This post is for the April Shower’s Blog Hop, hosted by Blogaholic Social Network!
In Honor of this auspicious occasion (my first blog hop), I have taken the liberty of writing a small bit of Flash Fiction, titled (teehee) “April Showers”
It was spring, and instead of planting a garden or looking for love, I was skulking in the doorway of an old book store, avidly avoiding the torrential downpour that currently assailed the small town of Whitehaven. I scowled at the offending sheet of constant rain that blocked my escape through the open doorway. I took a deep breath, fully taking in the musty odor of ancient books, and let out a disgruntled sigh.
“Just make a run for it, lass. So you get a tad wet,” Oliver shrugged, giving me that crooked smile that he usually reserved for old, battered, and rare tomes.
I leveled my eyes at him, glaring over the top of my glasses. “That isn’t funny. You know that they hang out in the rain.” I waved at the doorway. “It’s a frigging monsoon out there. They will be out in droves.” I crossed my arms and scowled, leaning against the Horror section.
He chuckled. It was a raspy, like the sound one gets from quickly flipping the pages of an old book. “You can’t hide from them forever, Anemone.”
“Ann. Why can’t you remember to call me Ann?” I ranted, pushing my glasses back up my nose. “They are going to find me if you keep calling me by that other name.”
Oliver grabbed his cane and something else, and hobbled around the counter. At first, I thought that he was bringing me a rolled up newspaper, folded longwise and wrapped around a broom handle, but unfortunately, it turned out to be an ancient umbrella. It did not inspire confidence. He thrust the unwanted contraption into my hands and nudged me towards the door. “I suggest you hurry, then, lass. Those manuscripts aren’t going to fetch themselves.”
The old librarian was probably my dearest friend, but it was times like this that made me question his priorities. The rain still showed no signs of abating. I frowned and reluctantly opened the umbrella. It smelled like mothballs. I cocked an eyebrow at Oliver, but he just gave me that crooked smile. “If they catch me,” I warned him, “I’m going to blame everything on you.”
His wrinkled face curled into a smug smile and he gave me a small wave, effectively shooing me wordlessly out the door.
I stood in the rain, under the ancient umbrella, and prayed that the Nixe didn’t find me. Much to my dismay, I turned towards the street and walked right into one.
I fell backwards, dropping the umbrella and nearly landing in the puddle. The only thing that saved my tush from being completely submerged in puddle was the Nixe catching my arm and pulling me against him. My heart stopped, but not because I was afraid of the water spirit.
No, it was something worse. Flower sprites liked Nixies. It was a Mother Nature sort of thing. I looked into the face of the Nixe and into the face of my doom. All these years of avoiding them and my day of reckoning had come. I, Anemone, am a flower sprite, and Nereus is a Nixe.
There are going to be lots of flowers around the old book house in May.