Urban Fantasist
Menu
Picture
Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Poetry & Fiction

Looking for Beauty, Looking for Bigfoot - two new flash fiction stories

22/6/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
Two interesting short – one is very short – flash fiction stories for you now. Both involve men searching for something elusive – and in the process missing something more important. 

Our first story – The Bigfoot Hunter – is by Christopher DeWan. He is author of the book Work and Other Essays, and has published over 30 stories in journals including A cappella Zoo, Bartleby Snopes, DOGZPLOT, Jersey Devil Press, JMWW, Juked, Necessary Fiction, and wigleaf. His fiction has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize and you can find him at http://christopherdewan.com

Then we have The Collector by Suzanne Conboy-Hill, a British writer "with no genre allegiance". Her flash fiction and short stories have been published by Fine Linen Literary Journal, Full of Crow, Zouch Magazine, and Cut A Long Story amongst others. She was a finalist in the Lascaux Short Fiction Prize 2014 and she once met Isaac Asimov and can be found at http://www.conboy-hill.co.uk


The Bigfoot Hunter
by Christopher DeWan



There’s a Bigfoot hunter in the woods, stooped over what he thinks might be a footprint in the mud. He kneels and squints at his tape measure. He’s looking for proof. He’s been days tracking, making his way up the Duwamish River estuary and through to the watershed at Kanaskat, alongside cliff faces carved out, the hunter knows, by the Cordilleran Ice Sheet, 15,000 years ago. He’s deep in the heart of what was once Salish country – the Salish, who were well acquainted with his famous, elusive quarry: they called it Sasq’ets the Big Man of the Mountain – Sasquatch – and they saw what the hunter himself cannot see:

That while he crouches in the mud, measuring the indefinite imprint, assessing, cataloging, labeling, he himself is at the center of a valley of rock, hundreds of feet deep, thousands of years old, its walls carved out by ancient violence, magma flowing under its skin, and shaped—though he cannot make this out from his vantage—exactly like a human foot, arched, five toes, and bigger, older, more colossal, more magnificent, more dreadful than the man can possibly imagine.  



The Collector
by Suzanne Conboy-Hill



‘Only Art is immortal,’ she says, her arms umber-stippled ribbons, lithe in the firelight. ‘Humans are not.’ Alia dances with cognisance, knowing every fluid move and bringing each one to him where he sits, red and heavy, in the warm desert sand.

‘My passion is immortal,’ he says to her. But he is a collector and he is thinking of how appreciative his friends will be of her exoticism. She will dance for them and their eyes will glow hot under the cold northern skies.

She makes an ululation, ‘Humans grow old and they die,’ she sings. Her words are bells somewhere within him, drawing together the scent of the smoke from the men’s pipes, the bitter taste of the coffee on his tongue, and the pungency of the pack animals nearby. She is exquisite; he has bought her; he will take her home.

‘There is another thing.’ An older man, his breath smelling of liquorice, brings his face close so that his iron beard almost brushes the other man’s sgraffito complexion.

‘I have paid,’ the collector replies, ‘the contract is signed.’ He slides a slow blink.

‘A small ritual; our custom.’ The old man inclines his head, smiles and weaves deference into the air with his hands. ‘You will come?’

The night is filled with the heaviness of desert scents and the collector’s mind with thoughts of Alia dancing to command. ‘As you wish,’ he agrees. So he, the old man, and Alia move away from the fire to a small tent; low hanging, tasselled, and lit with oil lamps. A bowl deep with henna sits in the centre and hollow brown pens surround it. A tattoo, he thinks. Well that can easily be removed.

But it is not for him. Alia turns away, letting her tunic fall to her waist, and now he sees that she is the embodiment of fine design – brown on gold, darker on dark, curving with her curves and extending tempting tendrils beyond the soft folds of her robe.

‘Your likeness will appear here.’ The old man indicates virgin skin towards the centre of Alia’s spine and the collector leans close to look, excited by the intimacy of it. As he does, faint lines begin to appear – an outline, some shading – but with no stylus supplying the ink. He sits back: the drumming outside, the smoke, the spiced coffee – those things, he thinks, are playing tricks. He leans forward again, and now he notices human forms in the patterning. They are beautiful, but as he watches there is movement: eyes pleading, hands reaching out. Fear catches him and he sweats. Trickles of rose pigment erupt from his pores and fade to blush in salty streams, draining down from pastel shoulders, and bleaching the faint ink sketch that he is becoming until it holds nothing of him.

The new eyes on Alia’s back deepen and plead. ‘I told you,’ she says, ‘only Art is immortal.’

0 Comments

Your comment will be posted after it is approved.


Leave a Reply.

    Picture
    Welcome to the Grievous Angel – fresh free-to-read science fiction and fantasy flash fiction and poetry, including scifaiku and haiga.

    ISSN 2059-6057

    Quote, Unquote

    "We need more excellent markets like Grievous Angel" ...award winning Canadian author

    "Thank goodness for guys like you, who devote so much time to these things" ...Elizabeth Crocket

    "Thank you for giving us such a cool and unique e-mag" ...Mandy Nicol

    "Thank you for your kind words and making my weekend uplifting and bright. I'm excited to be published alongside other wonderful visual and textual works in Grievous Angel" ...D.A. Xiaolin Spires

    "Love your magazine. Keep up the good work! I've read bits and pieces of so many magazines that are so boring, I'm donating to yours because everything you publish is fascinating" ...Laura Beasley

    "I want to be a part of any project named after Gram Parsons/Emmylou Harris" ...poet, writer & journalist Andrew Darlington

    "I really love your site and the wonderful eerie fiction you publish. Unlike a lot of work, most of what I read on your site stays with me - like a flavor or a scent, slightly tinting the world" ...performer, writer, biologist and painter E.E. King

    Categories

    All
    Flash Fiction
    Haiga
    Haiku
    Poetry
    Scifaiku
    Tanka

    Archives

    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014

    RSS Feed

Picture
Copyright © Charles Christian 
& Urbanfantasist Limited 2022


urbanfantasist@icloud.com

Fuelled by Green Tea & Rosé Wine

  • Home
  • * Latest book *
  • Weird Tales Videos
  • Charles Christian Bio
  • Manifestations
  • Books & Reviews
  • Weird Tales Radio
  • Donations
  • Writing: Nonfiction
  • Writing: Fiction
  • Writing: Poetry
  • Old Americana
  • Old Grievous Angel
  • WoldsCover
  • Home
  • * Latest book *
  • Weird Tales Videos
  • Charles Christian Bio
  • Manifestations
  • Books & Reviews
  • Weird Tales Radio
  • Donations
  • Writing: Nonfiction
  • Writing: Fiction
  • Writing: Poetry
  • Old Americana
  • Old Grievous Angel
  • WoldsCover