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Ellie Scott

Writer. Copywriter. Weirdo.

Flash Fiction

Flash fiction for flash bastards. Or just for people who don’t have much time and wish to be entertained within the limits of their tight schedules. Flash fiction goes by a lot of supposed word limits, but I define mine as anything under 1,000 words. Usually, they’re around the 400-word mark, so you could probably read a fair few of them on your tea break.

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Man in dark room looking out of window. "Lodgers" flash fiction
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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
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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 a chicken on a nest - "Wanna Know How I Got My Wings?" flash fiction
#Animal Tales#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium

Wanna Know How I Got My Wings? | Flash Fiction

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 […]

Illustration of man jumping - "The Big Jump" flash fiction
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Stories that Sing

The Big Jump | Flash Fiction

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?

Hands sewing illustration - "Quilting" flash fiction
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium

Quilting | Flash Fiction

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. Continue reading on Medium >

Sad boy illustration - "Kisses" flash fiction
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium

Kisses | Flash Fiction

Wanda’s mother tucked her up in bed and blew her a goodnight kiss from the doorway. Eleven-year-old Wanda deemed herself far too grown-up for kisses. She grabbed the silly thing out of the air, pretended to press it against her lips, and waited for her mother to close the bedroom door and head downstairs. Quiet as a mouse, Wanda reached under her bed, retrieved a glass jar, and stashed her mother’s kiss away. At last — a full jar! She’d sell it to the highest bidder the very next day during her walk to school. Continue reading on Medium >

Banana peel illustration - "Whoopsie Daisy"
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Stories that Sing

Whoopsie-Daisy | 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?”

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