They ran. They didn’t look back at Laura and Our Lady. The city blurred with their footsteps. When they stopped, Helena led them down alleyways and past terraces. Emily tried not to think of Laura lying in the streets. She dug her nails into her palms. Her thoughts seemed to scream. They traipsed under bridges and towers. Emily didn’t know if the silence felt like it was falling from the sky or rising from the ground. She tried to smile to comfort the children. They slept in a deserted mansion. In the strange rooms, Emily stayed awake listening to the darkness. They moved on at sunrise. Emily watched the skies for distant birds. She pointed at a kestrel. The streets widened into fields. They went on into the green.
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.