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Ellie Scott

Writer. Copywriter. Weirdo.

The Humber Bridge at sunset - "The Last Cig in the Packet" short story
#Fiction#Medium#Short Stories

The Last Cig in the Packet | Short Story

I wrote this story nine months ago and put off publishing it in case it was too morbid or doleful. It’s certainly a lot different to the silly, whimsy fiction I tend to post. I was also scared of sharing too much of myself. This story is fictional, but it is inspired by own experiences with depression, self-harm and suicidal ideation. It’s Mental Health Awareness Week in the UK right now. I figured that sharing fiction like this might help in one way or another. Ask for help. Lean on your loved ones. Don’t be too proud to admit when […]

Come What May Day: A Short Story Collection by Ellie Scott, available from Amazon
#Blog#On Writing

Come What May Day | A New Short Story Collection

Today is the launch of my latest collection of short stories, Come What May Day, which naturally has me feeling all excited and utterly fraught with nerves in equal measures. Just like my last collection, each story in Come What May Day takes place in the same nameless Yorkshire town and on the same day, only this time the onset of spring has brought about some new adventures. May Day has arrived and the storm clouds have parted just enough for the annual May Fair to kick off without a hitch. But how long will it be until the town’s […]

Man in dark room looking out of window. "Lodgers" flash fiction
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium

Lodgers | Flash Fiction

The front door slams, the house shivers and its inhabitants freeze. “They’re back,” says Daughter, and her face quickly crumples as tears well. “Don’t you dare cry,” hisses Mother. “They’ll hear us.” The family falls silent and listens. A series of thuds and rattles comes from the floor below. Cupboard doors are opened and closed, opened and closed, over and over. Then there’s a short yell, a moment of quiet, and the soft wail of a miserable child. Daughter whimpers. Mother glares at her. Continue reading on Medium >

Hamster clipart - "Silly Hammy" microfiction
#Animal Tales#Fiction#Flash Fiction

Silly Hammy | Microfiction

Round and round goes the hamster in his wheel, sending up giggles from the human faces which peer through the bars of his cage. “Silly Hammy.” “He just keeps going, doesn’t he?” “Why does he run for so long, Mummy?” “I suppose he’s just having sooo much fun!” The hamster lets out an indignant squeak. Fun? Ha! As if, he thinks. His heart hums and his lungs burn with exertion. But look… it might just all be worth it…

Illustration of a sloth hanging from a branch - "Hang In There!" flash fiction
#Animal Tales#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium#Staff Room Sagas

Hang In There! | Flash Fiction

Hang In There! says the poster, and just beneath this peppy instruction is a photograph of a sloth hanging languidly from a branch. Its little black eyes gaze out, curious, while a superior half-smile on its mouth shows its true colours. “Oh yeah, you hang in there,” that smug mouth seems to say. “I’ll even provide the noose.” Gordon wants to punch that fucking sloth right between its beady eyes. Continue reading on Medium >

Illustration of cliffs and sea - "Ludicrous" short story
#Fiction#Medium#Short Stories

Ludicrous | Short Story

Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. Polly suppresses a yawn. She glares at the night sky which is blanketed in clouds heavy with storm. Rain already, she thinks. Get it over with. Almost as though they are lending an ear, the heavens open. Fat raindrops make their rapid descent down to Earth and Polly quickly pulls up her hood and directs her camera at the Stormy Princess. For decades the Stormy Princess has guarded this short, barren stretch of Yorkshire coastline. From the day she first appeared in 1959 — crafted from clay by an anonymous artist — the sculpture has […]

Closed eyes illustration - "It All Disappears" short story
#Fiction#Short Stories

It All Disappears | Short Story

His heart is pounding. He’s lost in her gaze. His lips are a hair’s breadth away from hers. And then it all disappears. He’s wide awake, staring up at the white ceiling, cursing himself again. Why does it always have to end there, right before the kiss? Why can’t he keep himself asleep for just long enough to feel her soft, full lips against his mouth?

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