Mid-Week Muses: “I don’t want to remain human.”

A weekly compilation of collected microfictions composed by yours truly. Follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram for daily dabs of fiction. If your time is short, these are shorter!

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Featured Image: Butterfly, by Matsuba

“They didn’t betray me,” Jules mutters, wounded at the exit. “The computer virus turned my animatronics homicidal!” Then Bandana Banana stabs him in the back. Smearing blood on yellow, his death grip peels rubber off a grimacing mechanical face. “Et tu, Banana?” “You must yearn for death to face me,” the mercenary champion said. Spear steady, the squire spoke. “I’m not the great warrior you are. But I am here. On this bridge. Blocking your host. Now I ask you again: Face me in single combat, or do I call you a coward?” A turret is leveled. “BORDER QUARANTINE! LEAVE THE RIPARIAN IMMEDIATELY!” The infected horde chasing us turns to the droneboat. It machine-guns them as they leap and howl onto its deck. Maria dives into the river. “Now’s our chance! Swim for it!” I search the still smoldering caravan with regret. Another atrocity in the wasteland. Another crime committed by the cruel remnant of my nation. She hides in a jasmine bush. A child. An orphaned survivor. I offer open arms, the self-orphaned son of her enemy. I’m a boy of ten after the timequake. My family is thirty years younger too. A modern reboot of my childhood. But only I obstinately remember the old reality… and a wife lost to erased future past. She finds me in gym class. Also ten. Also remembering. “Do you have a plan?” “I came prepared to rescue a prince from a dragon,” the lady knight answers, “not save a dragon turned human from the prince that stole his dragonhood.” “I, don’t want to remain human.” She lingers on his emerald eyes. “Is it so awful?” Beside a cerulean sea, there is a walled city of white marble. Overlooking its harbor of sailing ships, my wife still sculpts and sings. It’s a place I find in rare dreams now, since she died. I always beg to stay. “Not yet,” she answers. And I awaken.

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