Short Story and Flash Fiction Writer
The front door slams, the house shivers and its inhabitants freeze.
“They’re back,” says Daughter, and her face quickly crumples as tears well.
“Don’t you dare cry,” hisses Mother. “They’ll hear us.”
The family falls silent and listens. A series of thuds and rattles comes from the floor below. Cupboard doors are opened and closed, opened and closed, over and over. Then there’s a short yell, a moment of quiet, and the soft wail of a miserable child.
Daughter whimpers. Mother glares at her.
I only open my curtains when the sun’s gone down. It’s so I don’t have to see the people in the garden. They freak me out with their wide, dead-eyed stares. Continue reading “My Evening Routine | Microfiction”
Round and round goes the hamster in his wheel, sending up giggles from the human faces which peer through the bars of his cage.
“Silly Hammy.”
“He just keeps going, doesn’t he?”
“Why does he run for so long, Mummy?”
“I suppose he’s just having sooo much fun!”
The hamster lets out an indignant squeak. Fun? Ha! As if, he thinks. His heart hums and his lungs burn with exertion. But look… it might just all be worth it… Continue reading “Silly Hammy | Microfiction”
Hang In There! says the poster, and just beneath this peppy instruction is a photograph of a sloth hanging languidly from a branch. Its little black eyes gaze out, curious, while a superior half-smile on its mouth shows its true colours. “Oh yeah, you hang in there,” that smug mouth seems to say. “I’ll even provide the noose.”
Gordon wants to punch that fucking sloth right between its beady eyes.
“Help. Help us! My friend’s been knifed. He’s bleeding out.”
The little girl eyes the panicked lime that stands before her, along with his injured lemon friend who is oozing juice fast. “Oh. I don’t know what to do.” Continue reading “Bleeding Out | Microfiction”
