Short Story and Flash Fiction Writer
She had to stand on tiptoes — on top of a stack of books, on top of a dining chair — to reach the forbidden cupboard. What might lay inside, she wondered. Chocolate? Sweeties? Chocolate-covered sweeties?
She pulled open the door and yelped. Continue reading “Behind the Cupboard Door | Microfiction”
I’ve been posting book reviews here on a (mostly) weekly basis for around 15 months. Initially, I loved it. It was fun to have somewhere to recommend books that I fell in love with and I relished the process of digging into plots and characters and themes to figure out exactly what about the story made me tick. But over the past few months my love for writing reviews has dwindled and died. Continue reading “Bye-Bye Book Reviews | Blog”
AAAAaaarrggghhhuuuuurrrgggghhhh it burns! Continue reading “The Earth Died Swearing | Microfiction”
I’m taking a break from writing/posting for a couple of weeks because my brain’s being a real piece of shit at the moment. Plus, I’m going on my jolly holidays to Cornwall next week and I’ll be too busy soothing my soul with Cornish cream teas, catching up with family, and writing “Ellie Rulez” repeatedly in the sand on the beach.
In the meantime, here’s a really stupid story that I posted on Medium last week and forgot to link here. I thought it was funny when I wrote it… you be the judge.
Ta ta for now.
Well there I was, hanging out with my friends after school, all of us bored out of our minds, when some bright spark decided we should play Chicken.
You know what Chicken is? It’s this dumb game where you run out into a road in front of a car and try to get to the other side without getting hit. Stupid, right?
What’s stupider is that I didn’t know how to play. Never heard of the so-called ‘game’ before in my entire 16-year-long life. But I didn’t tell the guys that, did I?
“You go first,” they said, since I was the new kid in town.
And I was all like, “Yeah, sure, cool, awesome,” without actually clarifying the rules of the game. I just wanted to fit in with the idiots, okay? In hindsight I did a pretty good job.
I jump and my stomach – I swear to God – my stomach leaps up into my throat and tries to choke me to death.
I cough and hack and gasp for air as I tumble over and over, seeing green then blue then green then blue. Air rushes past me and batters my face, stinging my skin. If this hurts, what will the landing feel like? Face-first into concrete, in an ideal world. Will I feel anything at all or will it all be over before I know it? Continue reading “The Big Jump | Flash Fiction”
Teensy-weensy stories I wrote on social media this week.
Molten liquid bubbles in the #crucible while the evil villain looks on.
“Time to sacrifice another. Boil away!”
Cackling, she tosses the next victim to its death.
“Lucy! My best saucepan… look at the mess! Turn off that hob and put those gummy bears down.”
“But Mum…”#vss365a— Ellie Scott (@itsemscott) June 2, 2019
Yejide has tried everything she can to have a baby, but it seems she simply isn’t destined to fall pregnant. Her in-laws are so desperate for Yejide’s husband to have children that they arrange for him to take a second wife, and so begins a nightmare for Yejide as she attempts to cling onto her marriage, her family and her sanity. Set in Nigeria during the politically turbulent 1980s, Stay With Me examines both the strength and frailty of family and relationships, and how traditional and outdated customs can impact a modern woman. Continue reading “Stay With Me by Ayọ̀bámi Adébáyọ̀ | Book Review”
“Come down. Please.”
“No.”
“But it’s been days.”
“I’m protesting.”
“You can’t stay in the tree forever.”
“I can if I want.”
“I said sorry.”
“Your apology is futile.”
“How can I make it up to you?”
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he picked his way through the crisscross of lasers. The diamond was almost within his grasp.
His nose tickled. No. No, no, no. How could this happen to him at the very last moment?
He scrunched up his face, pushed his tongue up onto the roof of his mouth, closed his eyes and held his breath.
The tickle intensified. He couldn’t stop it. Continue reading “In Bits | Microfiction”
Oh, she’s so fucking old. How is she still clinging on to life? How?
“Morning Mrs Tidpot,” I call as I lug her shopping through to the kitchen.
“Mm.”
She’s quilting as usual. Always bloody quilting. How she isn’t bored to death of it yet I don’t know.
“Working on that quilt again, are you?”
“Mm.”
I put the kettle on and unpack the shopping, wondering who I could get to shoot me if I ever ended up quilting every damn day just to while away the seconds until death.
