Where did the time go by Alistair Marquise

My friend Alistair Marquise has the guest spot today with one of his flash fiction wonders. If you are not aware of what flash fiction is, it is a story told in as little as 100 words. At Helium they are a bit more forgiving and allow 400 words. Alistair is a master of this genre and while his stories may not classify as nice, little romances (Most of them send shivers up my spine!) but they are wonderfully creative and well told. So, here is Alistair's first (I do so hope he will allow me to feature others in time) flash fiction story.

Where did the time go by Alistair Marquise

The steps of the tower wind above and below him in interminable, vertigo-inducing spirals, light from unknown sources accentuating the twisting, jagged stone, offering no hope for escape, the despair of eons twisting its way with equal ferocity into both Heaven and Hell like a mammoth screw.


Every step he crawls over is an agonizing conquest, every crumbling stair an altar where fingernails, bits of skin, and blood are sacrificed in order to progress in his seemingly eternal ordeal.  His knees, having long been transformed into tattered knobs, finally force him to rest next to a brittle, old skeleton.  Brushing skull and scapula aside, the dusty bones falling into the limitless abyss below, he collapses in a shambled pile of hopeless exhaustion.

“Have some respect,” comes the rusty-hinged voice.  

Rolling over onto his side, a broken ridge digging into his thin ribs, he sees the black and white hare sitting a few steps below.

“Leave me… alone…” he commands weakly, his throat aching.

“Oh, now,” the hare creaks, the strange light of the tower silhouetting its lithe body.  “Why so glum?  Have you finally accepted the truth?”

“No,” he answers with a weary sigh, blinking dust from his eyes as he looks upward.  “I will be free of this place.”

“Heh,” the hare puffs, its black eyes unblinking.  “You were a young man when you were banished here, but look at you now- a cracked and fragile husk!  How much time do you think you have left?  Indeed, where do you think the time has gone?”

“The time…” he groans, rolling back onto his knees, digging his blackened fingertips into the stone.  “…has not gone anywhere.  The world… still waits for me…”

“Well,” the hare says, its long ears twitching as it turns away.  “You’re right about part of it.  A word of advice though, old man- watch your head.”

Before he has a chance to contemplate the hare's words, he is struck on the head by something that breaks apart in a cloud of dust and fragments.  Startled, he looks down.

There, staring up at him from the stone, is the fractured face of an old skull.

See? Told you it was eerie! Thanks so much, Alistair. You are a master of your chosen craft.