Senses of Death

Flash fiction I wrote just before joining the site: one mysterious piece of furniture evokes memories you didn't know you had.

Look, there’s a doorway. The door is open; go inside…It’s an empty room. Yes, an obviously empty room. A dark empty room… But, wait, there in the corner: a piece of furniture. What is it? A table, no… A box, no, no…

The dark is endless, that night-black is endless; clogging every natural sense, turning shadows into ghosts of objects. Lives once lived and hearts once broken.

There now, up close, it’s a chair. A metal chair. Every inch of it saying “don’t sit here, don’t stay. Get out!” It’s wired up to the wall with… What? A thick cable? No, surprisingly thin. The metal feels cool, ice cool, sharp as diamond and—

Suddenly visions: a woman crying, a child cruelly taken from her warm embrace… Flicking unclear images; shifting, fading, changing… Now a couple, lips together one last time. A door slam as cold as the chair. Warm hands but clammy, welcoming yet stern, leading only further into the chasms of pain. And rage. Always rage. There it is, real-haunting the memories and emotions: The bully in the happy times of school…The teasing teenage friend…The betrayal of the boy who always loved…

More scenes: The room, the chair... coming ever closer. Impossible death is felt, a demon in the light. This everlasting rage chilling. Death making its way through-it can smell the fear. No escape. No, there never was any escape. Framed, chained, lost, beaten, happiness smashed and crushed like an autumn leaf, dying after an unfinished year.

Everyone dies eventually. It can’t be avoided. The crooked scythe shall come. And people say sooner than later…

The chair and its frozen touch. A last thought. This taste of the end.

The vision finished, gone. But not before a final heart-breaking scream…Tearing through the silence…

Go on, get out! Leave this room now!

 

You run from it all.

The End

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