Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

Freedom

The knife. Grab the knife. But he couldn’t hear me because my lips weren’t moving. My stomach burned like it always did when I tried to take control, the flame of her presence igniting and spreading farther the harder I tried to fight. That was the strangest part about the whole thing, that being possessed by a demon felt like nothing more than bad indigestion.

“Why are you here?” she snarled through my lips.

He stepped closer to my body and I could smell crisp air and dying leaves on his coat. Was it fall already? Time was doing strange things. I tried to scream as he studied my face, looking for any sign that I was still there. She gave none. His shoulders sagged. “I came to tell you that this is my last visit.”

As she threw my head back and laughed, I deflated. I should have expected this. He shouldn’t have to live with this creature as his wife. It was over for us the moment she took control.   

She refused to touch him. She barely talked to him. He thought I was leaving him. Until the day her true reflection shown in the mirror. He’d tried to save me, but what could he do? Once he knew the truth, she wouldn’t let him stay in the house. But he kept coming back, kept trying.

This was the closest he’d been to us in months. I could smell him. I couldn’t do this. I wanted out no matter what it took. The knife, I tried again, trying to convince my head to turn toward the bedside table where the blade glinted in the fall light coming through the curtains.

“You’re leaving her?” she taunted. She was enjoying her victory and I took advantage of her distraction. Instead of focusing on taking over completely, I turned all my energy to my hand, the hand closest to the knife. The knife she always kept by her side. The knife she coveted but was afraid of. I couldn’t read her thoughts, but I felt her fear whenever that knife was out of sight.

“I’m not leaving her, she’s already gone.”

I wasn’t gone, but I wanted to be. Twitch, I urged my fingers. Move. Point.

And then one did. It twitched, every so slightly, toward the knife and, drawn to the movement, his eyes fell to the weapon. She felt it too and her anger burned. They both lunged but maybe my control was stronger for a moment because he got there first. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t say goodbye. There wasn’t time. He simply lifted the knife, brought it down, and set me free.

 

Get more stories like this in my latest book, Flash in the Dark: A Collection of Flash Fiction. 

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