“Do you hear what I hear?”
Cow chews on her cud and shakes her head at Sheep.
“Dog and Cat at it again,” Sheep whispers. “Listen.”
Cow stops chewing and strains her ears. Faint growls and yowls can be heard from the other side of the barn. She sighs and begins to chomp once again.
Sheep chuckles. “What do you think it’s about this time?”
“I want nothing to do with this gossip,” mutters Cow. “It’s none of my business and it’s certainly none of yours.”
“Oh, but it is. I answer to that bloody sheepdog, see. The more dirt I can get on her, the better.” Continue reading “Bickering | Flash Fiction”
“Before we go to Buckingham Palace, we have to get some of those mince pies.”
“Ugh, do we have to?”
“Yes! We’re in London at Christmas. It’s, like, compulsory to try traditional British mince pies when you’re in London at this time of year.”
“Fine. But they sound gross. Who puts meat in sweet pies? Only the Brits.”
“They don’t have meat in them. The mincemeat is just fruit and stuff.”
“Really? So why do they call it mincemeat?”
“Beats me. They’re kind of weird over here. Look at that — ‘Freshly Baked Mince Pies’ — it’s, literally, a sign! I guess we’ll head into that café to try some.”
The café is dim and grimy and void of customers, but that doesn’t stop the American tourists. It’s all part of the authentic London experience, or so they think.
CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >
It was a simple little wallet; plain black faux leather, worn and tatty. She saw it fall out of his coat pocket and land on the pavement as he walked down the street. He didn’t notice; his hands were full. She lurched after him, grabbed the wallet, and babbled at him until he turned around.
“Excuse me! Your wallet. You dropped… I’ve got… wallet… Excuse me!”
When he turned and looked at her, she lost her breath and flushed bright pink. She thrust the wallet at him. “You dropped it.” Continue reading “I Gave Her My Glock | Flash Fiction”
“Take a seat, Miles. Drink?”
“No, no thank you. Better not.”
“Oh, go on. It’s Friday, after all.”
Miles wipes his brow and sits down at his boss’s desk, while Mr Cooke pours two generous tots of whiskey.
“It’s been a tough week, Miles.”
“Have you not found it a tough week?”
“Oh, yes sir. Very tough week. Yes. I nodded.”
“No, I… I agreed. Tough week.”
“Let’s talk about it.” Mr Cooke pushes a glass towards Miles. “Tell me about your week.”
“Well. I had… a few problems.”
“Oh, I know, I know. Exactly how much money did you lose the company, Miles?”
Miles swallows hard. “It was, um, a little over… seven, I think. Yes, seven million.”
CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >
Trev gnawed viciously at his stubby fingernails, which incited a curled lip of disgust from the detective.
“Don’t do that. Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
Trev wiped his moist fingertips on his tracksuit bottoms. “I didn’t do it.”
“But we have CCTV evidence which suggests you did.”
“Wasn’t me. There’s a bloke who looks a bit like me, y’know? You police are always getting me mixed up with him.” Continue reading “Wasn’t Me | Flash Fiction”
The house seemed to have crumbled from the foundations up. If there were bodies buried within the rubble, they weren’t going to be easy to find.
The detectives were totally perplexed. It was the only house for miles around, and there’d been no witnesses to give clues as to what had brought the structure tumbling down. Continue reading “Hungry | Flash Fiction”
“Winter’s setting in quick, isn’t it?” Mabel peered out of the window at the gloomy street. “I can’t believe it’s dark already.”
“I know. And it’s only 11.15.”
“You’re kidding! I was thinking it was closer to four in the afternoon. Didn’t I have lunch already?”
Aaron laughed. “Nope. Must be getting your days muddled.”
Mabel scratched her head. “Time does drag in this office. So how can it be dark at 11.15 in the morning?” Continue reading “End is Nigh | Flash Fiction”
“Dude, stop whistling, you’ll get us busted.”
“You don’t like my whistling?”
“No. It sucks.”
“My mum says I whistle beautifully.”
“She’s lying. Here.” Sam glances quickly around them before handing Ryan a small brown envelope. Continue reading “Bloom | Flash Fiction”
8 p.m. is creeping near and I’m restless. I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to pace the room and at the same time lounge on my sofa and focus really hard on not moving a muscle.
I put the telly on and flick through the channels. Boring. Boring. Depressing. Too happy. Naff. Repeat. Repeat. Another repeat. It’s all crap. Hundreds of channels and nothing to watch. Continue reading “Restless | Flash Fiction”
There was this trend kicking off all over the internet where people shared videos and photos of drivers doing the dumbest, strangest and most dangerous stuff possible while bombing full-speed down the motorway. Continue reading “Trending | Flash Fiction”