KNIGHTS OF MICRO-FICTION_"How young can you die of old age?"

Kathy McKendry of IMAGINE TODAY:
http://imagine-today1.blogspot.com/2012/07/komf-prompt.html#comment-form

has a fascinating idea for a blogfest:

To join in, just post your entry before the end of the 15th (midnight EST) and leave a comment on her post with your post link.

Then go check out as many entries as you can. By the 17th, she and the other infamous McKendry, Jess, will choose two winners to be featured on their blogs.


Ok. here is the prompt:


In 200 words or less write a flash fiction using the phrase: The sky darkened...

then for an added challenge include a sound that surprises one of your characters and a foul smell.

Captain Samuel McCord, the undead Texas Ranger, has taken up the challenge. But despite his curse, he is a Southern gentleman. He doesn't want to take any prizes away from the ladies, so his micro-fiction is 281 words.

HOW YOUNG CAN YOU DIE OF OLD AGE?


The sky darkened as I looked at the house. Its empty windows seemed like vacant eyes. The building looked like some discarded skull of a lost god.

Lt. Trifle called me out here in the middle of nowhere.

Nowhere being on the outskirts of Metairie -- which is on the outskirts of New Orleans -- which, itself, is on the outskirts of Hell if you listen to some preachers.

She said I was needed out here and then hung up. Or got the phone snatched out of her hand.

Was I in time? Time. I could stop it for awhile -- if I was willing to pay the price.

It hurt like hell. I deserved worse.

The time-snared air felt like heavy invisible water pressing in against me.

I lumbered to the back.

The house was deserted: Smell of urine. Lots of needles. Discarded rubber tubing.

A crack house.

I made it to the front room. It wasn't empty.

A punk had Trifle dead to rights. Mostly dead if I didn't act fast. How he got the drop on her was obvious. She was cradling a feverish girl.

I released time.

"How young can you die of old age?" I asked.

The addict yelped in surprise. He jerked his gun towards me.

"What the fuck?"

Sad last words. I sped up time all around him. He squirmed like a worm. He aged into an old man.

He crumbled into dust right in front of Trifle. The mound started to disappear in the faint breath of the stale breeze. She turned hollow eyes to me.

"You're a monster."

Oliver Goldsmith had written : Silence gives consent.

I left without saying a word.