Flash Fiction

Little Jonny Frazer floated in on the echo of an unspoken word. The dust and detritus fell away as he settled into his syncopation. Not speaking but acting. Not rhyming but beating. Kneeling before the memory of a swirling vortex forcing out the yesterday that is still to come. Explosions and expulsions drag him back to reality and continued praying for the rescue of his northern soul.

The one known as The Face purposely smiled on Little Jonny. Conducting a complex ritual, The Face let it be known that intolerance was the latest game on the town. His incantations led to actions. Actions led to severance. And severance led to desperation. The Face terminated all prayer and made his judgement.

The Face and Little Jimmy braced themselves for conflict. They didn’t discuss it. They did it. One, two, three kick. One, two parry. One, two, three twist. One, two spin. And again. Up the tempo. Scrub it and start again. And again. Like making love on a mountain. Too hot to stop.

But all things must stop. Silence glides, golden and sweated, and the conflict is done. Gladiators retreat to their respectives. Onlookers know the score. The next contenders circle, poised, hopeful and ready.