SECOND PLACE WINNER OF THE COMET’S FLASH FICTION CONTEST Home byLincoln Nere

Frosted ice cream covers the cave walls. Stalagmites of orange cream hang overhead delicately, their points sharp and threatening. The manacles around my wrists start to shimmer with a sheen of ice as I’m moved forward through the labyrinth of man-made halls.

“You don’t have to keep me shackled. I thought we were past this.”

The long red and pink cloak swirls behind our walking feet, kicking up the dusting of colorful sprinkles that litter the ground. The sword hanging off my back taps against the worn beef leather chest piece and I shiver again. It’s never been this cold in the Meatlands.

He chuckled a bit, “We’re too close now. I can’t risk you sneaking off.”

It’s been months since I left. I miss the sounds of the red river and the smells of charcoal on the wind. The pit in my stomach longing for home gives a pang, but I push it aside. Once we meet with the Sugar King and discuss terms of peace, I’m allowed to return.

Giant mounds of hard ice cream scoops sit against the walls. Chocolate chips protrude from the frosted mint like angry daggers. Cookie dough balls sit in the middle of the hall. I reactively kick one and it rolls across the uneven cavern floors, knocking into broken pieces of cone and disappears out of sight.

I’m slammed against the cavern wall and my vision goes black momentarily.

“You have a death wish, don’t you?” he snarled, his gummy face inches from my own, “The things living in these halls would kill you and I both before we even had a chance to draw weapons.” Chitters and clicks echo from a distance.

He backs away from me and I shake the frost off my shoulder. I lean my head side to side, wincing as an ache spread across the back of my skull. I didn’t respond as he pulled my shackles forward.

He lets out a sigh and mumbles, “I’m sorry… I just don’t want to die before we make it.”

I nod a bit, staring at my leathered jerky boots. They’re starting to grow stiff in the decreasing temperature. The large piece of turkey cloak that hangs from my shoulders has stopped swirling and is beginning to feel heavier with every step. There’s a sudden burst of warm air across my face, stinging my cheeks.

The mouth of the entrance is large, the edges jagged. There is a small pile of burning cake cone in the corner, and a handful of people sit around it. All of them are wrapped in silvery-white pieces of melted sugar, the warmth of the fire keeping it moldable.

The thrown in the middle of the room, void of anyone, is almost transparent. Riddled with bubbles that couldn’t escape when curing, the back of it is crafted from different shards of sharp sugar.

I whip my head over to my companion. My reflection on the metal armor plates stares at me and I almost don’t recognize myself.

The thin green strands of rosemary that fall from my head are matted around the ears, tangled in dry blood from weeks of fighting on the road. My pink skin is stretched across my face, my jawline tight. I look older, stronger. My eyes linger on the butcher paper handle of my sword, T-bone, sticking up behind my head. Dark brown fingerprints lay splattered across the hilt.

The ice-cold manacles around my wrists fall to the ground.

“Don’t run, okay?” he whispers down to me. His partially melted face glows in the light of the distant fire.

I say nothing but hold his eye. His face is softer than before. The longer I look, the more I see. His eyes aren’t all black, there are speckles of brown in them. Creases crinkle upwards as if he’s spent years smiling and laughing. They look like my father’s eyes.

“Your wrists are turning blue.” he says, interrupting my train of thought.

“Yeah, well, we don’t really get snow down South.” I mumble, rubbing my wrists.

His lets out a deep chuckle, and I smile in return. He still hasn’t looked away from me, but I can’t bring myself to keep the contact. I break it, looking down at my blue wrists.

“I know that we didn’t meet on the best of terms... “ he begins, his voice gruff. I keep my eyes down. “But I just wanted to say... I’m really prou—”

His voice cuts off. I wait a second before looking up.

Gooey liquid starts spitting from his mouth and his shaking hands reach up to grasp the pointed arrow that sticks through his throat. His knees wobble and he falls to them.

I reach forward, his blood spilling all over my trembling hands.

“No—wait, just hold on.. It’s gonna be okay—we’re—we’re gonna fix you!” I whisper as he slides towards the ground.

Red tears stream down my face, as a charge of Meatlanders enter the mouth of the cave. Their weapons are drawn, and screams of battle erupt around us.

“STOP, PLEASE. JUST STOP!”

My cries are worthless as I hold his head in my lap, blood coating the front of his armor plates.

“Arthur..” his voice cracks.

“No. Don’t you dare die on me. You promised.” I choke the words out.

He reaches up, wiping a tear from my cheek. A trail of blood from his fingers leaves a streak across my skin. The sounds of battle end after some time, and I stare at my friend’s face. I didn’t even know his name. His blank eyes stare back up at me, lifeless. The brown speckles dulled.

“Lord Arthur. It’s finished. They didn’t stand a chance once we arrived, only a few scattered soldiers protected the King” a heavily armored soldier is standing over my shoulder. “When the rest hear that he’s dead, they’ll lay down their arms. The war has been won. You can come home now. ”

Home.