It was that fox again—the one with the limp. It stared in through the patio doors, swaying a little from side to side as if on the verge of collapse, brown stains running from eyes to muzzle like tears. I wanted to let it into the warmth, or at the very east to throw it some scraps from the kitchen. But I couldn’t. That’s how they got you, if the news stories were to be believed. And I believed them.
I pictured the poor thing limping across field after field, squirming through hedgerow after hedgerow, desperately searching for food despite its twisted limb. It had left its babies back home in its den, small and pink and blind and growing skinnier by the hour, bleating forlornly for milk. Milk that would only flow if their mother could eat. And she hadn’t eaten for days. I could see it in her eyes while she stood there gazing at me through the patio doors, a silent communication from one mother to another.
Continue reading “Feeding The Kids | Flash Fiction”
Constellate Literary Journal recently published my short story, All Fixed. Read it here.
The pub smelled of stale lager and pork scratchings, but that’s just the way Dad liked it. One of the last good, proper pubs left, so he used to say. A shithole, in other words. But at least it was friendly. I watched Mum as she wandered across the dingy maroon carpet. Her nose crinkled as she noted the soles of her shoes clinging to the sticky pile with each step. I sipped my large white wine and hoped its effects would wash over me quickly.
Gavin nudged me. ‘One drink and we’ll be off.’
I took in the clusters of mourners which filled the room. ‘I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.’
Continue reading “All Fixed | Short Story”
Little Timmy sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, his tears blotting the ink of the homework that tortured him.
“Oh ‘eck, lad,” said Grandpa. “Wotsmatter?”
“My homework,” whimpered Timmy. “I can’t do it. I need help with my 3 times tables.”
“Times tables, ey? Ba gum, that does sound ‘ard for a bairn like you. Only seven, aren’t you lad? I ‘ad trouble at school at your age an’ all. Tell ya what—you go up to bed and I’ll sort this out for you. Don’t tell t’teachers, mind. It’ll be done by morning and that’s a promise.”
Continue reading “Maths | Flash Fiction”
We always used to buy bubblegum from the ice cream man when he came around in summer. We weren’t interested in 99s and Mr Whippies and ice lollies – the sweets was where it was at, and bubblegum was the crème de la crème of ice cream man goodies.
There was this game we used to play where we’d all try and see how many pieces of gum we could chew at once. We’d hang about on the street corner chomping away like cows, chewing through the jaw ache until our mouths seized up and we had to admit defeat. I was the record-holder – twelve pieces of gum I did, once!
We all got a kick out of it – it was dangerous, according to our parents. Bubblegum’s a choking hazard, see, ‘specially when you’re shoving a handful of gumballs into your mouth at once. There was this rumour that went round about a kid that died from chewing on two many pieces of gum. This big, sticky mass of strawberry Hubba Bubba got stuck in his throat and none of his mates knew how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre and he turned all blue and his eyes bulged out and he pegged it.
Continue reading “Bubblegum | Flash Fiction”
“INSTALLING UPDATES,” says PC,
I guess I’ll have a cup of tea.
I’ll have cake too, to pass the time,
A good excuse for some downtime.
Cake gone, tea supped, now back to work,
Continue reading “Installing Updates | Poem”
There’s no excuse for me to shirk.
Alas, what’s this? “UPDATES DOWNLOADING.”
Still?! Be quick, my time’s eroding.
She can sense it as soon as she wakes up. Something has changed. There is evil afoot. But why?
She wraps her dressing gown around her, slips on her
slippers and heads downstairs. It’s cold. Too cold. The front door is ajar. She
peers out and spies a delivery man get into his truck and pull away.
Faint singing draws her into the kitchen – ‘White Christmas’, all out of tune. Her skin prickles with goosebumps.
Continue reading “There’s Evil Afoot | Microfiction”
Gran pushes a parcel towards me. “I hope you like it. It’s
exactly what you asked for.”
I tug at the bow and claw at the paper, barely daring to hope that she really did get me what I asked for.
“I suppose they must be all the rage,” she says. “I can’t quite keep up with all these trends. It all moves too fast. And I just hope it doesn’t go out of date before you get your use out of it.”
I open the box and I think my eyes are deceiving me.
Continue reading “What A Novelty | Microfiction”
It’s a yellow sticky note today. Blue ink. Just the one line: “Your hair is shit and so are you.”
Bit lacklustre. Not witty, not clever, not even particularly brutal. Perhaps the culprit’s losing his knack. After all, this is sticky note number 398. They’re bound to run out of insults to throw at me eventually. They can’t all be fierce doozies like number 187 (“Mr. Blobby called. He wants his body back.”) or number 249 (“Do something for the greater good. Kill yourself.”). They’ll probably stop soon.
Continue reading “Hate Notes | Flash Fiction”
The cliff is fast approaching.
“Car, slow down.”
“Car, open door.”
“Car, please, please don’t kill me.”
Continue reading “Request Denied | Microfiction”