The Perfectionist

I have to start with May the 4th be with you! This week’s six sentence story prompt by girlontheedge was CONTROL, and it got weird. What started with a perfectionist researcher being interrupted turned a little strange, and well it’s up to you if you want to interpret this as horror/fantasy or take it as a metaphor.


The sounds of Bach’s Cello Suite No 1 came from a waterproof speaker mounted high in the corner of the lab, the only deviation in an otherwise textbook set-up.

The lab equipment was all stored as precisely as if it were a demo rather than a working lab, and the few samples being worked on were set up on an immaculate bench top, all labelled with perfectly legible capital letters, all spaced exactly one inch apart.

The scientist working on them also appeared picture ready, with nary a hair out of place as she methodically reviewed her data, making notations in her lab book with a precise print that almost looked typed, and only when she was sure that every detail had been captured did she move onto the next step in her procedure.

Then HE stepped into the lab, him in his open toed shoes, stopping the music, waving his hands as if he wasn’t surrounded by fragile equipment, and all hell broke loose when he finally made contact, her sense of control shattering along with the glassware.

She turned, snarling, her hair bursting from it’s tie as the strands turned to snakes ready to devour their prey, claws escaping through the tips of her gloves, and he barely had a chance to widen his eyes in horror before it was all over.

Three hours later the lab was back to it’s impeccable state, Bach’s Cello Suite No 1 drifted from the recently sterilised speaker as she stepped inside, freshly showered in a new lab-coat and gloves, she was ready to resume her work without interruption, and the only attention she gave to the now bulging biohazard bag was a note in her lab book to have it scheduled for removal when she was finished for the day.


Side note, going forward theses are moving to Wednesday’s and the Short Stories will be moving to Friday’s.

Ephemeral Experiences

Once again I have taken a word like TREE and used it to write a dark, twisted, little tragedy.  I don’t even know how to explain this one really without giving it away.  I will say that its dark, and a lot of things are implied, but nothing stated outright.  Really just a single bad choice, and then some very improbable consequences…

The world spun, or was it is her that was spinning, round and round, faster and faster, and it felt like any moment she would fall, losing balance, land face first in the dew-covered grass.

When the moment finally came and her mostly numb feet left the ground, she fell forward, but the feeling on her face was stinging and warm and she wasn’t falling she was floating.

She turned up lazily and saw her reflection gazing back down at her from the mirrored ceiling, pupils blown, hair floating freely and she smiled at the serenity she saw there even as a part of her mind tried desperately to work where the mirror had come from.

All at once the serenity was gone, as she took a deep breath, choking, feeling like her lungs were on fire, knowing at once that she was having an asthma attack, and she desperately tried to propel herself back down to the ground, towards the bag with her medication.

Her limbs felt like jelly, as she struggled through air thick as molasses, floating upward as she fought for life trying to make her way back down, and then she stopped fighting, knowing she wouldn’t make it, wanting to enjoy her last moments in this warm feeling of carefree weightlessness.

It would be hours before her fate was observed by anyone other that the fake palm overlooking the heated pool, and weeks before anyone but that tree would learn that there was no foul play, just a trip gone wrong, a little girl lost to the easily avoidable, a tragedy.