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”
The groom pours stale coffee into a cup, leaving a half an inch of the black liquid in the bottom of the percolator. He brings the cup to his dry lips and takes a long swig to relieve the cotton wool sensation that plagues his tongue.
He needs distraction. He retrieves his phone from his trouser pocket and taps at the screen to access his documents. He skims over the latest draft of an article he’s been battling with for weeks. It’s good. It’s almost perfect. He just can’t seem to find the right words to conclude it.
And he probably won’t be able to find them now as the nerves swirl in his stomach. He takes another sip of coffee and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.
She’ll turn up her nose when she catches the whiff of stale fag on his breath. He told her he’d quit. She doesn’t know that he never managed to kick that first and only smoke of the day.
When the nicotine has delivered a surge of faux confidence, he tosses the cigarette — only two-thirds smoked — onto the ground and grinds it beneath his shoe. He can probably go through with it, he thinks. It won’t kill him. He’s managed three years already; a lifetime won’t be all that bad…Follow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com
‘Please don’t leave. I’m scared.’
Here we go again. Same routine as always. ‘End of visiting hours – I can’t stay.’
‘Take me with you, then. I don’t want to be here.’
‘I can’t do that. They’re helping you get better.’ Continue reading “Don’t Go | Microfiction”
‘I know he’s right for the job. I know he has all the experience. I know he’ll make this department the best it’s ever been. The trouble is, he knows it, too. He’s got an ego on him. If we give him this promotion, his big head’ll only get even more obnoxious.’ Continue reading “Ego | Flash Fiction”
The museum buzzed with voices and footsteps every time it rained. When the sun shone, it was deserted.
The city’s people didn’t care for history. They cared only for shelter when unfavourable weather dampened their retail therapy. Continue reading “Rainy Day | Microfiction”
Once upon a time there was a woman who only ever walked backwards.
She was the retrospective type. She believed that looking back would help her to learn from the past. It gave her time to brood over old regrets and figure out what she would do differently if she could turn back time and replay her life. Plus, it meant that she didn’t have to worry one jot about the future; she didn’t look ahead, so everything that was to come next was a perpetual surprise. Continue reading “Looking Back | Microfiction”
Dear Lost Forks,
I’d like to begin by thanking you for your vital, if short-lived, service. Over the past few months, you have done important work in aid of my taste buds and my stomach. You helped me to shovel pasta into my mouth at a rate that is almost superhuman. You allowed me to mash avocado onto toast so beautifully that my Instagram followers were driven wild. You even helped me to tackle the ring pulls on my Diet Cokes when I was afraid of breaking a nail, a task that is far beyond your intended role.
I know that I haven’t always been kind. Many a time I woke you from your slumber in the cutlery drawer, only for you to lay idle beside my plate as I threw my manners out the window and ate my food with my hands. You didn’t pass judgement on this lewd behaviour of mine, even when I ate so viciously that you were splattered with sauce and crumbs like mere placemats. Following this, and to my shame, I would simply mark you as ‘unused’ and replace you, unwashed, in the cutlery drawer.
Without a doubt, it is antics of this nature which have forced you to leave without saying goodbye…
Yeah, I’m writing on Medium! I’m hoping to post one new post -either fiction or silly non-fiction such as this – each week, so be sure to Follow me if you’re a Medium member. I’m looking forward to connecting with more people over there, too, so let me know if you’re a Medium writer.
Bang, bang, fucking bang, every single day since they moved in.
It’s not always loud. I mean, sometimes it is; sometimes it’s so loud it makes me jump out of my skin. But a lot of the time, it’s a dull thud, thud, thud, or a swift rat-a-tat-tat. It’s almost like somebody’s knocking on the wall that divides our properties, trying to get my attention. But that’s probably my mind playing tricks on me. Continue reading “Neighbours | Flash Fiction”
‘What are you doing, Grandad?’
‘I see that. Why?’
‘Goin’ to China.’ Continue reading “Diggin’ | Microfiction”
It’s awesome when you read a book or a story and you think, “I wanna write stuff as good as this!” You come away feeling all excited about the possibilities of these little things called words. It reignites that passion to practise, practise, practise in hopes that you’ll one day be even just a fraction as skilled as the author who penned that brilliant piece of fiction.
What’s less awesome is when you read said book or story and find yourself subsequently scribbling a cheap, knock-off version of the same thing. Reading is an important part of learning how to write, but there’s a fine line between being inspired by great fiction and being influenced by it. Continue reading “Being Inspired, Not Influenced, by Other Writers | Blog”