Three Flash Fictions of Still-Lives, Voyeurism and Exhibitions
(a regular “Night Gallery”, if you will…)
By Kirsty Logan
“There was only one inner door, so the hunter opened it. He held his candle at arm’s length, but still could see nothing more than the foot of an ocean-sized bed. The hunter crawled across its length, disregarding the brief waft of mold from the blankets. He placed the candlestick on the squat table beside the bed and pulled the covers up over his body.”
WHAT MAKES YOU TICK?
“…they bring their straps and their knives and explore the frontiers of my body. They will find nothing.”
“‘Didn’t take long to find where it was coming from, and it was a bad thing. I wasn’t the only dead girl in the pageant. The new girl, the new dead girl, she was competition.”