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Friday Flash – The Entwining of Serpents – Friday Flash Fiction

Friday Flash – The Entwining of Serpents – Friday Flash Fiction

He looked at her in the way that you might observe phlegm glistening on tarmac on a hot summer day. He’d taken her one night, a long time ago now. Neither the year nor the location could he remember. The event was of little consequence to him and the memories had faded to a badly developed sepia tinted photograph, the sort of thing you would glance over and immediately dismiss as uninteresting should you find it in a curio shop.

His face was implacable as he listened to her, or at least feigned the act of listening. She had ceased to be of any interest the morning after that night, long lost to his famously fickle long term memory. It wasn’t that he forgot things, it was just that he could rarely find the motivation to recall them.

So there they sat, opposite each other in one of the finest restaurants in New York. He’d arrived the previous night from London. She was a resident of the city. If you were writing this scene, you’d observe the body language, the laconic conversation, the general ambience, and say that there was a distance between them. In truth, the distance between them could be compared to how long it takes light from the nearest galaxy to reach this planet.

So why had Ram Khatt arrived in New York? The answer lies on the other side of the world, in Kathmandu, where, after a plane journey over Everest, our hero had met someone who had completely recalibrated his world. One of the few lovers he chose to remember, a woman who sported the tattoo of a scorpion around which the DNA double helix entwined like an iridescent serpent.

As you know, he had become enraptured with this person, whose name he had yet to discover. She’d left but one clue, a business card with the address of the tatooist Shah Draco, another resident of New York. His journey had been long and event driven, from Kathmandu to Istanbul, then catching the Orient Express to Paris via Venice. There had been an incident on the train, an act that had transformed him in many ways, and he’d attracted the attentions of yet another lover and confidante, who had assisted him.

In the top floor suite of the Chelsea Hotel, Freddie lay back on the bed and exhaled a plume of blue smoke. She watched it form fractal patterns as it rose to the ceiling, and wondered if she could discern the rapidly evolving future. Her lover chose to live in the present, evaluating what to do in the here and now. She herself rarely thought long term, but their joint activity on the Orient Express made her pause, on occasion, and wonder what fate might be cooking up for her.

Would she be flying solo soon, as was her usual style, or would she spend more time with her new lover and accomplice, until they inevitably exhausted each other and moved on. It was obvious his heart belonged to another, but for the moment she had his mind and body, and resigned herself to the fact that that would have to suffice. He had nothing else to offer, apart from the memories of that eventful trip.

She wondered if the body had been found yet.

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