Still Frames: Knee High by the Fourth of July
A story of revenge told in three very short acts.
I post images to inspire other writers, usually starting from a visual spark that leads me to a character, mood, or fragment of story. Still Frames is my occasional series of flash fiction and drabbles based on those images, a space for experimentation while I work on longer projects I can’t yet share. I don’t follow a set schedule—these pieces appear whenever an image or idea won’t leave me alone. If the images speak to you, I’d love for you to join in and share your own responses.
The Infected Outlaw
The infection spread like black ink beneath the outlaw’s skin, granting unnatural strength while slowly, painfully consuming her life. Driven by rage, endlessly hunting the woman who had cursed her, she fought. She won. Every victory brought death closer. She felt the sickness marching through her body and knew time was short. Her revolver had spoken countless times, but one round had never touched the chamber. A polished silver cartridge rested in her bandolier, its casing engraved with a single name. She rode through the wasteland chasing the Widow, racing against a death that might arrive before she saw vengeance.
The Sacrificed Lover
The plague rotted the fields and felled cattle where they stood. Crops withered, barns emptied, and the people prayed for salvation. God did not answer. The Widow did. The outlaw’s lover went to the Widow, desperate after watching his fields die and his woman and child waste away from hunger. The Widow offered him salvation. “You want to help?” she whispered. He agreed, not knowing what he agreed to. The outlaw arrived as the ritual ended, finding him alive but dying. She held him, refusing to let go. The plague entered her veins as her heart died in her arms.
The Widow
The Widow waited outside an abandoned farmhouse not far from the site of the sacrifice, revolver resting calmly in her hand. She had ordered the sacrifice, believing one innocent life was worth the salvation of the town. She had not intended to the curse the woman, too. Now the infected fool stood before her, stronger than any human, yet visibly dying. “You chose this,” the Widow said. The outlaw drew her gun. “No,” she replied. “You did.” Thunder rolled overhead and the wind shifted. Two women, bound by one terrible choice, faced each other as the corn whispered around them.
I really liked the interplay between the three stories. Now I want to read the book. That weird west theme is working for me!
all three were really good , I think you captured the essence of all three photos very well