Read more

Read more

“Stop your fussing and listen good,” he said. “When might a tottie like you hide under the bed?”

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Fear’s gone and made you stupid. Think boy.”

“If I were afraid.”

“Aye, and what would be afraid of a snot-nosed wean like you?”

I wanted to say that nothing in the whole world was afraid of me, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Then a remembered how the little critters on the moor skittered at my approach. “A coney,” I said.

“The tottie and pathetic, true enough.” He stepped back, took a knee, and shouted into the dark, bed-bottom recesses, “Awa an bile yer heid!”

I giggled, and from the other room my step-ma called out Da’s name, reproachful and stern. I laughed harder.

He kissed me on the forehead and whispered, “Oidhche mhath.”

I didn’t ask him to keep the lights on when he left, although I wanted to, and the darkness swept in fully. I hurkled into a ball beneath the wee protection of my bed sheet, until I remembered the coney hopping away, all tottie and pathetic, and I stretched out my legs.

The silence held the shape of her, but I kept in mind the coney, whose tidy pelt I could never touch.

“If you’re afraid, you can sleep with me tonight,” I said.

She tugged at the sheet, and the mattress sunk a little lower beneath me.

I repeated Da’s words, tottie and pathetic, thought of the coney’s think brown coat, and reached out my hand to touch her. No warm fur greeted me but a harsh cold that radiated into the air long before my fingers met the soft resistance of something malleable, an instinctual feel remembered from days beyond remembering when I fed at my mither’s breasts.

Icy fingers slid along the back of my head and drew me into feed. Her milk tasted like morning mist, and I sucked it in, not down the throat but straight into my veins where all fear melted against the growing cold.

And she whispered, “Oidhche mhath.”

-END-

Thaddeus Thomas

Discover all my flash pieces here.

I tapped the screen to stop the video, but nothing changed.

Brightly colored words scrolled up from the bottom, telling me I’d been missed in my absence, but with the growth of AI and the newest filters maintaining a channel was easier than ever.

I stared at the words and at my own face behind them, and a stunned giggle rattled in my throat. An advertisement. TikTok had personalized an advertisement for my return.

I laughed a little freer now and wiped a tear from eye and watched my younger self as his eyes traced the words from the other side. “Easier than ever,” he said. “Why do I need you?”

The screen went black.

In the weeks that followed, I logged on under false names. I learned to use a face scrambling mask, because otherwise he knew it was me, but I visited my old account and kept up with what my younger self was doing. He looked good, like he’d been working out and kept to a diet. He was talented, singing and playing a guitar when the mood struck him, which I could never do.

He was popular, and with corporate sponsors he made enough money to hire lawyers and claim ownership of the house. He doesn’t need it, and I can stay as long as I pay rent and follow a few rules. No more face mask. I have to log on as myself at least once daily, and he uses that time to taunt me, rubbing in my face how much better he is at being me than I ever was.

It hurts, but the truth often does.

This morning work called. They said he’d applied for my position.

I gave him my full recommendation. They gave me my notice.

I won’t be able to pay rent now or keep the phone, but he’ll be better at my job and get those promotions I never could. My ex-wife says he’s been calling her. I try to be happy for them.

I was supposed to log on twenty minutes ago, per the lease agreement, but I’m sitting here, staring at the phone, wiping away the tears that fall, wondering what he’ll want now when I have nothing left to give.

I think I know.

Commercials for the brain implant are running more often now.

-END-

Thaddeus Thomas

Discover all my flash pieces here.

The moon dangled low like a pocket watch, and its hour hand fell, golden and dented upon the cobbled street where it pointed from the moon’s heart to Aeryn’s, whispering that her time had come. She stood at the stoop of a shop—small, crooked, and wrapped in ivy—and the world shimmered gray and silver in the moonlight. Behind the window, shelves lined with glass bottles reflected her own ghostly image.

The old woman at the counter glanced as she entered, the tap of her finger counting away the seconds. "You’ve come for a wish.”

Aeryn nodded. "Just the one."

The woman gestured to the rows of dimly glowing vials behind her. "Choose carefully. A wish must be earned."

As Aeyrn focused her attention, the glow brightened. One pulsed with the warmth of dawn, another shimmered with the deep blue of ocean waves, but her gaze settled on the smallest vial—twilight-colored, whispering with trapped starlight.

"You wish for truth," the woman said. "Are you certain?"

Aeryn paid her coin. The old woman uncorked the bottle. A wisp of light spiraled into the air, and the world split open. Shadows swirled. Whispers rose. A cascade of buried lies unraveling at her feet.

With trembling hands, she staggered from the shop and into the moonlight. A horseman passed by, screaming something Aeryn couldn’t understand. She felt the whip of horsehair and heard the receding gallop.

She saw herself dead upon the street and saw herself alive and raging at the would-be, incidental assassin. She saw every variation of herself. In one, she found the tavern, drank herself drunk, and never made it home. In another she ran to her husband, her mouth full of apologies, her heart full of fear.

The truth in her gut spoke. Every road before her was a dead end. None led to hope, and in none would she find rescue.

Then she looked back at the shop, saw herself enter, heard herself say, “Teach me.”

The bottles glowed brighter than the moon and cast a second hand across the floor, pointing from truth’s heart to Aeryn’s.

The time had come. She stepped inside.

-END-

Thaddeus Thomas

Discover all my flash pieces here.

Discover all my flash pieces here.

Howard figured he understood Mister Lester’s thinking well enough. In Howard’s youth, such things were handled by the newspaper, nestled among the want ads and personals, in bold black ink, a small section labeled Sin Eaters.

Proper. Dignified. Business-like.

M…

Read more

The phone rang again, same caller. She blocked the number.

Even as she closed her eye…

Read more