Flash Fiction: Paint Chips

The rumbling thunder in the distance warned me that my time in the garden was done.

“I needed a break, anyway,” I said as I dragged myself inside the cool house.

Sitting down at the kitchen table to rest, I looked over towards a small crack in the wall and frowned. The paint was chipping. I reached a finger to pick at it. Much to my surprise, my finger went right through the wall.

I gasped, wondering what could have caused such a hole. Before I could inspect the coin-sized blemish further, the spot on the wall began to grow. Pieces of plaster began to crumble into a dark abyss. Stunned, I peered inside seeing no end to the darkness.

Suddenly, a man appeared, looking just as wide-eyed as me. “What are you doing here?” he shouted. “It’s not safe! Come! Quickly!”

Before I could reply, he pulled me in. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t a man at all, but a centaur with legs of a horse and hooves that clacked as we ran.

“Where are you taking me? And what is going on?” I managed to ask, quickly becoming disoriented in the pitch black.

“You’ll find out in just a minute!” he cried out, letting go of my hand. I felt around for him or anything else for that matter, but found nothing.

“Help!” I screamed. The only reply was an echo and a hard shove from behind. I began to fall into more nothingness, until I finally hit a solid floor.

Opening my eyes, I looked around. I was on the floor of the kitchen - the entire kitchen. There was no centaur, no hole. “Just a dream,” I assured myself, noticing again the chipping paint on the wall.

Word Count: 300