There’s nowt but thistles that live on the empty plot at the end of the street. It was home to a house once upon a time, but that place burned to the ground many moons ago. All that remains is a labyrinth of thistles, the only plants vicious and spiky and determined enough to sprout from the scorched ground.
Nobody knows who started the fire, but there’s always been murmurings and pointed fingers. Some say it was a cigarette, still smouldering, left carelessly on the arm of a chair. Others say it was a dodgy extension cable or a dodgy toaster or a dodgy electric heater. More still say it was something much more sinister.
Continue reading “Thistles | Flash Fiction”
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”
I wrote a song parody of ‘TiK ToK’ by Ke$ha for a fab Medium publication called Song Done Wrong. It made me snigger and I’m pretty proud of it, but I do apologise for inflicting this obnoxious earworm upon your lugholes. It takes me back to my uni days… oh, the hangovers.
Wake up in the morning feeling like I’m dizzy
Grab my dog I’m out the door ‘cos she needs to get busy
Before I leave, grab my coat and a big woolly hat
‘Cos when I peer out the door I know I’ll freeze in that
I’m talking icicles from my nose, nose
Wearing five layers of clothes, clothes
Cheeks got a bright red glow, glow
Skip-hopping while dog tugs on her lead, lead
Rollin’ up at the park scene
Tryin’ to get a little bit cosy
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Photo by Tucker Good on Unsplash
The search for life on Mars is finally over! We did it! We found it! Can you believe it?
All that time, all that money, all that high-tech equipment has finally paid off. And it’s such a big deal for me on a personal level. Finally, I know the truth… Continue reading “There Is Life On Mars | Microfiction”
I jump and my stomach – I swear to God – my stomach leaps up into my throat and tries to choke me to death.
I cough and hack and gasp for air as I tumble over and over, seeing green then blue then green then blue. Air rushes past me and batters my face, stinging my skin. If this hurts, what will the landing feel like? Face-first into concrete, in an ideal world. Will I feel anything at all or will it all be over before I know it? Continue reading “The Big Jump | Flash Fiction”
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he picked his way through the crisscross of lasers. The diamond was almost within his grasp.
His nose tickled. No. No, no, no. How could this happen to him at the very last moment?
He scrunched up his face, pushed his tongue up onto the roof of his mouth, closed his eyes and held his breath.
The tickle intensified. He couldn’t stop it. Continue reading “In Bits | Microfiction”
Fiona sees her parents’ car pull into the driveway and she slaps her little sister across the face.
“Snap out of it, Penny. Now. Do you hear me? Now!”
Thirteen-year-old Penny doesn’t snap out of it. She continues to stare at the ceiling, her pupils enormous black holes sucking in reality and twisting it into who knows what. Continue reading “High as a Kite | Flash Fiction”
His eyes are stinging and prickly by the time he pulls up in front of his house at 2 A.M. An eight-hour drive, preceded by a ten-hour flight, makes for a mightily weary man. He thinks of his bed, soft and warm and utterly glorious.
He looks at his home. Every single light is turned off. Even the porch light.
“Damn it,” he mutters. “What did I tell her? Literally the last thing I said to her. ‘Leave the porch light on.’ How hard is that?” Continue reading “Whoopsie-Daisy | Flash Fiction”