Here’s some flash fic, inspired by a Stephen Blackmoore horrorscope tweet.


With fresh, albeit dusty air coursing through my lungs, and the hazy-green sun in my eyes, I ran. The showgirls are coming. I missed the safe mustiness of my bunker, but I couldn’t have stayed there. The showgirls are coming.

You can probably imagine my surprise when I opened the hatch to my bunker right into the middle of a ramshackle theater stage during the climax of a lively dance. There was no time to react to the dozen wild-eyed women dressed like phoenixes. I can still hear them behind me, growling and panting as the pursue me. The showgirls are coming.

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