Flash Fiction: Floating

Selma assured herself the raft was sturdy, that the soft creak of wood was a sound of reassurance, not danger. Her trance depended on the idea that this was safe. She could float down the river, listening to the songs of birds and the whisper of wind through leaves and tall grass. 

A voice invaded her peace. “3572. Your old god comes looking for you.”

Her brow furrowed. “No,” she refused aloud and kept her eyes closed. 

Sunlight flashed through overhanging branches. It warmed her face. She focused on the gentle slap of water against the logs she’d lashed together. 

A different voice reached her, this one more feminine. “It’s a simple thing, a matter of perspective. Shift back, and we can talk about it.”

“No.” She refused once more. They’d managed to draw her back before. Not this time. Not again. This was where she belonged. 


“That’s not my name,” she told the voice.

The raft curved around a bend in the river, and the water accelerated, ever so slightly.

Eyes watched her from the bank, among the weeds. She could feel them.

“Your old god comes looking for you.”

She drew a deep breath, took in the scent of greenery around her. She belonged. 

Nearby, water splashed. They were closing in again. She would fight them, but once they got this close, it was almost over. 

Hands grabbed the front of her shirt. They lifted her from the raft, from the river, from the sun, birds, and trees. 

Back in the church, back under the glare of humans and screens alike, the authorities waited for her to acknowledge their victory. Selma would give them what they wanted that day, but she would go back. She’d figure out a way to stay. 

Like short fiction? How about a whole dang book of it? My newest release is available in both print and ebook forms on the Amazon. Link down yonder.


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