“It’s a Flingahrung. Duh.”
She scrutinised the mass of screwed up newspaper, bent chicken wire, flaking acrylic paint and globs of PVA glue. “What does it do?”
He ran his grubby fingers through his hair, coiffing it into an electrified bird’s nest. “Don’t you know anything?” Continue reading “The Flingahrung | Microfiction”
Stick after stick they flung into the water before tearing along the muddy riverbank in chase.
Each twiggy sacrifice hurried along the current to its destiny; a big leap over the edge of the rocky outcrop. The sticks plummeted into a deep, dark pool and disappeared beneath the surface. It wasn’t long until they rose again, buoyed by the amber, peaty water. Continue reading “Poohsticks | Microfiction”
She took the strange bone home and stashed it on her treasure shelf alongside the rest of her collected curiosities. Shells and stones, skeletons of leaves, little Lego people and Kinder Egg loot, the pretty head of a ceramic lady. Continue reading “Curiosity | Microfiction”
She despises these events. Free tea and coffee is fine, but it comes with the pressure of idle chitchat and ‘making connections’ for the company she hates working for.
She pours a mound of sugar into her coffee and catches the eye of a man opposite her. Continue reading “Chitchat | Microfiction”
It was certainly the weirdest surgery the doctor had ever performed, but it marked her as a pioneer in her industry. Plus, her fee was enough for a down payment on a sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills. For that kind of money, she wouldn’t ask questions – she’d just do her job.
But as she completed the patient’s final check-up before discharge, curiosity got the better of her. Continue reading “The Pioneer | Microfiction”
Freya bought the mirror at the flea market, having been assured by the vendor that it would reflect her future.
A first, it showed her a battered and beaten old shed. But as her life progressed and she made smart choice after smart choice, the mirror’s reflection changed. The roof was patched up. The door was painted. Pretty curtains were installed in its windows.
Continue reading “Future | Microfiction”
It was a subtle change, but not unnoticeable. There was something about the synthetic sun that wasn’t quite right. It burned too brightly. It was the wrong shade of yellow. Worst of all, it felt too close.
Each day at noon, it seemed as though the sun bore down on humankind like an imminent threat. But only a few believed the threat was real. Continue reading “Imminent Threat | Microfiction”
The Lost Property office was manned by a bloke that some called “a character.” The less polite simply referred to him as “an arsehole.”
‘Not seen any legs round here,’ he said with a shrug to the worried face in front of him. ‘Sorry.’ Continue reading “A Character | Microfiction”
“I didn’t know you played piano,” she said, eyeing the ramshackle home music studio.
He shrugged. “I dabble.”
“Play something?” Continue reading “Sound Investment | Microfiction”
The goods were delivered to us in shoeboxes.
It was the perfect cover; the filth couldn’t give a damn about shoes. They noted the boxes piled high on the back of the boats, observed the display of stilettos in our shop window, and rolled their eyes at the vanity of women. Continue reading “The Perfect Cover | Microfiction”