love

Short and not-so-sweet flash fiction for my secret giftee in the Fiction Gift Exchange.

Dec 25, 2024

Surprise!

you asked for horror/romance, and at first I thought…in 500 words? Impossible! But I hate being told things are impossible, so I also thought…challenge accepted.

And here we are. A creepy and (hopefully) romantic gift for you.

The water didn’t lap, didn’t ripple. The air was frigid, but not so that it froze the inlet, where saltwater turned fresh. Flaming sunrise reflected off of the surface, a perfect picture unmarred by movement. The water looked thick in its half-frozen state, like syrup, like it would glob off of her fingertips if she deigned to scoop it up.

Tendrils of steam swirled up, the cold air creating mini-tornadoes as the morning rays attempted to heat the sea. Hundreds of ghostly arms gyrating and reaching for the sky, as if to escape.

Why would they want to escape, she wondered. Why would even the steam want to leave, if she were the steam she would blanket this place, cover it with her warmth and keep it safe.

But the steam didn’t know any better. Nobody knew.

Her love was here, in this syrup. She’d tried to stay away, tried to resist, tried to move on, but the inlet called to her with its siren’s song, beckoning her with a promise of embrace. How easy it would be, to plunge beneath the icy surface and stay there, let the pinpricks tickle her, numb her, release her sweetly into the abyss.

Stay away from the water, they said. You could slip in, they said. It’s dangerous, they said.

But her love was here. Her heart. The lifeblood pumping through her veins had no right to be on land, oxygenated, warm. Syncopated beats now, because her ankles were in the syrup, toes flexing against the rocks that whispered together so beautifully.

She breathed, lips whickering, her fragile useless body unable to stand it, but her love was here.

She wondered if her tears would freeze, if the salt would make her flesh even colder, if she could cry frostbite down silken cheeks. But there were no more tears, not in this place, not when she was so close, so close.

She could no longer feel the blood creeping its way down her thighs, from the carvings she’d made, lovingly crafting the symbols of their love into her flesh, the beautiful crimson marring her only outdone by the brilliance of the sky.

The syrup at her knees now, the rest disappeared, no calves nor ankles nor feet nor toes, the hungry sea swallowing them numb.

The surface bowed, doming, her love was here, here, drawn by her blood teasing the syrup, mingling in a swirling dance. Love’s maw crested, wide and slick and putrid with glittering teeth and she drew in a final breath as they closed around her, purpling lips curling into peace as love finally embraced her, piercing her body and soul in a euphony of pain and relief.

As love descended, all that remained was a vermilion swirl in the syrup, sparkling beneath dancing steam, and soon the water didn’t lap, didn’t ripple.