Impartiality

Photo of three people riding horses through the bush in an Australian cattle station. Used as a prompt for microfiction.
Photo by Tobias Keller on Unsplash

In the unseen timelines of the mortal trio, that day was marked as the occasion of the light dimming in each of their hearts forevermore, disconnected as they were from the source.

They’d slunk out of the forest triumphant, leaving behind an unrecongnisable world: sacrifices made in the name of gods they didn’t believe in, although flashbacks were tinged with fear of the wrath of those same dieties.

Meanwhile, the sun continued to rise and set, bearing witness to daylight thievery and acts of grace with the same silent intensity.

 

Inspired by Sonya’s Three Line Tales Week 95.

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The Debris of War

As he’d found riding to the village, there wasn’t a soul about. Passing the shelled out post office, butcher and green grocer, he peddled around the round about which was barely recognisable for all the rubble that cluttered its circumference. Hearing the familiar tell tale sign of a puncture, he slowed and came to a stop outside the canola processing plant. Abandoning the bike, Amir walked on, along the deserted street, following the sound that promised perhaps the presence of another person. As he got closer to it, he noticed the sound was coming from the warehouse, at the end of the cul-de-sac named Fortune Drive.

The large roller doors of the warehouse were open. A shadow cast across the boom gate, ahead of its entrance, made him quicken his pace with excitement. Now in full view, it was clear that the sound was the screech of the rusty mechanisms driving a conveyer belt. The shadow at the boom gate moved and Amir heard a heavy breath that filled him with fear, forgetting for a moment that a breath and a sign of life was what he’d been seeking. The breathing shadow emerged slowly from behind the unmanned guard’s booth. A horse. Amir allowed himself a smile, for the relief that it wasn’t what he’d feared- a man, or worse still, an armed man. The horse whimpered, just as surprised to see Amir, it shook its head and widened its eyes. Amir reached out and stroked the horse’s neck, veins bulging and what was black hair ashened by the debris of war. The horse winced and shrunk away from Amir’s touch, revealing the sticky brown residue of congealed blood. It was only then that Amir noticed the opportunistic swarm of flies along the length of the horse’s torso. Continue reading