Microfiction by Chloe Riggs

The Golden Flower

I’m dying. They tell me it’s a part of aging. “It’s a part of getting older,” they said. But I’m different. I age faster. I die faster. I need my cure, just like a patient needs medicine. I need the golden flower to restore my youth. To save my life. I snuck into the flower’s room. I tried to only take a piece. I tried to save everyone from any destruction. But when the glow faded…I grabbed the flower. I ran. I didn’t look back. It was a life of hardships or no life at all. 

It was Die or Fight

Goosebumps. They ran up my spine. My skin grew cold. My eyes darted everywhere. Blood. It splattered on Mom’s new curtains. It stained my stolen white shoes, the only unsoiled thing in this house. My shaking hands drop the knife. Flashbacks. He was going to hurt you, I tell myself. It was die or fight. Sirens blare. My instincts kick in as I light the match. In a flash, I’m outside, watching the trailer explode in seconds. It was die or fight, but no one can know who was fighting. No one can know who was supposed to die. 

They Said She Was Gone

“She’s gone.” “She’s never coming back.” Their words keep echoing through my mind as I look at her vacant smile in the photograph. They said I would never see her again. They called me crazy for searching. But I kept screaming. They let them take me. They said I wasn’t safe. They called me…insane. But I know the truth. I know she’s alive. I grip the photograph and move towards the iron door. In the clean glass window, I stare at my reflection. Her reflection. They said she was gone, but they have no idea how wrong they were.

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