UNDER CONSTRUCTION

The Duel - Day 4

Round #4 in the week-long Flash Fiction duel between Selena Jardine and Alexis Siefert.

Paternoster

By Selena Jardine

(Flash Fiction - 253 words)

My father was an Anglican priest. Look, it's not what you think. He wasn't a child molester. He never slipped into my room at night, or into my white bed beneath the wooden cross. He never asked me to whisper "Jesus loves me, this I know" as he pressed his cock against my thighs. He never so much as held me ten seconds too long on his lap.

He didn't beat me. I never knew a cane in a darkened study. He didn't make me kneel naked on grains of rice, reciting verses of Scripture. I have no thin silver scars on my back where Daddy would bind me in the chancel, stained-glass light sliding over adolescent breasts, and wield his whip again and again to the rhythm of my prayers.

Instead, I punished him for his dullness, his sameness, his neglect of me. I sat too close to him in the pew, my skirts too short, my eyes alight with his discomfort. Every week I crept into the confessional where Daddy waited in alb and purple stole, and I whispered things he'd never heard.

"Father," I said. "I have sinned." My imagination was limitless. I could hear his breathing change behind the screen. I could hear him shifting positions, could almost hear his blood pounding. I don't think he knew it was me.

I knew it was wicked to do it, to punish him that way. I prayed to stop.

"Our Daddy," I said. "Who art in Heaven."

No one ever answered.

"Only my opinion, of course, but I regard �Paternoster� as the best Flash Fiction story I have ever read," pronounced DrSpin.

So far," replied Father Ignatius. "Now, read on. Alexis and I have decided that we can afford to match strength-for-strength here and still keep her best for last.

Curse the Darkness

by Alexis Siefert

244 words

The moment she struck the match, it started to rain. Lightning frighteningly close, a monstrous crash of thunder, sudden torrents of rain.

Perhaps she should have taken it as a sign, but she had long ago given up believing in a higher power. No God, no signs. Besides, there wasn't a chance in hell that a benevolent God would stop her from doing this.

There, that's the one. She knew he'd have another one soon. She'd still been setting things up, so she missed his previous dream-erection. She had worried that the sleeping pills in his drink would stop them, but it was okay. It seemed she could still count on how often he got hard. For years, especially when she didn't want him to be. And now, when she did.

She checked the cuffs again, knowing she didn't need to. He always bought the best, and these were straight police-issue. Her only worry was that the rings in the wall would tear out, but she had pulled on them plenty over the last year, and they'd never shifted during her torments.

Everything was ready. The smell of the gasoline was sharp in her nose, but she took that as a sign that she had used enough. She picked up her duffel bag, bent down, and lit the tip of his hard-on.

As she trudged away through the woods, she imagined that she could hear his screams, but it was probably just the thunder.

Week 5