Well, it's been a long time since I've blogged on a regular basis. I'm going to make a heroic attempt to keep with it this time.
One aspect of my blog I really enjoyed, and that I think would be a lot of fun to keep up with, was the Micro Monday Flash Fiction (#mmflashfic). Every Monday, I'll pick a random word and write 300 words of fiction incorporating that word. You're welcome and encouraged to join in. Post your flash fiction here, in the comments, or link up to your own blog via Twitter with #mmflashfic.
Today's word prompt: blue.
Her blue eyes matched the tiny blue flowers filling the fields surrounding her, matched the blue sky above her.
She looked down, uncertain. But then she closed her blue eyes and lifted her hands, and the sky darkened. Thousands of tiny blue flowers lifted from their places on the ground to hover in the air, a cornflower cloud above her head, waiting for the command. Tiny crumbles of dirt fell on her head and around her from the roots dangling beneath the flowers.
She sighed. She didn’t need this many. In her mind’s eye, she could see exactly the one she needed, and so she lowered her left hand, commanding all but that one to replant themselves back into the earth. The singled-out flower floated toward her outstretched right hand, and she opened her blue eyes as her fingers touched the stem.
She cupped the roots in her hands, protecting the fragile life she carried, hoping it would survive, hoping against hope that it was indeed what she needed.
She turned and hurried back through the fields and into the cover of the forest toward her mentor’s hut. The door burst open before she even touched the wood, and the old woman looked up from her precise calculations of herbs at the table.
“I have it!” she breathed. “I have it. I saw it, just as you said I would.”
The old woman smiled, her toothy grin crooked. “I knew you would,” she said, gently taking the flower from the hands of her apprentice. “Your power is greater than you yet understand. Now, let us make the antidote.”
As the old woman turned to grind up the precious flower, the blue eyes turned toward a bed in the corner, where a young man lay, dead.
The man she killed.