Featured Flash Fiction SS 2018
I would have preferred a darker night but we rolled back the stone by the light of the full moon. Inside the tomb he wasn’t moving. Fine linen covered his thin frame.
His chest neither rose nor fell.
Mary lifted the bladder of blood to his mouth and undid the strip of leather fastening the opening. The red liquid coursed out and flowed over his lips. He absorbed it like a dried fig in wine. The grey of his skin changed into a pallid parody of pink.
I jumped back involuntarily as he took his first shuddering gasp of air.
He opened his eyes. We rushed to raise him to a sitting position. John took one arm and I the other. As quickly as possible we lifted him, one under each arm, and bore him from the tomb.
Outside he turned his head toward me and bit into my vein. I could see him gaining strength even as I weakened.
My vision went black.
I awoke alone. In the moonlight I saw that the stone once again covered the tomb entrance. I knelt and prayed. As I mouthed the words my tongue scraped across sharp, unfamiliar protrusions. My fingers discovered teeth. Teeth like his.
He had blessed me as I gave him succor. His bite had bestown a gift even greater than the loaves and fishes: Life without end.
Amen.
Now I go to spread his gospel.
One bite at a time.
Photo and Image by Debbie Berk
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Bob Zahniser lives on a farm in Yamhill, Oregon, USA with a flock of indolent sheep, three dogs, two goats, two cats, two horses, six chickens, and innumerable gophers. His work has appeared in Belleville Park Pages, Walk Write Up, Perceptions, Skylight 47, the Ottawa Arts Review, and elsewhere. zahniser@onlinenw.com