Day 6 out of 5 in daily Flash Fiction for October
"Invitation"
"Not all old
wives' tales are false. Yes, I know that isn't the politically correct way of
saying it, but really, so what? You and
I both know who spreads gossip and rumors the way bees spread pollen, buzzing about
all day and not getting all that much done. Not that there are any bees around
here, but there used to be. Long ago, before this scrap of city rose, tumbled
again, started to half-rise before staggering along. It's as good a place as
any to learn."
I nodded, listening
to him hear himself talk. My mentor. My fellow monster. This wasn't the part of
the city where I'd have gone, ever. Certainly not long past sundown, with not
even the yellow sodium glare of old streetlights to guide our way.
Not that he and I
needed much light. Not anymore. I nodded, he continued.
"Like I was
saying, the old wives' tales aren't all wrong. The bit about invitations
especially. Oh, you can feed without being invited, but it's a struggle more
than it's worth. The can have power over you. If you're not invited."
"So we should
ask? Doesn't that go against the first thing you told me? Yesterday's
lesson?"
His voice was low,
measured, "No, don't be stupid. Please. Eternity is a long time, and I
don't want a halfwit hanging around me that long. I really don't."
I know it didn't
happen this way for me anymore, but out of habbit I could feel the heat rising
to me ears, feel something tighten in my chest. I took a deep breath that I
didn't need - force of habit again - and forced my voice to be calm, to match
his, "then what the fuck do you mean? How do we get permission if we can't
ask for it? Sir."
He chuckled.
"You have so, so very much to learn. Really. The trick isn't to ask for an invitation, the trick is to see invitations when they're offered."
He paused a moment.
"Take that window."
I looked. It was an
ordinary window. A bit cleaner than some around it, with plain white curtains
half-drawn. I said as much, then asked what he saw. That's always a good way to
keep him talking.
"You're exactly
right. The glass is clean - cleaner than the neighbors'. And the curtains
aren't tightly-drawn, but at three quarters. It's a window open to a bit of the
night. To us."
He paused
dramatically. A big part of getting along with him is knowing the dramatic pauses from the times he
just stops talking.
He continued.
"It's an invitation. Definitely".
I knew the thousand
ways that this was wrong, but we'd been out a long time already and the hunger
was growing in me. The window didn't seal tightly so for those, like us, who
could travel as mist it was no barrier.
We accepted the
invitation, and began to feed.
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Window by Daniele Marzocchi
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