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Flash Fiction #1

Here is my first attempt at Flash Fiction Fridays. I really enjoyed this excercise, (for me, that's what it was) and I think I'll keep doing this! I think 500 words is the limit, mine comes in just under 400. Just a brief note: I know the subject may not be new, but the words are all mine.




Irving sewed the last thread in place, tugging on the thick black suture, snapping it with his teeth. A black jagged mouth laced its way vertically down the middle of her chest, effectively silencing  the mouth-slit he had made. Out of impulse, he pressed his ear onto the wound, listening for the sound.  The clockwork heart he had placed within her empty and cold breast began to tick, softly. Satisfied, he stood up, peeling off his bloody latex gloves. Pushing his glasses up onto his nose, he smiled at his work, his latest creation. Eve III.

The first was too afraid, too timid, she ran away screaming and naked from his touch. He recoiled from the memory of her tears mingling with the snot coming from her nose, drizzling down her face in viscous threads. Disgusting. He liked his women submissive, but the sniveling and the terror were no good to him. He despised weakness. She had preferred death to him, and he granted that to her, eventually.

 The second was too willful and had to be destroyed. At least, he’s pretty sure she was destroyed after hours of grappling and fighting with her in the basement lab. Eventually the clocks will stop on their own, and without his touch and guidance, they don’t start again. He learned that the bigger the heart, the stronger the woman.

They were no good to him when their heart stopped. Or when they were too willful. It would be a few hours before he’d know for sure what the new one was like, if he was going to keep her.

He waited, holding her hand, counting the hollow ticks sounding  from inside her. Eve III opened her eyes to her new life, dressed in a hospital gown, her back bare against the cold metal table. She drew her first breath, her eyes lighting on him, her expression first one of fear, and her tears looking like a mixture of brass and blood. After some time, measured by her heartbeat, he whispered the words into her ear he knew would respond to the machinery inside her. Eventually, her eyes melted from a look of alarm to one of adoration and desire.

 Maybe he’d call this one Goldilocks 1.0: he was fond of naming his prototypes after stories, and she seemed just right. But of course, there was always room for improvement.

Copyright December 02, 2011 All Right Reserved.

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