No Such Thing as Can’t | Flash Fiction

‘I can’t do this,’ she whispers.

She retrieves a pair of smart black trousers from the wardrobe and lays them out on the bed. Shirt next. She has one in mind. It’s newish. Plainish. Smartish. First day material. It will help her blend in. But it isn’t where it’s supposed to be.

Hangers screech as she slides them left to right and right to left on their rail. It has to be there. It has to be hiding. It has to be.

She lunges for the wash basket, flips back the lid, and rifles through stale garments. It’s there, right at the bottom, crumpled into a ball.

Tears want to spill but she breathes and assesses the damage. She shakes the shirt out and examines it, front and back. Lots of creases. No stains, at least. A tentative sniff decides it; quick iron, spritz of Febreze, splash of perfume, and it’ll do the job.

She stubs her toe on the bed frame as she gathers up her outfit.

She traps a finger in the stiff hinge of the ironing board as she erects it.

She scatters bottles of cleaning products across the kitchen floor as she retrieves the iron from under the sink.

The iron is dead. The little light won’t turn on. It doesn’t get hot. Something inside it rattles when she shakes it.

She clenches her jaw. ‘I can’t do this.’

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Anxiety Girl by Lacey London | Book Review

Sadie Valentine is a beautiful young woman who, upon first look, seems to have it all. She has gorgeous flat in the most sought-after part of Cheshire, a wonderful best friend, and a successful career as an artist. But when things in her life start going wrong, anxiety, depression, and panic attacks begin to take hold and cause her to lose control. Continue reading “Anxiety Girl by Lacey London | Book Review”

Is He Dead? | Flash Fiction

Why won’t he text? Is he dead?

No, don’t be so stupid. He’ll have just forgotten.

That’s nice, isn’t it? Forgotten the love of his life. I must mean an awful lot to him if he can’t even be bothered to spend 3 seconds texting me.

Seriously, though, why would he forget me? Shouldn’t I be on his mind every second of every day like he is on mine? Continue reading “Is He Dead? | Flash Fiction”