Neither Good Nor Bad #short prose #flash fiction

We were neither good nor bad. Those are words invented by us, poor biped beings, to chronicle our actions.

In retrospect, I think we resided in the unknown, in the fuzzy space situated at the core of that city: a city born from some kind of inexplicable cosmic irony.

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
@short-prose-fiction

image: YuriyZhuravov; Shutterstock; [link]

 

Tragic #short prose #flash fiction

“His story was tragic.

Yet he was too shallow to live his own tragedy, and too weak to escape it.

It occurred to me that he has woven a web of lies in which he lived like a curious spider lacking his own body.

Night and day crawling, spastic legs weaving lies, suffocating anybody who dared to approach him.  Empty, in the middle of his own cobweb, contorting his legs, existing somewhere between heaven and earth in a demotic world not created by God, but by a relapsed and dark demiurge.

Angelo, are you still listening to me?”

“Who dares not, Clara?”

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers.
@short-prose-fiction

image: conrado; Shutterstock; [link]

 

languor of love #poem #short prose

Clocks drip languor.
White drapes undulate in the breeze of a faraway sea.
The fragrance of oranges blossoms in my hair.
Mysteries of the blue waters exude from your salty skin.
Moorish patterns engrave themselves onto my thighs.
Teardrops scent the air.
Our afternoons: never born, never allowed to die.
Love.

@short-prose-fiction

image: nito; Shutterstock; [link]