Cauldron by Cheryl Anne Gardner

It was such a clear night, the moonlight dancing through the crests of the trees, the wind nothing more than a crinkling shiver through the dry leaves.

A sailor returned to the shoreline of his death, bare feet sunk in the sand, collecting the rotten bits of fish and seaweed that pushed and pulled at his ankles with the urgency of the tide.

He couldn’t stop them.

Not in his own lifetime.

Not that he hadn’t tried to douse the fire with selfish lament and prayer, but even then, he couldn’t stop them clinging to their hatred, and, their despair.

“Too young,” he said to the small fish lying lifeless in his wet hand. “You’re too young, and I’m too old, dead, and alone to strip any meat from a well-worn bone.”

© 2011 Cheryl Anne Gardner

Cheryl Anne Gardner prefers writing stories to writing bios because she always seems to forget what point of view she is in. When she isn’t writing, she likes to chase marbles on a glass floor, eat lint, play with sharp objects, and make taxidermy dioramas with dead flies. Her flash fiction has been published at Dustbin, Dark Chaos, Carnage Conservatory, Pure Slush, Negative Suck, Danse Macabre, and at The Molotov Cocktail among others. You can find more of her work at Twisted Knickers Publications. She is also the administrative muscle behind this site. If you want to leave her a message, you will have to leave it with the nurse at the front desk. Visiting hours are over.

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