The following are the top entries from our Women of Mystique drabble contest.
The full list of winning entries can be found here.
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PROMPT
You have just opened the morning paper and seen your obituary. Is it a prank, a misprint or are you truly dead?
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#1
"What were you told?"
"To not jump after him."
"And what did you do?"
"...Exactly the opposite." I replied slowly while reading the newspaper my boss threw on my dinning table. My eyes scanned my own obituary.
"Corpse was found in the river-"
"May I finish my breakfast first?"
"You're a phantom, you don't need breakfast!" His face was inches away from mine. "Listen here girl, I don't want angels finishing our job," he spat. "You hunt the river-demon down without losing your mortal body again! New ones are hard to create! And the paperwork-"
"I get it!"
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#2
The bold headline announcing my death is forever ingrained in my mind. To feel nervous about our plan is an understatement; I'm terrified. Terrified of failing...again.
The serial killer haunting our streets is roaming free, and his next victim was me. Our previous plan to capture him ended in his escape, and the death of my partner, Detective Kinley. To prevent repeating history, my team decided to announce my death before he had the chance to strike. Now he's vulnerable, furious that his plan's been altered. What better way to lure him in than by destroying what he wanted.
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#3
The picture is all wrong. It is supposed to look dull and shady, instead it is happy and youthful.
"What's wrong?" the warden asks, as he uncuffs me.
"A lousy print-job," I comment, staring at the monochrome photograph of myself on the newspaper.
"It's an obituary, nobody cares," he rolls his eyes, guiding me out of my cell and into his office.
Inside the tiny office is another man in a neat suit, whom I've not seen lately. Nodding curtly, he extends his arm, "Nice work, Agent. The government is pleased."
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#4
I woke suddenly, shaking off the nightmare. It was just a newspaper. Seeing my obituary wasn't like drawing a Death Tarot card. It meant nothing.
Still.
I went downstairs, hoping to find fresh coffee and my husband. I'd apologise. The argument had been completely my fault.
"Morning baby," I said brightly. "Listen..."
He'd been crouched, his back to me, when I walked in. He stood and turned, not answering.
That's when I saw the knife in his hand, dripping. That's when I saw me, a blossoming rose spreading across my front, a hole at its centre.
That's when I screamed.