This is a piece of Flash Fiction composed earlier this year. Such a thing is unlikely to get published and so I thought I’d air it here. Just an experiement.
Reluctant snow fell on the forest of people. It was late evening but not the eve of anything in particular.
You. What are you doing?
Just waiting for a mate.
Who’s ya mate?
Just a mate.
-Oi, man… come on!-
He staggered away. Grease smeared on his lips, friends at arm’s length jostling each other, sallow features and no doubt callow minds.
The wind picked up, biting harder than the cold could on its own.
Just a mate… Waiting for a mate.
Ambiguous and cursory but it was true. There, waiting amongst mirrored glass. Under the artificial light which clouds darkness; a contrast that emphasises the oppressive element of night by making it opaque. The same night that taunts each snowflake to jump onto the moving tombs below that breathe so heavily upon life. Every forest moves. Its breath; it can wait or hang – but eventually it goes.