Feature: Issue No. 15, Winter 2015

Chapter Eight

“I don’t understand,” Emily said. Her voice was dust wisps. Our Lady placed her cool hands on Emily’s shoulders. The crowd was statue still. The world seemed like a carving.

“Speak.” Our Lady’s face was as pale as sucked stars. The words inside Emily seemed like wind swells. She shook. The sky narrowed.

“Why do I feel like this?” she whispered. Our Lady’s hands were on Emily’s face. Emily’s heart was glow and shiver. She gazed at Our Lady. She felt the words spilling from her.

When the words stopped, Emily’s body was laid by a wall. Our Lady swept into the crowd and reached for another girl’s hand.



The End



Rebecca Harrison sneezes like Donald Duck and can be summoned by a cake signal in the sky. Her best friend is a dog who can count. She’s been nominated for Best of the Net, and was a finalist in the first Wyvern Lit flash fiction contest. Her stories can also be read at Pigeonholes Magazine, Maudlin House, Luna Station Quarterly, and elsewhere.