I always knew when she’d passed by.
A mound of flies for each footfall, iridescent bodies and soap bubble wings rocking with every puff of breeze, a salute from the recent dead.
It’s been like that for years, the glistening footprints, the absence of her. She seemed forever round the next corner, bluebottles the only sign of her presence as other women leave their scent.
This evening she came clawing at the door, a ghost at my last feast. And now she waits. And now she watches. And the flies fall about us like jewels.
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What a mixture of emotions you evoke! You make death glistening and beautiful, and yet you have her clawing at the door. And, wow, what a description “bluebottles the only sign of her presence as other women leave their scent.”
Seriously impressive writing, Lynn!
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Thanks so much Penny. What a lovely comment and I’m so glad you liked it. It was just an off the cuff thing, inspired by clearing dead bluebottles from my window sill this morning, how they dropped from the duster into the bin. I thought of the cloth as the dress of a woman who leaves trails of dead insects behind as she walks. Weird where inspiration strikes. Thanks again
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Lady of the flies! Like it very atmospheric and beautifully creepy. Keep this for later it’s a good thread to be woven into a story fabric.
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Thank you petal! Yes, I rather like her. And I might just have an opening for a lady of her character and skills in a longer work. Yes, the Lady of the Flies. And as the Lord of the Flies is a sobriquet for the Devil …. Thanks for reading 🙂
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Splendiferous, Lynn. So much mystery. So many hooks to grab attention. This has the makings of a great short story.
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Thank you Tish. Yes, I think she may have potential. I am in need of a character familiar with the dark arts, so she might have just got herself a new job. Thanks for reading 🙂
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Sounds very very promising.
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You never know 🙂
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This is beautiful and poetic and haunting. I could read this over and over.
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Ah, thank you so much Walt. Inspired by dusting, would you believe? Shaking out my cloth, watching the flies fall into the bin … Thanks so much for reading 🙂
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This is beautiful in its ugliness, ugly in its beautifulness. Flies are amazing, so is this mysterious prose.
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Thanks so much Martin. Yes, it was as I was clearing away a dead one yesterday I saw how gorgeous they are, jewel like. Gross, I know, but kind of pretty. Thanks so much for reading
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How did you guess my middle name, Lynn?! 🙂🙃
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Sincerest apologies, Kelvin, truly. Not entirely sure where that came from, but sorry all the same
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No worries, Lynn, Martin is actually my middle name, so you did address me correctly. 😀 And as your comment came through I am just about to read your FF story. How spooky.
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Ha! Spooky coincidences indeed! Thanks in advance for reading 🙂
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A beautifully Gothick prose poem, told with sparse details but rich in vivid imagery.
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Thank you so much Chris. I rather like her – she’s a keeper I think 🙂
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There is something horrible about flies, and someone who can make flies drop dead into her footsteps is a creature to be reckoned with. Very disturbing story, particularly because of the beautiful details.
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Thanks so much for the kind comment Jane. Yes, I think she must be a force to be reckoned with. If not Death itself then an ally in some way. Thanks for reading
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🙂
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