A Swim in the Nuddy | Flash Fiction

“Come on, pal — get your kit off.”

Dale shivered and looked up at the night sky from which the first flakes of snow were beginning to fall. “I can’t believe you’re serious about this.”

Ryan clapped him on the back. “A swim in the sea in the nuddy — it’s a tradition. You’ve had ten pints, you shouldn’t be able to feel the cold.”

“You really do it every year?”

Gareth laughed. “Every year, just past midnight on Christmas Eve. So get your bloody kit off.”

Dale eyed the black waves. It wasn’t a choppy night out at sea, but it wasn’t as calm as he’d like. He wasn’t the strongest of swimmers, and he wondered if the ten pints would improve on his doggy-paddling or make it worse. “Why do I have to go first?”

“New guy always goes first,” Ryan said. “Them’s the rules.”

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Day 358 | Flash Fiction

By day 358 on the island I was shitting through the eye of a needle.

I didn’t know if the coconuts were rancid or I’d simply eaten so many that my body was finally starting to reject them. But what choice did I have? I could shit myself silly or I could starve to death. I was seriously considering the latter.

And then I saw the boat on the horizon. I thought it was coconut-induced delirium at first, but I blinked and I blinked and it wouldn’t go away. I stoked the fire and piled it high with every flammable thing I could find until thick plumes of grey smoke rose high up into the azure sky.

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Village Secrets | Flash Fiction

“Delicious casserole, Paula. You must give me the recipe.”

“Absolutely. I’ll email it to you.”

***

“Beautiful casserole! You never did send me the recipe.”

“Didn’t I? I’ll send it over tomorrow.”

***

“Your famous casserole again! Are you ever going to send me the recipe or will you take it to the grave with you?”

“I could have sworn I sent it, Denise. Did you check your junk folder?” Continue reading “Village Secrets | Flash Fiction”

Bickering | Flash Fiction

“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”

The Authentic London Experience | 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 >

I Gave Her My Glock | Flash Fiction

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”

Down the Hatch | 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.”

Miles nods.

“Have you not found it a tough week?”

“Oh, yes sir. Very tough week. Yes. I nodded.”

“You what?”

“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 >

Wasn’t Me | Flash Fiction

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”

Hungry | 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”

End is Nigh | 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”