The noodles writhe in the bowl like worms. Jeb blinks at them repeatedly, wondering if it’s his eyes playing tricks on him.
“Hunger does funny things to our brains,” mutters the old woman from her armchair. “Eat up, lad. It’s delicious.”
It was hunger that had driven him towards the cottage. Hunger which had forced his knuckles to rap on the front door. Hunger which had made him ask for some scraps. Hunger had which pushed him into the home of a stranger despite his gut squeezing and churning in objection.
Jeb smiles at the old woman, who eagerly shovels noodles from her own bowl into her mouth.
Hunger had already done some daft things. Not much of a surprise, then, that it could make a benign bowl of noodles wriggle like a mound of worms…
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The Lost Property office was manned by a bloke that some called “a character.” The less polite simply referred to him as “an arsehole.”
‘Not seen any legs round here,’ he said with a shrug to the worried face in front of him. ‘Sorry.’ Continue reading “A Character | Microfiction”
“Let’s see them, then,” Simon demanded with a grin as he took up his seat at his desk.
Isla turned to look at him with tears in her eyes.
It was the same old Monday morning ritual, and it was the one thing that made Simon’s Mondays just a little bit more cheerful. Continue reading “The Nail Reader | Microfiction”
“I didn’t know you played piano,” she said, eyeing the ramshackle home music studio.
He shrugged. “I dabble.”
“Play something?” Continue reading “Sound Investment | Microfiction”
The heat wave wafted across Great Britain and melted everything in its path.
Buildings sagged. Trees wilted. Cats puddled. Humans grew sticky and stretchy like warm gum. Tarmac and asphalt grew soft enough that cars sank and became stranded in the middle of the motorway. Continue reading “The Heat Wave | Microfiction”
The goods were delivered to us in shoeboxes.
It was the perfect cover; the filth couldn’t give a damn about shoes. They noted the boxes piled high on the back of the boats, observed the display of stilettos in our shop window, and rolled their eyes at the vanity of women. Continue reading “The Perfect Cover | Microfiction”
The title screen rolls while Netflix queues up another recommended show.
“I can’t take another,” Fran mutters as she drags her fingers down her face, pulling her features down into a grotesque grimace.
“But the day isn’t over,” Lisa replies with a sigh. Continue reading “Longest Day | Microfiction”
The bird turned up at 7.35pm sharp, every single day since her grandmother had died. It perched on the window ledge, gazing through the glass at her with inquisitive eyes as she washed the dishes.
Perhaps it just wanted some company, she thought. She didn’t mind that; she could use some company herself. Her evenings had been quiet since she stopped getting her grandmother’s daily calls. Continue reading “Company | Microfiction”
The undulating swell of the sea had always put her mind at ease whenever she looked out across the coast. She’d think how peaceful it must be to be rocked by the waves and carried by the tides. How indulgent it must be to stretch out her arms and allow the water to take her wherever it wished. Continue reading “Off to Sea | Microfiction”