A Conversation from the Washing Line | Flash Fiction

Washing line with clothes illustration - "A Conversation from the Washing Line" flash fiction

“I can’t believe that dumb bitch put me in the washing machine.” Silk Shirt takes in the dark grey sky and her rage grows. “If it pisses it down on me now, I swear I’ll shrink on purpose just to teach her a lesson.”

“Give it a bloody rest, will you?” mutters Holey Old Band Tee. “There’s no wonder she treats you like crap when you’re so hoity toity and full of yourself. If you ever want to bag yourself Favourite Garment status, you have to relax. Roll with the punches. Pitch yourself as reliable. Comfortable. Cool. And make sure you age gracefully. That’s what I did. 20 years she’s been wearing me. My hem’s all raggedy and I have five holes and counting, but I still look fucking awesome. I’ve been through more wash cycles than I can count, andI’ve been left out in the rain at least six times a year since she first bought me. Do you catch me complaining? No. You’ll only ever catch me looking totally rock and roll. That’s why I’m her favourite.”

“It won’t last,” says Paint-Splattered Jeans glumly. “I was you, once. She never wanted to take me off. She wore me everywhere. We saw the world! Then one day, all of a sudden, I was relegated to DIY.”

Silk Shirt gasps. “What happened?”

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The Tat Shop That Scammed Me | Flash Fiction

Open notebook illustration - "The Tat Shop That Scammed Me" flash fiction

The shop across the road looks like it sells a load of old tat, but it sure looks more appealing than trying and failing to put pen to paper. I down the last frothy dregs of my cappuccino, tuck my notebook and pen in my bag, and head out to kill some time.

The door jangles to announce my presence, and in seconds the shop owner appears before me with a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

I shake my head. “Just browsing.”

I look at the shelves and take in the junk. Twee wooden figurines. Cheap plastic flowers arranged in even cheaper plastic vases. Cutesy signs with naff statements like God Bless This Mess and Dust is a Country Accent. Dachshund draught excluders with blue plaid bellies and cartoonish eyes. Floral aprons and floral tea towels and floral oven mitts and floral cushion covers and…

“Perhaps I can point you in the right direction,” the shop owner says, his megawatt grin not faltering for even a moment.

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You’re Right | Flash Fiction

Desert landscape illustration - "You're Right" flash fiction

He rolls over in bed to find her side empty and cold. There’s an envelope on the pillow with his name penned in her hand. Already he knows she’s gone.

He checks every room of the house, just to be sure. And then he pulls back the curtains in the living room and peers out at the creatures outside. They’re still there, dependable as ever. But she’s gone. Continue reading “You’re Right | Flash Fiction”

The Mug | Flash Fiction

Mug illustration - "The Mug" flash fiction

The mug sits unwashed on the kitchen table, a layer of white fuzz growing on the surface of the dregs of tea inside it. A smudge of lipstick is on the rim, and there’s a fingerprint made in chocolate on the handle.

The rest of the kitchen is pristine. Every single other mug, cup, glass, plate and bowl is dutifully washed, dried and put away immediately after use. But the mouldy mug remains on the table, as it has for three weeks now.

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Get Your Money’s Worth | Flash Fiction

High heel shoe illustration - "Get Your Money's Worth" flash fiction

“I won’t take them off. I refuse to.” She folds her arms and glares at her husband. “And anyway, it was you who told me I should wear them all the time. ‘If you’re going to spend hundreds of pounds on shoes, you better wear them every single day and get your money’s worth,’ you said. So I did. And now you’re blaming me for this mess.”

“I didn’t mean literally every day.”

“But that’s what you said!” Continue reading “Get Your Money’s Worth | Flash Fiction”

Bullet | Flash Fiction

Brain illustration - "Bullet" flash fiction

All aboard! Please have your tickets ready to show the inspector. Failure to produce a valid ticket could result in fine. Enjoy your journey with us today.

The shot knocked him straight to the floor and for a split second he thought he was dead. But he wasn’t. He touched his fingers to the back of his head. Wet. Blood. And when he realised there was blood, the pain kicked in – searing, burning, debilitating pain. The pain was so bad that he almost wished he had died. And then he passed out. Continue reading “Bullet | Flash Fiction”