The kids sit stiffly around the table, staring at the jar. Pretty thing, it is; embossed with stars. Mum’s reward system.
Behave like a little star,
Pick a Post-it out the jar!
Each Post-it would list a special treat – ice cream, dance party, movie night…
Now the treats are in the bin. Continue reading “Pick a Post-it Out the Jar | Microfiction”
“Wait, wait, wait. There’s something wrong with this parachute.”
“Really? But I checked it myself.”
“Really. Look. Someone’s tampered with it.”
“Fuck! Good thing I noticed now. But this is serious. Who would do this? Do you think someone has it in for him? Trying to kill him off?” Continue reading “Oh, Chute | Microfiction”
“Again… ouch. Again… ugh! Again… aargh. Again… ooo…”
“I don’t really feel comfortable with this.”
“Don’t back out now.”
“But it feels weird.”
“Why? We’re just two friends, helping each other out…” Continue reading “Again | Microfiction”
The locals thought little of the rock; it had always been there and it probably always would be. But when a stranger came from out of town and took interest in the great boulder, their world turned upside down. Continue reading “The Reckoning | Microfiction”
31st December, 2018
2019 will be my year.
I’m keeping myself accountable. I’m making every single day count. Every resolution will be achieved this year. It has to. I need to move on.
1. Lose 10 lbs. I need to be healthier and there’s no harm in looking hotter. That’ll show him.
2. Eat right. Plenty of protein. Healthy fats. Limited sugar. More water, less coffee. I need this body in good nick if I’m gonna do this right.
3. Exercise, exercise, exercise. EVERY DAY. Cardio. Kick-boxing classes. Weight-lifting. I have to be able to lift 200 lbs. Nothing less. If I can’t do that, the whole plan is fucked…
CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >
“I’m telling you – it’s Dad.”
“It’s a bloody goat, Sarah.”
“He’s in the goat’s body.”
“He’s possessed it?”
“He’s been reincarnated.” Continue reading “Goat | Microfiction”
“Ready for Boxing Day, kids?”
Amy and Finn are glum. They hate Boxing Day.
“Do we have to, Dad?” Amy says with a sigh.
“It’s tradition,” Dad insists. Continue reading “Peace and Quiet | Microfiction”
She rubbed at eyes crusted with sleep as she flopped down the stairs and grimaced. Four pairs of walking boots were set out before the front door.
“Ten minutes for breakfast,” her father said. “I’ve mapped a six-mile route. We should be back before the rain sets in.” Continue reading “Take a Hike | Microfiction”
“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”