Five Sentence Fiction: "Til Death Do Us Part"

He has donned the priestly robes, he has recited the mysterious words, he has taken the sacred cup to his mouth and has drunk deep. It never occurs to him to refuse: she is his beloved, and a God.

She appears as she has before, bone-white and desert-dry, terrible and beautiful. His head swims when she approaches, as she takes his face between her hands, as her cracked lips meet his own.

When she pulls back, when she speaks, he hears it as a warm, soothing voice in his mind: "I accept your love, and the gift of your life."

SF Drabble #445 "Natural Defense Mechanism"

"There's more over there."

In the suit, it was an effort to turn, to look at Hargrove to see which way she was pointing, and then to turn further to look that way. He saw a small clump of native black-leaf brush struggling to grow amid the ever-spreading green Earth-life. "Good eye. Shall I burn it?" They both had cans of the chemical spray, but only he wore the flamer backpack.

"There's not much there, and the grass is dry." She was already waddling towards the brush.

"Don't get too close to the leaves..."

"Hasn't gotten through a suit yet."

Fantasy Drabble #363 "For The Man Who Has Everything"

The sorcerer stared into the open caravan, eyes darting from hook to hook, drawer to drawer, basket to basket. Part of him wanted everything, but he had learned self-control over the many years. "I'm not really a potions-and-charms sort."

"Perhaps a staff?" The merchant pulled out a gnarled shock of oak-wood capped with a bulb of dragon-bone. "Pepier the Elder made this. It's a blank, of course—"

"A Pepier blank after all this time? I'll be able to tell if it's a fake…"

"I stand by my wares, my Lord."

The sorcerer's grin deepened, spread. "I'll fill it with fire."

Mommy Dearest

She walked up to the grave slowly, knees trembling, footfalls unsure on ground that seemed ready to spin away under her. There was no one around: the church was fallen into disrepair, the graveyard disused, overgrown, forgotten.

"It's been a long time." There were no flowers to lay down; her hands stayed in her pockets. "Fifty years? Sixty?"

Swirling leaves were a halo of yellow and orange and red around her, slipping past her as she stood, pinning against the tree, wedging against the headstone. She didn't bend down to clear them away.

"Maybe you've forgotten. But I never will."