The Plank

My second entry into the Flash! Friday annual flash fiction contest. As the previous one, it’s 210 words and I did not respond to the photo prompt, but instead two “themes,” outlined after the story, so as to not give it away so blatantly…(although the featured pic already does lol, oh well).

They’d left him there for three nights and before the sun could rise on the fourth morning, he could smell his own dead flesh.

He slid from his skin — or at least it seemed that way because the pain seemed to make his brain rattle — and down to the dead grass. It was dead, he soon realized, because of the onslaught of his dripping blood.

Haggard, his feet carried him over the nearby hill, to which he tumbled down, righted himself and continued a lumbering pace toward the cave. He slipped by the Roman guard with too much ease, he thought. After all, he was moving slow and breathing heavy.

Once inside, he gasped at the spot where he was entombed. His mother’s tears still lined his dead cheeks; her handprint encased on his bloody white garment.

In the back of his head, which still thumped with agonizing pain, he heard a distant voice, “It is time.”

That’s when he came one with his lifeless body, felt the resurgence in his chest, and his body pushed up off of the tomb.

A peasant woman with icey blue eyes was the first to see him. He tried to convey his usual calmness, but to no avail.

He had risen.


Character: A saint who survives execution
Setting: Long road en route to a shrine


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s