Sunday, March 23, 2014

Selective (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


“She’s –selective. She’s not like the rest of them.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Father.” Miriam straightened her skirts and clasped her tiny white purse in her gloved hands. For a young woman carrying the most dangerous poision in existence within her pearl-covered purse, she was the picture of calmness.

“It is–difficult.” Her father managed to choke out. “You do not know her as I do. She is not to be trusted. Never trust her!”

“She has given me no reason to doubt her,” Miriam said, mildly. “Is something the matter, Father?”

He looked at her strangely for a moment. “I am fine. Come along, we have much to do before the day is over.”

Miriam watched him stalk off into the masses and paused on the sidewalk. She rubbed her nose with one gloved hand, the same one that had placed the poison inside her purse. The effects should be untraceable–would be, she knew, as she quickened her step to catch up.

Selective, her father had said. Well. She’d just have to show them both, wouldn’t she? Miriam sneezed and grimaced, before gathering up her skirts and sprinting before she lost sight of her father’s ridiculous hat.

(c) Sara Harricharan
Thanks for reading!