  From her balcony, Adrienne could feel the north wind picking up her ebony curls, carrying with it the fresh smells of croissants and perfume.  Indeed, it was signature feel of Paris, and she had come here for the same reason that every other single woman in her twenties came to Paris:  for love.  Romance novels always made it seem so simple.  All a woman need do is slip on a pair of treacherous high heels and a form-fitting black dress, and a man in a tuxedo with a cigarette clutched between his fingers was supposed to sweep her away into the yellow lights of the city.

She tapped her glossy pink nails on the metal rail of the balcony and sighed irritably.  It wasn't that easy.  Nothing in life was that easy.  She thought any reasonable girl would kill for a chance to spend her life "just sitting and looking pretty".  It only happened to woman like Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly.  Princesses of the silver screen.  And what was she?  Adrienne was practically a doormouse compared to them. A wannabe fashion designer who hadn't been able to make herself a name in New York.  So what? she thought to herself and took a gulp from her half-empty glass on chardonnay.  Paris was le centre de la mode.  If you wanted to be a fashion designer, you wanted to be in Paris, not the Big Apple.

Adrienne swung her body around, sloshing chardonnay on the wire balcony and it dripped to the sidewalk below.  Go to Paris, she had told herself, Be a model, fall in love, make a lot of money.  Then nobody will question the dip of your necklines or the length of you skirt.

She set the glass on a cluttered counter, covered in unopened bills.  Some belonged to her roommate, but most of them belong to her.  "Helene!" Adrienne shouted into the dimly lit living room, where she knew her roommate wasn't.  "I'm going to go climb the Eiffel Tower and fall in love."

When Helene didn't respond (Of course, she is at work, Adrienne scolded herself), Adrienne sat stubbornly on the floor and pulled on her favourite pair of bright red Prada stilettos. She wobbled out the door, leaving her wallet, bills, and woes behind her.

Paris; le ville de l'amour....

recollections

Blaise curled up against the cold stone floor of the tower, looking at the top of her knees as through there was something terribly interesting about the blue denim. The rain pitter-pattered against the walls, sometimes even flying in through the window and dampening the desolate room a little more. She shivered and wrapped her long black sweater closer around her.

Winter was the most depressing time of the year, whether there was snow or the traditional English rain. Traditionally, winter was the time when the world repainted itself - by magic, it would seem - in the most morose shades of grey it could muster. She wrapped one arm around her stomach and rubbed her eyes with the other. Her fingers linger for a moment, then slid down to her, neck, where the raw skin of not-so-old scars tainted her. It was almost like a tattoo - it screamed "stay away, I have problems!" or "you don't want to be here - I'm different". But she wasn't different. Not any more than she had been. The only thing that ever changed was the way people saw her.

Blaise would be the first to admit that chasing after Danny had been daft. She loved him like a brother and couldn't bear to see him die, even if it meant her own life. Granted, she had never really believe it would come to that, but even when it did, she embraced it. Why, then, had she agreed to return when Kevin came for her? His actions had been stupid, that was certain. But she did not believe that she went for his sake. When she came back to this world, it had been the most painful thing she experienced, like a rebirth. The confusion and hopelessness would have overwhelmed her were it not for a couple people who invested in her. But it had ruined both she and Kevin. Kevin... who was long gone, and now she, the accursed Queen of the Damned.

Queen. Of the Damned. Sometimes it sounded funny in her ears. When Val and Jo and Tyne were around, the whole "queen of the zombies" bit was a joke, a title she wore and was proud of because it was the easier of two tasks. But no good thing lasts forever, and all were gone in time.

Which left here here. Here in the North Tower, listening to the rain fall. She used to enjoy the rain. Blaise used to slip off her shoes, roll up her pants, and run around on the soggy wet grass and let the rain drown her. Now? She sighed and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair. Now she was afraid to go out in the rain. Would she rot? She never really knew if her body was rotting or not anyway... but rain and moisture made things worse. It was scary, being brought back to life but not knowing if your own body even really wanted you here.

She never used to be afraid of anything.

Then? Blaise stretched out her legs and ran her fingers through her hair again. Her emerald eyes were closed, imagining what was and never would be.

She was afraid now. Because everything had changed.