The latest segment of this week’s Twisters (Twitter-length fiction.) If you’re not on Twitter, why not? If you are on Twitter, but don’t write Twisters for #artwiculate, #aLtwiculate, #lqw, #liblit or #15tt, why not? These #s are different word-of-the-day prompt feeds, with a huge following of contributors. Get on that!
From New Age shamans he sought a cure.
As his health recovered, he shouted “miracle,” thanking God.
The doctors felt cheated.
The poseur posed – “He bends!” they whispered, awestruck.
That he called himself a yagi rather than a yogi should have tipped them off.
His fasces struck the fascia of my arm, “You shall not touch the Consul!” he shouted.
“For Rome,” I replied, “Die you fascist!”
The soutache of my cloak was torn, unravelled on the briar’s needle.
My mother cursed, her tongue as sharp as her touch, furious.
He looked at me, smiling into my eyes with those tombstone teeth
– he was right, and he knew it, the smarmy bastard.
She bore her cicatrices with pride, carrying the battles of her past with pride
– disguising her mental scars with aplomb.