Flash Fiction: Rain From a Clear Sky

“I’m just getting worse and worse,” Ansgar moaned. “I want to die.”
“You did not die on that battlefield and you are not going to die now that you are home,” his wife said with her back turned to him to hide her frightened expression. Surviving the wounds he sustained was unnatural.

“Sister, you must weave the final strand,” Tomorrow said. She watched Ansgar in the reflection of the pool next to which she sat. “The thread has been cut.”
“No.” Today still held the strand between her fingers, unwilling to weave the end of the thread into the tapestry.
“Listen to your sister,” Yesterday said. Her hands and white dress were stained red and black with the dye of the cut threads. “His thread has already stained my hands. You must weave it. He cannot remain in the world of the living.”
“This is his fate,” Tomorrow told Today.
“Why should it be?” Today sobbed. “Did not enough die on that cursed battlefield? Can we not spare just one more?”
“His time in the tapestry is done. There is no more space for him. If you leave him like that, he will start to move outside of it.”
“He will become immortal?” There was hope in Today’s voice.
“Not immortal,” Tomorrow said. She plunged her fingers into the pool. The ripples on the water revealed the future to them. “He will never heal. He will be haunted. He will become inhuman.”
“Weave the thread, Sister,” Yesterday said.
“But I love him,” Today whispered. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Then do right by him.”
Tears dripped onto the tapestry as Today started to weave.

Ansgar looked out the window. Rain poured from a clear blue sky. The world around him slowly started to fade. He smiled.


By Carin Marais

Bibliophile, writer of speculative fiction, non-fiction, and maybe-fiction, language practitioner, doer of stuff.


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