Here’s my short flash fiction for this week’s #SpokenSunday Audioboo. It’s called The Unenviable Position of the Girl at the Crossroads, which I got from my good friend Sophie Bowley-Aicken as part of our title swap. I gave her the title of Two Flags Flapping In The Wind, which you can find on her blog, here.
I’ve also decided to post a transcribed version, too, just in case you can’t listen to audio! (That might be best, actually, since I inexplicably decided to record it in a regional accent that is not my own!)
“I remember hearing the death sentence. I remember the magistrate’s face as he delivered it. He knew those charges of witchcraft were rubbish, but he had no choice. The town needed a scapegoat, and that old bag down the valley delivered me. Burnt at the stake. Why me? Why not some other soul? Well I weren’t going to let them burn me alive. They left me in the cell overnight and I cut my wrists. I figured I’d die my way, not theirs. I think my jailer left the glass for me. He knew I weren’t guilty.
The universe don’t look too kindly on suicides though. No heaven, no hell, not for me. I get to remember all of this while I lie here. I can hear voices up there right now. Two men, arguing about what direction they should go in. I could tell ’em, give ’em directions, but I can’t move from where I am. I’m pinned in this box with a metal spike. Trapped in a box, six feet under the crossroads. Lying here, until Judgement Day.”
Image by Dominic Alves.
I loved hearing your voice! I’m so glad you recorded the bit at the beginning. That was sad, but I smiled all the way through. Wonderful.
Whew. The last lines were killer. Spooky, and I got the image of it, too. Nicely done, Icy.
Haunting.
Oh I’m so glad you like it! Sophie gave me the title a few weeks back and I was struggling to think of something that didn’t involve being at a metaphorical crossroads, and then I remember that suicides were often buried at crossroads (the Church refusing to allow them to be buried on consecrated ground), while witches and vampires were often buried at crossroads with stakes through them to prevent them rising from the grave and returning to harrass the living! It did take a while to get into her ‘voice’, so to speak.