Le Château de Tromperie

Vardezia, Georgia. CC photo by Ben van der Ploeg.
Vardezia, Georgia. CC photo by Ben van der Ploeg.

Sorry for the ridiculously pompous title of this flash fiction that I submitted for last weekend’s Flash! Friday competition. It was one of those writing moments in which I had half an hour to get the piece done before I had to be off to play football (top of the table clash if you were wondering). For once the tale just flowed out, the theme of a thunderstorm and the photo prompt quickly coming together.

Yet the title just wouldn’t emerge … I sat staring at the screen, time ticking, bereft of any ideas … till I slammed a cliched string of words into google translate … bingo, pretentious title achieved!

Thankfully the judge this week kindly overlooked such flaws and I grabbed the runner up spot.

Hope you enjoy

best

IR

Le Château de Tromperie

Clouds gather, dark laden beasts distorting the world. Even now, as the storm reaches its crescendo I stand on the precipice, burdened by the knowledge that the fortress we have built is crumbling around us.

It had been majestic at its height, polished stones and glistening metal marking our certainty. However the foundations we had lain together was built knowingly upon treacherous sands. A deceitful bedrock, wrought with fissures, that this storm has torn asunder.

Hot white sears across my head, my hands clasping my temple. The lightning consumes everything, filled with rage and frustration. I’m shocked to realise it’s my voice, his rage responding thunderously. Before either of us realise the fortresses ramparts give way, revealing hidden catacombs from which spill our secrets and resentments into the night.

Then the storm abates.

Silence. Broken by the dull drumroll of his wedding ring hitting the table.

I look up, tears streaking his face.

Then he walks out the door.

Clouds gather, dark laden beasts distorting the world. Even now, as the storm reaches its crescendo I stand on the precipice, burdened by the knowledge that the fortress we have built is crumbling around us.

It had been majestic at its height, polished stones and glistening metal marking our certainty. However the foundations we had lain together was built knowingly upon treacherous sands. A deceitful bedrock, wrought with fissures, that this storm has torn asunder.

Hot white sears across my head, my hands clasping my temple. The lighting consumes everything, filled with rage and frustration. I’m shocked to realise it’s my voice, his rage responding thunderously. Before either of us realise the fortresses ramparts give way, revealing hidden catacombs from which spill our secrets and resentments into the night.

Then the storm abates.

Silence. Broken by the dull drumroll of his wedding ring hitting the table.

I look up, tears streaking his face.

Then he walks out the door.

 

Judge’s Comment

Many stories made use of the punctuation provided by a storm, but this one did it particularly well. I loved phrases like “polished stones and glistening metal marking our certainty.” Also, “built knowingly upon treacherous sands” is all you have to read to know this relationship was flawed from the beginning. And finally, the ring hitting the table brings it all together.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s