DOUBLE FAIRY TALE FLASH - I (Don't) Remember by Caitlin Berve AND Frankincense by Ellie Goss


I remember water: dripping, flowing, moving. I don’t remember the cold wetness on my bare feet.

I remember brightness, blind moments, and reflections. I don’t remember the color of your eyes bordered by their mask.

I remember leaves soft with decay: russet, gold, bronze. I don’t remember running.

I remember the taste of sweat pooling in the corners of my mouth. I don’t remember my scent.

I remember wild laughter, bubbling from our chests. I don’t remember leaving with your name lost on my lips.

I remember dark fur or hair. I don’t remember where I left my changeling skin.
Owner of Ignited Ink Writing, Caitlin Berve is a freelance editor, fantasy writer, and creative writing instructor. She is dedicated to helping others transform their writing so it lingers with readers because writing that lingers gets remembered and recommended. She is vice president of the Boulder Writers Alliance and an active member of CIPA, Writers’ Idea Factory, and 30th Street Fiction writers’ critique group. With a MFA in Creative Writing and Poetics and bachelors in Biochemistry, she is constantly searching for the next story she can’t put down.




“Franky, where are you? Here kitty-kitty, oh come on Franky, I have to get to school. Here kitty-kitty,” implored Veronica.

The cat Frankincense watched the scene from his hiding spot. His large green eyes, if spotted, would give away his hiding spot. But if his senses were right, he wanted to be able to see what was coming, what was about to happen. While the usually sleek black fur on his back stood a little more upright than usual and his ears lay flat against his head, it took all of his control to prevent the low growl from being emitted from where it sat in his throat. It wouldn’t be long now.  

As the mist emerged from under the locked door to the apartment Franky changed his mind about staying where he was to watch. Instead, he slunk back further into the recess of the air vent located over his owner’s bed in the open plan studio.  

He heard the screams, and the manicured nails of the young girl rip through the floorboard timber, followed with the type of silence that exists in an inhabited apartment.

The hum of a refrigerator, the low buzz of electrical movement through television and radio. All the while his nose filled with the smell of frankincense, the burnt incense from the previous night’s seance.
Elisha A Tasmanian writer, nestled between the Tarkine Forest and Cradle Mountain National Park. She has worn many hats; home builder, youth worker, hotel manager and more, but now with a little more time and chill she is ready to return to those pursuits that whizzed passed earlier in her journey!
Follow her on Facebook: @1BunyipsBath
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Comments

  1. Intriguing stories! Two very different styles, but each packs a punch.

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