New Flash Fiction: Fire Reaper


This story was inspired by a prompt on a friend’s blog, and I liked it so much I had to post it. The rules were that it had to be less than 500 words and be inspired by one of two prompts. This is also my first work of fan fiction, based on the Darker Than Black anime series. What fun! If you haven’t tried it, do! It’s fantastic to put your spin on something you really love. 

”The pain surprised her, she had thought it would hurt less this time.  Looking down, a tear fell from her cheek and disappeared into the pool of warm blood.  She knew she would have to find somewhere to wash…”

But that would have to wait. First, she had to pay her price and get back on her feet. More guards were coming.

Burnt bodies lay strewn about. The carcasses smoked, and charred bits of brains dotted the floor around their bashed-in heads. That was her MO. Beat their brains out then set them on fire. A heartless contractor, she was feared by all. The very mention of her name sent waves of terror through the hearts of humankind, and even some contractors.

She wiped away the tears, the ones sprung from self-inflicted pain. Ignoring the smell of seared flesh, she concentrated on the knife in her hand. A trail of blood, her blood, already ran its jagged length.

You don’t feel pain. Or fear. Your mind is ruled by order and logic. Pay the price and live. Don’t, and you die. 

It’s logical.

Pay the damned price!

She sliced her arm and screamed, felt the metal cut through skin, muscle and tendons. Her wrist fell back, limp. It would heal. Maybe not before they came, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need hands to kill.

Getting to her feet, she stumbled from loss of blood. Men were coming down the hall, the sound of their boots echoing against the metal paneling. They would arrive in seconds.

Inhaling, she felt her wounds regenerating. Surprised, she exhaled and felt her strength also returning. That was fast. Must be my proximity to the Gate. A few breaths later, she smiled and snapped open her eyes. She was more than ready.

The room crackled with contained heat. Plastic knobs and wall panels melted, running down like waves of wax. Fire crackled along her skin; she seethed with it.

The door opened. Guards surged into the room.

“Freeze, Fire Reaper!”

She laughed at the irony. Her fire blazed, turning from red to white.

The guard gulped but stood firm. “Team 1, move in!”

Dodging, she spun around, catching a guard on the chin with a boot. She reached for and grabbed another by the throat. Her fire burned through the heat-resistant gear, sending the stink into the air. She hurled him into the floor and then drove the heel of her boot through the helmet. “Anyone else?”

The guards backed away.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill you all, anyway.” A shock of heat burst from her, cutting off the men’s cries. Blackened pools of plastic shone on the floor, and the metal skeletons of chairs and consoles glowed red hot.

“Nice work.” She turned to see Hei slide down a cable towards her. He handed her his double bladed knife. “Figured yours was incinerated.”

She accepted it and pulled up a sleeve to expose her arm. “You might not want to see this,” she said. She bit her lip when the blood dribbled down her arm and weakness overtook her.

Hei propped her up by the shoulder. Then he touched his earpiece. “Huang, we’re in.”

Dyane Forde (September 2013)

491 words


Rebirth, a poem

red tree

Oy, I’m in one of those moods again. Maybe it’s because it’s Sunday and I’m alone and I have time to THINK (a gift any wife and mother can appreciate, lol). But I got to thinking about life and about the many hats I put on to get through an average day. It’s exhausting, and when it goes on for too long without a time to regroup, it becomes confusing. And frustrating. At times, I can get so caught up in meeting other people’s needs or expectations that I lose perspective of who am I and what’s important to me. That’s why I like to be ALONE. I can throw all those damn hats into a corner and just be me for 15 minutes or a day. But it’s hard to do. In this busy, overstimulating world, it’s hard to sit back and do a self-analysis, to separate our inner self from that outer self. Not that there has to be a real ‘separation’ of the two since we are whole people, but I mean in the sense of identifying and accepting our core values, our sense of self; our identity. We are many things, a lot of them socially constructed (wife, father, worker, lover, caregiver), but who are we inside? What makes us tick? Makes us happy? Sad? Hurt? Angry? Anyway, these ideas are the core of what started this poem. It’s a little graphic, but looking inward can be difficult and painful. Oh, and the tree image above is the closest thing I could find to the original, more sinister looking one which started this off whole thing.


Like oil,
The shadow of
Your crimson tree
Sprawls across the ground.
Black, poisonous. Deadly.
It’s coming for me.

Your mangled cross stands alone,
A twisted aberration of
Branches creaking
In the wind.
It beckons. I listen.
Do I go to my own

All my life,
You have watched
My every move,
Disapproving eye catching
No haven or harbour
Could I find to escape.
You waited patiently, expecting me
To fall.

And now judgement.
Now the revealing.
I die so the truth may be seen.
No more faces, no more
Just the core.
When my skin is shed,
When my essence pours out
When I see my heart
Who will I see staring back?
She? Her? That one?
Which is the real me?

Everyone watches.
I close my eyes.
The nails drive in,
The sword cuts deep.
Blood is drawn.

Through pain
We come into this life.
Through pain
We are further formed.
Through pain
We are broken.
But then
We are reborn.


D.Forde (July 2013)