Kitten Café | Flash Fiction

The Prime Minister rubs at tired eyes and checks her watch. “Right. Give me an update on Kitten Café.”

The CEO of Kitten Café smiles and nods. “All is going well, Prime Minister. This month we’ve adopted out 244 cats within our London branches alone. I’ve yet to gt figures confirmed from other regions but -”

“I couldn’t care less about the cats,” the Prime Minister snaps. “Tell me how it’s really going.” Continue reading “Kitten Café | Flash Fiction”

The Runt | Microfiction

Mama Wolf watches her pups as they roll around in the grass, nipping at one another’s ears and paws in giddy play. All but the runt, at least, who sits quietly away from his siblings.

“See?” whispers Mama Wolf. “He always separates himself. Wants to be closer to me. He’s too weak to keep up with the rest.” Continue reading “The Runt | Microfiction”

Adrenaline Junkie | Microfiction

The view up here is just spectacular. I can see for miles. Keep an eye on my kingdom. Look out for trespassers and make a note of their appearance so that I can give them a good slap later. It’s perfect. Continue reading “Adrenaline Junkie | Microfiction”

Making Friends | Microfiction

“Go on then, Jim. Go and play.”

Jim glares at Flossie.

“Don’t look at me like that. Go on! Go run off some of that excess podge. And make some friends while you’re at it.”

Jim wanders off towards a group of potential friends nearby and loiters at the edges, waiting for someone to invite him into their fold.

Flossie approaches her own pack.

“He’s not very sociable, your Jim, is he?” says a fluffy Pomeranian. Continue reading “Making Friends | Microfiction”

Mistaken Identity | Flash Fiction

They tell me I’m a penguin just like them. But I know I’m different.

For a start, I hate the cold. And I despise fish, which is about the only sustenance one can get around these parts. I’m a useless swimmer, too, which isn’t exactly ideal when, like I say, it’s fish, fish, fish on the menu. Continue reading “Mistaken Identity | Flash Fiction”

Company | Microfiction

The bird turned up at 7.35pm sharp, every single day since her grandmother had died. It perched on the window ledge, gazing through the glass at her with inquisitive eyes as she washed the dishes.

Perhaps it just wanted some company, she thought. She didn’t mind that; she could use some company herself. Her evenings had been quiet since she stopped getting her grandmother’s daily calls. Continue reading “Company | Microfiction”

That Sweet Spot | Flash Fiction

“Who’d feed us?” said the dog, head resting on her paws.

“Well I can fend for myself,” said the cat, as she stretched out a paw and extended her talons. “These claws weren’t solely meant for scratching the sofa. You, on the other hand, have no idea how to hunt. You’d probably perish. But your ineptitude is none of my concern.”

The dog rolled her eyes. “If you hate her so much, why don’t you just leave? Killing her seems so extreme.” Continue reading “That Sweet Spot | Flash Fiction”

What Does He Have? | Microfiction

She’s just… exquisite.

The way her hair wafts in the breeze and shimmers under the sun. The way she smiles and licks her lips when she catches her breath. The way she takes in the world with big, hazel eyes, as though every day is the most beautiful she’s ever seen.

Every single move she makes is extraordinary. And her tail! Continue reading “What Does He Have? | Microfiction”

Bank Holiday Misery | Short Story

11:16 AM

“There was no lamb left, love,” said Frank, as he dumped his shopping bags on the kitchen floor.

“What do you mean?” said Rita, a small flutter of panic running through her.

“No lamb joints,” Frank said with a shrug. “No pork, either, as I thought that would be second best. All they had was chicken, and all the big ones had already gone. Supermarket was jam-packed.”

“But you went early. How could they run out of lamb and pork when you went first thing? You did go first thing, didn’t you? You didn’t sneak off somewhere else first?” Continue reading “Bank Holiday Misery | Short Story”

Big-Eared B*stard

The detective gazed into the glazed eyes of the corpse on the floor and wondered what its last thoughts could have been as its blood spurted from its neck and flooded the floor. Probably, “Oh fuck,” or something to that effect, she thought.

She had three months left on the force, and she’d been craving a juicy case to get stuck into before she stepped into the quiet lane of retirement. This looked like it could be the one. Continue reading “Big-Eared B*stard”