Rites of Spring

A list of things to do this spring. A fantastic foray into the next couple of months. This is not a continuous story but rather a sequence of flash fiction chapters. Created using a shorter, earlier version published in the online magazine "> kill author" and a recent springtime entry on my blog marcusspeh.com — I'm working on a German translation of the original "Rites of Spring" to be published here, too. This story will only be online for a while as a teaser for the publication of my collection of short stories by MadHat Press | http://bit.ly/Hs6npD

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4. Love Birds

Two leathery lovebirds set off to a jog through bewitching countryside. The stench from the fields was sharp and brought the animal out in Fred. His wife, Frieda, was belting along the dirt path despite her seventy-eight years. Fred’s little Martian stirred merrily at the thought of the Venus trap between Frieda’s legs. If the stars were aligned he might get lucky tonight he thought, all the way to his death that awaited him at the end of a seemingly infinite patch of bluebells, whose little heads were bobbing towards the place where Fred would fall and lie, his eye turned upward for as long as it took him to imbibe the beauty of the world for one last time and carry it wherever he’d be going, as alone as he hadn’t been in half a century, while Frieda was storming ahead of him, her chin stuck out, a fighter to the last breath, an incandescent wife.

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