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”
“Come down. Please.”
“But it’s been days.”
“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”
Fiona sees her parents’ car pull into the driveway and she slaps her little sister across the face.
“Snap out of it, Penny. Now. Do you hear me? Now!”
Thirteen-year-old Penny doesn’t snap out of it. She continues to stare at the ceiling, her pupils enormous black holes sucking in reality and twisting it into who knows what. Continue reading “High as a Kite | Flash Fiction”
His eyes are stinging and prickly by the time he pulls up in front of his house at 2 A.M. An eight-hour drive, preceded by a ten-hour flight, makes for a mightily weary man. He thinks of his bed, soft and warm and utterly glorious.
He looks at his home. Every single light is turned off. Even the porch light.
“Damn it,” he mutters. “What did I tell her? Literally the last thing I said to her. ‘Leave the porch light on.’ How hard is that?” Continue reading “Whoopsie-Daisy | Flash Fiction”
“They stole our name?”
“How dare they?”
“Their gall is astounding, boss.”
“And I suppose they expect to take over our turf?”
“We can’t say for sure, boss. But it’s a serious possibility.”
“I am incandescent with rage.”
“I’m sure, boss.”
“Bring one of them to me.”
Three strangers cling together, grubby, weak, and utterly terrified of the knives and guns and nail-ridden planks of wood that surround them.
“You’ll hand over everything you’ve got in exchange for safe passage through the valley.” Cain picks at his fingernails with the tip of his hunting knife. “Two of our own will escort you. They’ll leave you to continue your journey on the other side.”
One of the strangers shakes his head. “You can’t take everything. We need it to survive.” Continue reading “Part of Something | Short Story”
“Sir? We’ve just received intel that suggests the enemy will be conducting a major strike at any moment.”
“What kind of strike?”
“Like nothing we’ve ever seen before. Sort of a… complete elimination, I suppose. The destruction of everything we’ve ever known.”
“Will you stop blabbering and get to the point. What are they planning?”
“They’re going to remove the carpets, sir.” Continue reading “War | Flash Fiction”