4 Writer’s Platform Building–Flash Fiction Challenge.

The shadows crept across the wall. For a moment she was surprised she could still see them, in this dark.

She struggled to lift her head, caught in the moment between then and now.

Then, she’d been reading, snuggled in the duvet, eye-deep in Bronte, her all-time favourite. Vince had set her up for a luxurious night without him. His home-cooked pasta, a bubbly bath with that huge goblet of Minot, the room romantically strewn with those big chocolate and vanilla scented candles.

Then, he’d even brought out the special edition book, and tucked her into their bed as he’d opened the window to let the angels in, he’d said. Because she loved angels. And reading. And feeling all cushy and safe swaddled in the duvet, head buzzing with too much luxury, but warm against the cold night air.

Now, she’d wished she’d never woken up.

Now flaring pain tore up her nerves as she pushed at the duvet melted into her. Through glazing-dry eyes, she looked at what used to be her hands out there, all ash and blister. For a moment she was surprised she could still see them, in this dark.

Orange, red, golden agony.

Everything faded.

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