A Science Fiction Flash Fiction

Sibyl: A Science Fiction Short Story

The Ghost of My Future Smells of Ash

Image Created by Author with Bing Image Creator

The ghost of my future smells of ash.

“I thought you were going to stop smoking,” I say.

“It’s been a tough year.” She rummages inside her bag and produces a packet of Marlboro Lights. “Life doesn’t always go according to plan, does it, Sibyl?” She lights a cigarette and blows the smoke towards me, ghost smoke, a multiplication of the insubstantial.

“I think I’ll join you.” I take a cigarette from my own packet while taking a critical look at my future self. She looks much older than she looked a year ago. She’s not doing herself any favours by not wearing make-up. Her hair looks dry and brittle, and the roots need doing. “I see you haven’t lost any weight.”

She shrugs. “Dieting’s a waste of time. I’m nearly forty. I am what I am.”

She’s in one of those moods. “So, what’s new?” I ask.

“Not much.”

I sigh. “That’s not very helpful. This rite is not without sacrifice, you know.” I point to the iron knife balancing on top of the dish of blood water.

“Don’t I know it?” She rolls up her sleeve and shows me her right arm. She is seven years older…