Ficlets

Alec Meets The Horsemen Again

Alec propped himself up and looked around. Maybe he’d been hurt worse than he thought: what had been a nice, quiet street was now a hellish scene, broken buildings on a cratered street. Overhead, a silent storm raged. He would have sworn – no, it was too crazy… he thought he heard a rifle crack to his left and an answering burst of automatic fire.

Then his field of vision was filled by a pale, spotted face. An enormous man in leather with a bandanna on his head leaned over him. Alec fixated on a grotesque sore on the man’s cheek, a blister the size and color of a ping pong ball that pulsed as if something inside was turning around until it found a good position to sleep in.

“I know you,” Alec croaked.

“I don’t think so,” the biker said, then shouted over his shoulder, “Hey, guys, we got wounded over here.”

“No, I know you,” Alec said. “When I served the voivode, you and your brothers were everywhere. You didn’t wear these shapes. It was your other shapes. The real ones.”

Pestilence raised an eyebrow.

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