·120 words·1 min
Flash Fiction Deadlines For Writers
“Why have you summoned.”
“There is trouble.”
The frothing cauldron’s surface cleared. A man stood at a sidewalk, focussed on a small device in his hand. He started to step out in front of a large moving vehicle, but was pulled away by a passer by.
“Is it the interloper?”
“Is it subterfuge?”
“It is trouble.”
The three spoke at once. After some silence, one continued.
“We cannot take direct action. Something must be done.”
“I sense your thoughts, sister. It is dangerous.”
“So be it.”
Harold was enjoying his Saturday stroll when a crow landed in front of him on the sidewalk. How strange, he thought, stopping. Just ahead there was a loud crash followed by screams.