Flash Fiction February - Lavender Heart
This flashfic is inspired by a prompt posted on 26th February 2022 by the Writer’s Digest to “give physical form to an idea”. This story is just over 800 words. Enjoy!
The family huddled around the living room fireplace, the littlest cousins closest to the fire grate while their parents drank in the kitchen. My father policed the marshmallow sticks and put smores together for the adults lounging on the faux leather coaches. Grandma’s croaking laughter filled the room, her proud, old lioness resting under the footrests of her wheelchair.
My brother’s crow peered down at me from the thrift shop chandelier, bug eyes bulging as it tilted its head from one side to the other. A buzzard nuzzled its side, it too glaring occasionally down at me whenever Gwen had enough reason to glance my way.
“It’s such a beautiful kind of bird, isn’t it?” my mother gushed, her own maine coon cat curled on her lap.
Grandma hummed as she smiled. “Ye-es, I used to pray for a bird myself. For a dove maybe, or a swan. Something regal. Something graceful.” As she said these words, she stared adoringly up at Gwen’s buzzard, and something hungry flashed in her lioness’s eyes.
Grandma reached for Gwen, and she surrendered her hand with a flustered smile more plastic than the marshmallow wrappers. “It’s a sign of a strong heart. Of Loyalty. Sacrifice.” And then with a wink and a wonky smirk, “And Fertility!”
I rolled my eyes.
“Ah, girl –” my grandma released my soon-to-be sister-in-law and waggled a finger at me. “You’d roll your eyes, wouldn’t you?”
“Ma.” My own mother gave me a sympathetic look, her huge, fluffy beast of a cat raised its head and flashed the world’s cutest, roundest, wateriest cat eyes. I ignored it.
“Leave her be. It’s not her fault.”
“No. No,” I said, raising my arms in mock-surrender. “We all know I don’t do the whole –” I waved at the two love birds snuggling into each other – “Whatever that is.”
Grandma’s lips pulled back, and her lioness drew out a long, vicious yawn, white teeth catching the blood red glare of the flames.
My father’s dachshund growled.
“You know,” my brother said, spreading out his fingers as he gestured, “and I know I’ll get heat for this, but people without hearts, just, shouldn’t be allowed to walk around however they want to. They should be in prison.”
“David!” My mum smacked his arm, but her eyes fell on me. Round and alarmed.
“What? Its true. The only people without hearts are psychopaths. And they’re just a murder spree waiting to happen.” Mum began to pipe up again, but David leaned in towards me, over his fiancée. “I mean, no offence, Maria, but you are not going anywhere near my kids.”
“I wouldn’t want anything to do with those brats anyway,” I said with a pained smirk. “Especially if they look half as ugly as you.”
David lurched, and a black shadow swooped down over me.
Instinctively, my arms flew up to cover my face. A sharp, slashing pain crisscrossed my forearms and with a frustrated cry, I snatched outwards, my fingers crushing a delicate wing into my palm.
My brother shrieked. I heard my mum shouting, begging someone to stop. My dad’s dachshund barking and a buzzards terrified cry.
Grandma’s lioness roared, and the silence that came after deafened me.
In my hands, my brother’s heart struggled, claws reaching for me but held too far out by my white-knuckled grip.
“I think you’ve caused enough trouble today, Maria,” my grandmother said. She was standing, little, old legs shaking beside her snarling, bowing lioness.
Stiffly, I relaxed my fingers and let the crow struggle free.
My brother grabbed it from the air, bringing it into his chest and preening through its feathers to assess the damage. Gwen leaned over to help with her worried hands.
“Why don’t you go to your room?”
I was 21.
Gritting my teeth and half-dreaming of my solitary city apartment 83 miles away, I stood and left, letting my blood drip from my fingers onto the white carpet.
In my own room, in the quiet, I sighed heavily and let the weight slide off my ridged shoulders. The clock ticked and ticked, and finally the feeling came back in my body.
I sat on the edge of my bed and reached to pull out a draw beside my feet. I dug around, removing dusty photo albums and broken keyrings and bent, fading postcards, before lifting out a small metal box. Carefully, I took it up to my collarbones and lifted my key-shaped necklace up to its lock. As the lid rolled back and the light filled in, my fingers began to shake. Gently, gently, I picked up my heart and held it in front of the window to catch the falling sun.
The searing red light revealed great, green veins and the outline of my bloodied fingerprints on its delicate, curling lavender petals.
27/02/2022
To Be Proofread . . .