Debut titles by junior author – I. V. R. Sirett – All Rights Reserved ©

All story content on this page is a work of fiction. All the characters in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. These stories are dark, and some contain violence and / or disturbing details.

DROUGHT

BY I. V. R. SIRETT

All Rights Reserved ©

 Drought. It’s a funny thing. Nothing there to soften and fill the cracks in a sandstone heart. The world around you is sparse, barren, humid.

  Sunlight, hot, overbearing and painful. Preventing the flowers from weaving over your wounds. Everything hurts. Everything inside you is burning.

  I stare across at the horizon, as the dead grass tangles around my feet, and small gusts of wind whisper in my ears: devil, saint, right, wrong, good, bad… ugly. My gaze fixed on the approaching storm; a powerful, angry creature, in so much pain, sneaking up on the land and destroying everything in its weakest moment.

  I close my eyes…

  CRASH.

  The skeletal trees topple all around me, once dreamy, languorous beings among the stars, now splinters, stakes and firewood stuck in my heart.

  Splat… splat… splat…

  Water?

  Rain. It pours, yes, please, it can soften – it can heal – it can transform the dry, suffocating world around me into a luscious, viridescent paradise of pinks and greens. A sepia photo processes into a beautiful painting.

  No.

  Something cold, slithering, wet. It sticks itself to my feet, swells over my legs, my arms, my neck…

  I should have known.

  Drought is cured by rain and rain is cursed by flood.

  Yet, as the water fills my lungs and my screams frighten the most catastrophic of earthquakes, and as I am swept away into the currents of the monster that me, myself and my tears have created… for the first time in so long, I finally know how to breathe.

  The waves tower above me. I was afraid of letting go, of losing, of saying goodbye.

  She swims through the chaotic, flamboyant waves, as though the sea of discord around us isn’t even there. Her skin is pale, her hair longer than it has been before, but those eyes, the ones I will never forget. They used to gaze at me lovingly from the rear-view mirror, crease at the corners as we read bedtime stories. Those warm, sweet eyes.

  Taking my hand in hers, she smiles and whispers in my ear…

  ‘I love you.’

  Tears stream down my face as I give in, allowing the salty, stinging water to swallow me whole.

  Darkness. Abyss. A cavern, not empty, not full of fear or –

  Just… comfort.

  I crawl, upwards. The light at the end becomes bigger, brighter, closer; a sunrise breaks the shadows of this sorrowful night. Engulfs me, envelops me, and gently, I open my eyes.

  I stand up. Dad’s hand on my shoulder. I clutch a lily, which I place on the coffin, and allow my tears to fall. No more droughts, no more hiding, no more anger.

  ‘Mum,’ I whisper. ‘I love you too.’

  Looking back up, I see the world within my heart is no longer humid and claustrophobic, nor flooded and broken. I am no longer drowning, and that is okay. Flowers flourishing, pinks, reds, purples, yellows. A parade of love, light and healing. The trees stand tall, and the sky is electric blue.

  In the centre of it, stands a lily.

  Grief. It’s a funny thing.

FLICKER

by I. V. R. Sirett©

I pulled the covers off me, the spiders scuttled away.

Flick. Flick. Flick…

I tore off the wires and made my way to the curtain covered in beetles and bloodstains.

Faces –

Flick. Flick. Flick…

As I pulled back the curtain, saw faces, many of them. Carcasses in the hospital beds. Skin rotting, peeling, dust glazing their wide, bloodshot eyes; maggots worming their way in and out of skin, creating hundreds of little holes in the flesh; deep and oozing with puss.

I stepped away, they stank – pungent and revolting.

Flick – flick… the lights buzzed.

I could hear movement, things being knocked over, shuffling through the halls.

They wouldn’t last long, not here, not now.

Thump.

Told you so.

Flick – flick…

I made my way out of the door, stumbling over a man’s fresh corpse, already being attacked by numerous ants. The hospital gown was itchy, like sandpaper. It resembled a large white sack. My hair was matted, it pulled on my head, and it hurt.

Flick – flick…

I turned and opened the door to the bathroom. A room where they were safe. A room where they could lock themselves away.

The lights buzzed louder, and the pipes choked, making gurgling sounds as if they were being throttled.

Flick – flick…

Breathing…

Flick…

I could hear breathing…

Flick…

Heavy, heavy breathing…

Flick.

I burst open the first cubicle door, smashing it against the wall.

Nothing.

Then the second, breaking the handle as I did so.

Nothing

Then the third.

Flick – flick…

Something.

Her jaw hung, separate from the rest of her head, leaning at an angle. Open. Wide. Blood streaming down her neck and onto her torso. Her gown was covered in spiders, but… she was alive, somehow. She stared up at me with her constant gaping mouth and fear-stricken eyes.

Flick – flick…

“Found you.” I smiled.

Flick.

Lights buzzed, faded out.

THE END