Flash Fiction – Skystriker

Zippy Flash Fiction

“It’s pointless, the king is a fool! He’ll never agree,” a figure cloaked in purple said.

“But he must agree. And he will. I’ll make sure of it,” a man wearing thick black goggles said. He smiled, his teeth black as soot. The purple figure fidgeted, uncertain, concerned.

Black Teeth stretched out his right arm, it was twice the size of his left, and took hold of a heavy, cast iron crank. He grunted. The muscles and veins stood out of his arm and neck. His body tightened, bulged, sweated. Slowly, a long low creak screeched through the room. Gears tangled in a brilliant horrible mass began turning on each other. A faint blue light glowed all around like bottled lightning crackling.

“What, what are you doing?!” the purple figure said, stepping backward.

The light grew brighter and brighter. Blinding blue, white-hot light. The purple figure dropped to his knees, shielding his eyes.

Black teeth began laughing maniacally as the crank turned faster and faster. Soon his arm was a blur as the gears ground on each other in a cacophony of iron and steam. The purple figure scratched at his ears trying to block out the terrible sound that pounded his head.

A sudden explosion rocked the entire airship. The purple figure felt as though his insides had been separated from each other. Bone from bone, muscle from muscle.

The machine began to slow and the lights dim. The purple figure stood shakily, clutching his head and stomach. He looked up, bleary-eyed, at black teeth. His arm was still turning, slower and slower as the machine screeched to a halt, and the room darkened.

“Wh-what did you do?” the purple figure asked.

Black teeth was smiling.

“I stopped the rain.”

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