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Ellie Scott

Writer. Copywriter. Weirdo.

creative writing

Illustration of a chicken on a nest - "Wanna Know How I Got My Wings?" flash fiction
#Animal Tales#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium

Wanna Know How I Got My Wings? | Flash Fiction

I’m taking a break from writing/posting for a couple of weeks because my brain’s being a real piece of shit at the moment. Plus, I’m going on my jolly holidays to Cornwall next week and I’ll be too busy soothing my soul with Cornish cream teas, catching up with family, and writing “Ellie Rulez” repeatedly in the sand on the beach. In the meantime, here’s a really stupid story that I posted on Medium last week and forgot to link here. I thought it was funny when I wrote it… you be the judge. Ta ta for now. Well there […]

Illustration of man jumping - "The Big Jump" flash fiction
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Stories that Sing

The Big Jump | Flash Fiction

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?

Chopped apple illustration - "Leg It!" microfiction
#Fiction#Microfiction#Tiny Silly Stories

Leg It! | Microfiction

Teensy-weensy stories I wrote on social media this week. Molten liquid bubbles in the #crucible while the evil villain looks on. “Time to sacrifice another. Boil away!” Cackling, she tosses the next victim to its death. “Lucy! My best saucepan… look at the mess! Turn off that hob and put those gummy bears down.” “But Mum…”#vss365a — Ellie Scott (@itsemscott) June 2, 2019

Hands sewing illustration - "Quilting" flash fiction
#Fiction#Flash Fiction#Medium

Quilting | Flash Fiction

Oh, she’s so fucking old. How is she still clinging on to life? How? “Morning Mrs Tidpot,” I call as I lug her shopping through to the kitchen. “Mm.” She’s quilting as usual. Always bloody quilting. How she isn’t bored to death of it yet I don’t know. “Working on that quilt again, are you?” “Mm.” I put the kettle on and unpack the shopping, wondering who I could get to shoot me if I ever ended up quilting every damn day just to while away the seconds until death. Continue reading on Medium >

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