Trying My Hand at Flash Fiction

I started a story a while back that rapidly turned into just a rambling heap and didn't really go anywhere. Inspired by this story I decided to see if I could edit my own story down to less than 800 words and still tell something of a story. Of course I've written less than 800 words many times for marketing copy or web copy or magazine articles, but flash fiction is new to me. And, it's fantasy, so the challenge of some amount of world building was there, too. Tricky, but a good challenge.

So, for your perusal and consideration, I give you "Jovari's Wells." Please let me know what you think!

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Kamari glared at the sky and cursed the sun. Tausiq stood before a line of men waiting to see the Prophet. “Tasi,” Kamari said. “Lend me your waterskin.”

“Empty.”

Kamari wiped her brow. Scarred arms, tired eyes, disheveled headdresses – a line of duplicate women stood before her, stretching away from the temple and into the hopelessness of Jovari’s Wells. The wells had dried up centuries before, but the city smelled of theatrical determination to survive. Cisterned water was rationed; only those who had taken their place in the Tapestry could drink it. Scarce food, scarcer hope – the the lines grew longer every day, the scars got deeper, the Rapture more sought-after. To reject the Prophet was to reject the will of the AllGod; to reject the AllGod was to reject food, water, life.

To reject the AllGod meant exile to the Wastes.

The Willers lived out there – those who lived by choice. Those who refused to submit to the Prophet – who deemed death in the elements better than death by destiny.

Kamari shuddered. And hoped.

Temple doors opened and closed; brief coolness washed over Kamari. A man took his parchment to Tausiq. “The Prophet has spoken,” Tausiq said. He signed the parchment. “Go take your place in the Tapestry.”

Kamari signaled to next woman. “You seek guidance?”

The woman held out an arm. Scars ranged from faintly visible to silver and raised to barely healed. Kamari picked up her small knife with its bone hilt. “May the AllGod give you guidance through his Prophet,” she intoned. “May you join the others in the Tapestry.” She took the woman’s arm and found rare unmarred skin; blood dripped into a ceremonial bowl from the fresh cut and formed a small pool. She placed a clean cloth on the woman’s arm and gave her the bowl. “Go in peace.” The woman entered the temple.

Kamari’s head ached under the heavy headdress. “Tasi, I’m going to get water.”

He threw her his waterskin. “Fill mine, too.”

She entered the temple and closed her eyes, the marbled floors giving sweet relief from the heat. She tired of looking at the mosaics that told the stories of the AllGod and his Prophets. She just needed water.

Kamari filled both waterskins with fresh, clear water from the temple fountain. She splashed some on her face and wiped it with the fabric that trailed from her headdress before she returned to the heat. “Here. Next time you can fill them both.”

“I thought you’d want the break from the heat.”

“I’m not your serving girl.”

Chosen by the Prophet as Gatekeepers, bonded by ancient ritual when they were toddlers, Tausiq and Kamari weren’t brother and sister, but as good as. A serving woman cared for their physical needs even as the Prophet’s priests taught them spiritual matters. The Prophet himself remained secluded.

The temple door opened and the woman she had given entry emerged with a look of vapid peace. “The Rapture,” they called it. “Parchment,” Kamari prompted.

“What? Yes.” She handed Kamari the parchment. Blood trickled down her arm. “A Weaver. I’m to be a Weaver.”

Kamari looked at the woman’s hands – thick, calloused, meaty hands. “Are you certain?”

“I felt the Rapture.”

Kamari looked at the woman’s arms. “You’ve seen the Prophet before. Have you never felt the Rapture?”

“I feel it every time.” Enthusiasm tinged her voice.

“But you keep coming back to seek a new place.”

Doubt flickered. “What?”

Kamari signed the parchment. “Go. Take your place in the Tapestry.”

The woman’s look of bliss returned; she took her parchment and walked away back into the city.

Tausiq watched the exchange as he let another man into the temple. He motioned Kamari to his side. “What were you doing?”

“What?”

“Why did you question her Revelation?”

“Her arms – she’s been here before.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t you ever wonder? Or think –”

“Don’t start that, Kamari. It’s the way the AllGod made it. Just sign the papers.”

“But –”

“No. You’re talking like one of the Willers. I won’t hear it.”

The Willers. She looked out across the Wastes. Distant mountains beckoned with desolate, raw hope – something that only seeded Kamari’s breast in the darkest hour, in the private coolness of her cot in the temple bedroom she shared with Tausiq.

But my place is chosen. Kamari returned to her station.

A man opened the temple door. “Go, take your place in the Tapestry,” Tausiq intoned. The man walked away, blood trickling toward his ankle from a fresh wound.

The next face, the next scarred arm. Kamari looked up. “You seek guidance?”