Skip to main content



Holding its menacing weapon, it ascended to the apocalyptic end. City gore saturated behind.

Oh, is that its long neck? No, I can only see the black shadow.

The blotched face ferocious yet, tiny in front of the dome sized, oozing and popping sea of bubbling blood, turned to where no one else could look.

I heavily reached out with my hand. A tremble, dying quiver, to learn of the face. My hand the size of the vile, denying the distance I was to it.

I wondered why it killed me when I was breathing. I reeled, and blinked my eyes to focus on the staggering town. Eventually, coming back to fixate gaze on it.

Dark descended my every blink. Once. Twice.

In my last dying whimper, I got to comprehend my murderer...

The Carl of Death!


Note: This piece is inspired by a writer peer on Twitter, R.T.Slaywood; A thank you!

Flash Fiction on Lifestyle Prism.

Related Reads:

The beach detached

A winter song