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Friday Fiction: Puppets





Incessant. The dripping. It’s… incessant. Oil. Or perhaps blood. I can’t tell from so far but it’s far too thick to be water. And far too dark. Everything is dark. Except – I can see. I can see in the dark; luminous emerald visions. I can see everything. I can see…


They cannot see me. Ghastly elongated figures. Human. Monster.

Sulfurous redolence encompasses them and wafts into my nostrils. Beings erratically twitch about on legs half bent, and arms twisted into irregular angles like broken tree branches. A gorge yawns where mouths should be. Alabaster barbs for teeth.


A whisper drifts to my ear.


A scream catches in my throat. I whirl about towards the voice; a mirror image.

“That’s what they all are. Puppets.” the living reflection breathes.

He takes a step forward. I shuffle back against a contorted leg and fall. My hands graze the ragged, cold floor, slick with the same thick liquid dripping in the distance. I scramble away from the hissing creature as it lunges for me. Then away from the advancing man who shoves the creature aside with casual grace; it hisses at him but he is unperturbed as he stalks closer. The replica. Me.

“Careful. Don’t get too close again.” He warns casually. I bump into another of the creatures. Its stench washes over me and I gag at its split feet; gnarled leathery claws. The creature swipes at my head with root like fingers. I watch. Fascinated. Horrified. Awed.

Pain splits across my face.

Emerald vision doubles, spilling flamed streaks. A cry escapes me and fills the void.

Blurred limbs languidly twist towards me collectively. They lurch towards the sound. Towards me. Floundering mutant abnormalities; what are they? What are they!?




They drag towards me.





I steal glances towards the man bearing my face and the limbering monsters. I see him/me watch with intrigue.

“Stop!” he suddenly shouts.

The creatures halt in mid stride. A hiss escapes their agonized mouths in coiling ropes, distinctly crimson even in my green-amber-hued vision.

The man steadily marches towards me, almost robotic in his irregular gait. He kneels before me.

“The problem with puppets” his fetid breath explains “is their lack of humanity. But you…” crooked fingers caress my face, the sound like two pages rubbing, the sensation like wet used sandpaper, still rough yet sickeningly smooth. And damp.

“You are my perfection. A gift from the aether. Mechanical as you are mortal. Soon you shall be complete and my soul shall replace the void that inhibits you.” The fingers graze my neck, slip around and rest on a bone on my spine. A toothless smile grows on the scaly lips.

“Rest well my Pinocchio. You’re gonna be a real boy.”


Friday Fiction: Everyday Troubles


Given Sibeko thought he knew what a bad day entailed. Missing a taxi at Bree Taxi rank making him late for work. Not a bad day, these things happen. Getting piled into the next taxi so that they sat six instead of four at the back, was expected though in most cases an exception. Getting stopped by traffic officers for overloading the taxi an obvious conclusion. Forgetting his laptop bag in the taxi he had been piled into, and remembering just as it swerved across the intersection and around the building… well he was beginning to feel as though Lady Luck was facing away from him. His chest felt heavy. The dawning realization spreading through his veins filled him with dread, spreading into his mind where he foresaw the implications of losing a company laptop, and all the data he didn’t end up backing up following the previous night’s loadshedding – rage and despair engulfed him. The urge to scream at the top of his lungs was barely stifled, by the way he would look with the crowds around him.


Jan-Fredrick van Vuuren looked down from the balcony of the apartment where he had taken residency for the day. Given Sibeko had arrived as expected, his laptop forgotten as he was supposed to and now the frustrated young man was staring up at the sky in controlled anger.

“Has his laptop been left in the taxi as per instruction?” a voice spoke behind him

“Yes sir.” Jan-Fredrick replied. The other man walked towards the window and they stood shoulder to shoulder. He turned to the other man,

“Would this really be the man who caused the 30 April 2022 event in Carlton Center?”

“If he had taken his laptop to work… yes.”

They stared on at Given, each contemplating their role in the advancement of the human race.


You’ll have a few really good days and then there may be a string of days where nothing seems to go right.

Time to Write: Everyday Troubles

Friday Flash Fiction: War

Words: 100
Title: War

On Friday everything changed.
One moment the sun blazed uncomfortably over our heads as the school principal explained the day’s proceedings during assembly. The next moment the entire school was in uproar, as a quake shook the ground and an ear-piercing explosion threw us to the floor.
In the chaos that ensued, fighter jets painted the skies with black smoke as mechanical voices echoed loud in the commotion,
The voice continued. The explosions continued. I stared up at the receding Joburg skyline. War.

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