FLASH FICTION BY G.K. LUND
Welcome to my flash fiction page which will, with time, be filled with very short stories of the impossible, the improbable, the quirky, the troubled, and the fantastical. Flash fiction stories are complete stories from approximately 100 to 1500 words in length. The stories featured here are smaller situations, happenings, or ideas that pop into my head when I’m writing the longer books, and it helps fill my creative well to spend a little time on these tiny side projects. I hope you like them.
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Happy reading!
Mortal Love and Time indefinite
© 2024 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
Screams and blood were everywhere. The battle had raged on for days, but not once had Salathría, elven captain, felt it so exposed as she did now. The enemy hammered her and her companions with merciless blows. She could scarcely do more than defend herself. Her arms ached from the hard impacts. She was covered in blood and gore, dirt spraying all around her from the soldiers falling, struck down swift and brutally.
The humans, their allies, fell more swiftly. They were, in truth, easier to kill. But she had fought with them for so long now, their demise hurt her.
Still, it was not until the elven general, their trusted leader, fell to the trampled and blood-soaked ground, that she understood. His strong and resistant body, could not withstand the forces they were up against.
She was young. But she comprehended it then, for the first time in her one-hundred-and-twenty-five-years, the weight of mortality that drove their human allies.
Everything was so urgent for them, even the hardened human soldier at her side. He’d always been by her side.
But now, while he crouched, his shield the only barrier between his head and the lethal blade hammering down on it, she felt that urgency too. It was something few elves had ever experienced.
Salathría leaped forward, and cleaved the enemy’s head clear off , before pulling the soldier back just enough for him to be able to see and draw breath.
She touched his cheek then, and in that moment he forgot all about where they were. She could see it in his eyes. He had never expected even such a simple touch from her. But it was now or never for the both of them. Not just him.
A shadow fell over them, and they separated fast, the axe burrowing into the ground where they’d been. Then they attacked their enemy’s flanks, killing him instantly.
Over and between the chaos and cruelty that was the battle, their eyes met in smiles of relief and understanding. Then, they turned back, and fought on.
How We Survive
© 2024 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
The demoness ran through the forest, hearing the screams, but unable to stop the mayhem. When she burst through the last foliage in her way, it was, as she’d expected, too late.
“What have you done?” she exclaimed, despite knowing exactly what the demon had caused. At his feet lay ten men, all armed, all dead. Slain quickly and brutally by one who had once been like them. Like she had once been, too.
“I killed them all,” the demon uttered and sank to his knees at the realization. He struck the tip of his sword in the ground and clung to the hilt, head bent in shame. “I regret it,” he said. “But they hunted me. I couldn’t help it.”
“You should have died.”
“I should have died,” he agreed.
They had all settled on this solution centuries ago when they’d turned away from their cruel ways.
“You broke your oath. The one you swore, like the rest of us; to never defend yourself. You betrayed us!” the demoness scolded. She looked at the carnage in horror. The humans would all come after them now. The demoness’ kind had lived in peace for so long, and as long as they did, they could truly live.
The demon arose and yanked his sword free from the dirt. My actions were driven by instinct. I only wanted to survive.”
“I understand. But you should have died. That is how the rest of us survive. Until you stop fearing death, and make such mistakes, people will never stop fearing us.” She eyed the bodies and turned away from them and the demon in disgust. “And rightly so.”
The Long Fall
© 2024 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
“Anything else, your excellency?” asked the servant, keeping his face impassive, but the Prime Overseer saw through the facade. It amused him to see the slight visible strain on that face. They all did that. Even his closest advisors. They all tried to hide whatever emotions they felt when in the vicinity of anyone, really.
“Is my meal ready?” he snapped at the young man.
“Of course, Your Excellency. In the dining room. Everything is to your liking.”
“We will see about that.” The Prime Overseer turned and looked to the door leading into the dining room. “dismissed!” he added to the servant and heard the door click shut behind him before he’d taken two steps. Had he not also dismissed the man from his mind as worthless of more attention, he would have noticed the haste with which this had been done. Usually, the servants took more care and the Prime Overseer would take four steps before the door closed.
The dining room was quiet, subdued in candle lights, but bright enough for the Prime Overseer to see. He didn’t like shadows. They offered too much space for anyone to hide in.
Hungry and tired from the day’s harsh but necessary decisions, he made his way to the serving table where they had set out ten dishes for him, including his favorite steak in mint sauce. They always made sure he had something else to choose from should he not want his favorite. Three days a week, he had this time to himself, where he didn’t have to entertain statesmen and foreign dignitaries. He didn’t even want servants to handle the food for him. This was the time for himself when he could reflect upon his life and seemingly endless successes. It sometimes astounded even him.
The Prime Overseer poured himself a glass of his favorite wine and helped himself to some food and then sat at the end of the long dining table. It was oversized, ridiculously so for one man, but then, had he not deserved this sign of his position? He hardly thought about it as more than an obvious right before tucking in. No one was there to see him anyway, so why not enjoy himself?
“Is it to your liking, your Excellency?”
The Prime Overseer jerked his head up and began coughing. He’d swallowed wrong from the sudden strange voice. While in his coughing fit, he got up and looked around.
There, at the far end of the table, a man sat, alert and with his hands resting on the table, watching him. The Prime Overseer couldn’t fathom it. How had he not seen him when entering? Was there sorcery at play?
“Who are you?” he wheezed between his coughs. He could see that the man was in his early thirties, perhaps. Dark hair, dark eyes. Inconsequential. The Prime Overseer’s livery adorned him. One of his own servants then.
“Does it truly matter who I am?” the man asked. “Based on years gone by, it never seems to matter to any of us.”
There was something familiar about him. The Prime Overseer squinted to see at that distance. “You’re my cupbearer,” he concluded. He sank into his chair then, clearing his throat hard to ease the coughing. It helped a little.
“I am,” the cupbearer admitted with a twist to his mouth that told the Prime Overseer that this was inconsequential to him too.
“This is outrageous!” The Prime Overseer banged his hand on the table, his glass wobbling. “You’ll be punished for this.” He looked toward the serving table for his bell, used to alert staff he wanted something, the man spoke the dreaded words: “No, I won’t.”
“What is going on?” the Prime Overseer demanded.
“Exactly what your kind always fear, your Excellency. From the day you seize power in whichever form of violence.”
The Prime Overseer gripped the edge of the table, the itch in his throat still there. Why could he not compose himself? He’d only swallowed his food down the wrong pipe. He was a mighty warrior. This young and skinny fellow was no threat to him.
“Who are you?” he demanded yet again. His cup bearers died occasionally and were always sourced from the staff serving his family. They had already proven themselves as loyal servants long before they entered his personal employ.
“No one to you,” the cupbearer said.
“I want to know. Tell me!” The itch persisted and the cool dread flowing through his body turned to shivers. He wanted to yell for the guards to come, but there were two doors and vast spaces between them. There was something more happening here than a mere servant stepping out of line.
“It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things,” the cupbearer insisted.
“Tell me!”
The cupbearer sighed and leaned back in the chair. Then he gave in. Of course, he did. They all did. Always.
“When I was but a lad, a woman came to our village seeking help. A sorceress. She was fleeing the capitol. She refused to work for you.”
The Prime Overseer nodded. He couldn’t remember the specific person. There had been so many. He knew what had happened, though, without the cup bearer’s next words.
“One of your spies lived in the village.”
The Prime Overseer nodded again. There were spies in every village, house, and family.
“Needless to say, your knights took care of the sorceress a few days later, and then the townsfolk, grown and child alike. A mere dozen of them survived.”
“Us.”
“Pardon?” the cupbearer said.
“You are here as well, looking for revenge, I gather.”
The cup bearer smiled. “No. I died too that day.”
“Fool! You are sitting right there.”
“Yes. But the survivors were stronger than me. I have merely existed these last decades. One purpose guiding me.”
The Prime Overseer shivered badly now, the itch forcing his coughs. If the cupbearer meant to attack, then he had given up his moment of surprise. The thought made the Prime Overseer glance at his wine glass and then back to the man, who nodded.
“You might choose something other than your favorite steak with mint sauce, but you never stray from your wine.”
“But … but,” the Prime Overseer faltered. “You must have drunk from it yourself,” he said. “You must!” There were too many people involved in the food preparation for the cupbearer to avoid tasting and testing the wine. “You are unaffected.” If the cupbearer had taken an antidote, then surely the Prime Overseer could as well.
“The sorceress I spoke of,” the cupbearer said. “I struck a deal with her son. You see, there is no antidote.”
“You used sorcery then, to stay alive?”
“Sorcery cannot cheat death. Not even Prime Overseers can do that. No, he barely bought me a little time.”
The Prime Overseer’s throat fought his efforts to stop his coughing, but they exploded from his mouth, bringing a spray of blood with them. “Time for what?” he gasped, pushing the now bloody plate of food to the side.
“Time to watch you die.”
The Prime Overseer laughed, and the laughter turned to wretched coughs. “Die? I will not die like this!”
“That’s not your choice. Nor was it mine,” the cupbearer said evenly. “You’ve been falling for twenty-three years. Unlike me, you, for all your spies, just didn’t know it.”
A Taste for Blood
© 2023 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
Reluctantly, she follows him out of the car, toward the large, looming mansion. Paint peels off the walls, shutters nailed firmly in place. It looks grand, yet closed off. Like the two of them.
He goes first, movements elegant, flowing almost, like only the undead can. How she longs to be free. Free of this blood-filled fate, free from the one who sired her.
The sun will rise in one hour. Time enough to flee? Is it possible for her to be free? She looks down the driveway with longing, like she does every night.
“What are you doing?” he asks, turning around at the door.
She stops. No words.
“The body! It’s going to be a warm day. We can’t leave it in the trunk.”
He’s right. She retrieves the body. Pale and void of blood. Carries it inside like it weighs nothing.
The stairs to the basement feels as long as ever. She leaves the dead man with the others.
She’s revolted now. But not before. She is always so hungry. And they taste so good.
“It’s only right that you clean up your own mess,” he snarls while passing her in the hallway.
She nods. She might detest and recent him. But she doesn’t deserve to leave.
Ghost in the Attic
© 2022 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
We all knew about the ghost in the attic bedroom. We’d felt her sneak up on us, and never went up there anymore. But when Grandpa Max began forgetting things, he forgot about her too.
We heard voices up there one night. When Grandpa Max couldn’t be found, we knew where to look.
We found them together. Embracing by the window. A strangely comforting hug.
“I didn’t think I’d ever find you again, Jasper,” she said.
“I missed you, Beatrice,” he answered.
Beatrice was his estranged daughter. We waited and let them be who the other needed for a moment.
Purging Ritual
© 2022 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
There’s an acrid smell coming from the pot on the stove. Maybe her reaction resulted in a spoiled dinner?
She hurries to the bathroom, gathering his hairbrush and toothbrush. Next to the bedroom. She exits with his socks. Over to the bookcase, grabbing an album from the top shelf. A photo is ripped from its pages.
A photo of him.
“Maybe we should eat and talk about it?” he asks. He’ll eat it despite the smell.
She snorts and throws every item into the simmering contents of the pot.
She snaps her fingers. Green flames burst from the concoction.
Maybe he shouldn’t have cheated on a witch.
The Pact
© 2021 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
Far away, someone ancient, yet new, stirs.
In the here and now, the snow lies wet and heavy, blanketing the fields and forests, refusing to melt. There is too much of it for that. The clouds overhead darken the land despite the white blanket beneath, and they threaten more downpour, though whether snow or rain, no one can tell yet.
No one except one.
Over the rolling hills walks a figure who brings the cold with him. It spreads from his body and flows through the snow already there, freezing it, making it sparkle in the dark night. The clouds above disperse and the starry sky emerges. For anyone else, the snow will crunch under their feet, but not for this creature. He is the snow and the ice, the brisk night that makes any breath foggy. This is the king of Winter and he has a purpose this night like he does every time his season turns.
For weeks, he has ruled the lands. He has watched the trees and plants shed their deadened leaves and be covered by the white powder. He has watched the fur of the animals change and adapt to his beloved frozen vapor.
But now…
Now he can see the end all too clear.
He stops outside a cluster of houses.
Warm, golden light emanates from shut windows. Through the molded glass, he observes them. The humans drag trees inside and decorate them. Humans who bake and clean and wrap presents. How can they not see? Don’t they understand?
King Winter moves on. He has a meeting he cannot miss. He never has. Nor has she who will join him. It can only happen on four nights a year, two for them in particular, and this night? This is his night to ask for her help.
They meet in a clearing.
She hesitates at first. King Winter knows this and heeds her weakness. He retracts the snow from the ground in front of him, all the way to the tips of his toes. Only then, does she come forward from the shadows.
She is freezing, her dress too light for the cold of his realm. For this truly is his realm.
Time turns as she approaches, and the day and night are equal. Darkness lingers too long for her tastes, but she is there, as always. Like he will be for her.
“It is beginning,” King Winter tells her when she stops in front of him.
“I feel it,” the Queen of Summer says and shivers less.
“She is coming to defeat me. To weaken me.”
“I feel this too,” Queen Summer says. Her eyes, which usually glow with warmth, are mere embers at this point. “It cannot be stopped. Queen Spring will be too warm for your cold.”
“Swear to me you will avenge me,” King Winter beseeches her.
“Always. As you will avenge me against my fall.”
“It will always be so. I will cover his realm of decay and hide it under my cold beauty.”
They seal their bargain with a kiss. Her warm lips burn his cold ones, as his does hers. It is not a kiss of passion, but one of burning promise.
Days will now become a little longer.
The King and Queen separate, for they must.
King Winter walks back, his realm still strong and ever so cold. He stops again by the cluster of houses. None of the humans within notice him watching them. They go on with their traditions, stories, and celebrations while he must face his inevitable demise. How can they not see? They are blind to the greatest forces coming together on their doorsteps. How can they miss this pact which has been upheld for eons?
King Winter walks on, dejected, leaving no traces in the hard-packed snow. The humans put extra wood in their fireplaces, feeling an unusual cold this night.
They all love him when he’s there.
But they also rejoice because now, the days will be longer, and Queen Spring, though far away, stirs.
A King’s Truth
© 2021 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
I am a great king
I don’t think
my subjects will speak ill of me
they will embrace and worship me
it is impossible that
my people think harshly of me
I lead my armies to war only when necessary
it isn’t true that
I act with cruelty and from greed
I wield my sword only to protect my people
I honestly do not think
my subjects hate me
everyone thinks I am just and wise
it is very unlikely
I am anything but a fair ruler
thus, I address this unjust court of my enemies
with my regal honesty
Now read from the bottom and up ↑
I drew inspiration for the structure of this flash fiction from a post about self-perception during mental health awareness week 2020, though that was used in a different context than a story. Still, I thought it would be fun to see if it could work in a story setting and I think it does.
The Lady
© 2021 by G.K. Lund. All rights reserved.
The Lady of the Fae gazed upon the young woman dragging her feet across the overgrown meadow. The magical mirror, the portal to the woman’s world, hid the Lady but allowed her full view. What caused the woman to be in such a saddened state? Poverty? A broken heart? The death of a loved one?
The Lady smiled from ear to ear, a smile that would have the most valiant knight quiver. Whatever had caused the smile to vanish from the young woman’s face did not matter. This was a perfect opportunity. A wayward human, sad, distraught, and most importantly—alone. Besides, something was jarring about the woman’s state. She was almost too calm. This fascinated the Lady who had seen it all.
The Lady used her magic to open the portal, allowing the human woman to lay eyes upon the Fae realm.
She startled at the sight of the Lady who reached out her hand. The human world was dangerous, but they were so frail. So easy to toy with.
The human woman looked around, but no one else was there. Then she peered at the Lady’s hand. She hesitated, no doubt having been told from a young age never to leave with the Fae. The Lady had heard many such tales from her captives. But she knew the lure of the magical forest behind her, and that her enchanting smile would win the woman over.
She was right.
Her smile intensified when the woman came closer and took her hand. She would step inside the Lady’s realm and be forever trapped.
The woman looked at their joined hands and met the Lady’s gaze. She smiled then, and the Lady frowned. She recognized that smile. Had felt it on her own face many times. Feral, smug, dangerous. Hidden behind a mask of feigned innocence.
The woman yanked and pulled the Lady out of her realm before jumping inside herself.
The Lady stumbled and whirled around. The woman laughed, the magic faded, and the Lady screamed. Her skin wrinkled and her hair turned white, the dull power of the human realm peeling away her essence.
