Sunday, 21 October 2012

October Flash - Day 20

The Flash Fiction Project at Google+ has something new going on! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.

Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for today:

Ice melting, breaking away from the core. The heart of the matter, revealed in time. What a terrible thought.
For Lex it was clear that the heart of the matter was nobody's business but his own. And his defences were melting, giving way under the suggestive pressure of... ice melting. It was everywhere.
Icicles hanging from the windowsill, dripping away their very substance. Ice cubes diluting his drink. And, of course, the picture on the wall.
Lex raised his glass to it in an act of defiance, swearing that he would never give in to it. The drink was real alcohol. He hadn't expect that, not here. They couldn't possibly be allowed to drink alcohol here. It warmed his heart, ice melting...
The glass shattered against an ice-blue wall. Lex's chest was heaving with rage. They were playing tricks on him! Stooping so low, who would have thought?
Of course, they had no evidence; he was far too clever to leave any clues behind except the planted ones. Nevertheless, they had caught up with him. But never, ever would they be able to prove anything. He would never confess that...
No. Lex stopped the thought just in time.
"Your tricks won't work!" The walls threw the shout back at him, and the resonance broke more ice. Closer to the core...
He clenched his fist and moved his arm back, muscles straining like a crossbow. His fist crashed into the painting, leaving blood stains on the glaciers. His blood seethed in his veins.
"Couldn't you read the clues?" Lex shouted. "It was all there, pointing to the gardener! I know it must have! Why didn't you see it? Why did you take me?"
He coughed, breathless. His throat protested against the unusual exercise. In search for cooling, he leaned his head against the window. Outside, icicles were melting, shrinking, their substance giving way to the force of the sun. Inside, the room felt like an oven.
"You will never get me," whispered Lex, his breath staining the glass. "There is no prove. Believe me. I didn't leave any." He was shaking with fever.
Behind him, a door opened. Hands, cool and so very welcome, took hold of his shoulders. Steel grips on his wrists bent his arms back. Metal, oh so soothingly cold, clicked around his burning skin.
"You cannot prove anything." His voice was hoarse, barely audible above the noise of ice melting, crashing down into a sea of guilt.

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