The dark icicles

The end was nigh, but Rico didn’t care.

Just yesterday, he’d sat waiting saplessly, the dark icicles growing over his heart.

His enchanted instrument had fallen into a perpetual cycle of disrepair and repair, just as the witch doctor had warned it would, and its upkeep was becoming increasingly expensive. The musician smiled ruefully at a sharp twinge in his abdomen – this time, it had cost him a kidney.

Still, puffing on his cigar, Rico smiled. The shaman’s curse had granted him purpose.

Photo by Laurie McCormick

This piece of flash fiction was written in response to:

39 thoughts on “The dark icicles”

  1. The shamanโ€™s curse had
    granted him purpose

    One is often prompted to face up to a threatening situation to register a displeasure. You have an amazing ability to respond to many prompts, David! Wishing you happy holidays and a Happy New Year!

    Hank

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