I look in the mirror and grimace. Deep bags under my eyes. Pimples on my chin. Eyebrows in dire need of a pluck.
“Gross,” I whisper to myself.
“Who the hell are you calling gross?” I say back.
It’s me, talking back to me. My reflection is moving of its own accord and it’s talking to me. Continue reading “Pep Talk | Flash Fiction”
All the silly stories from my social media this week.
‘He’s terribly cute.’
Cute aren’t I?
I’d make a lovely lodger. Neat. Tidy. Quiet, except for when the postman comes and you need an advance warning of him shoving danger through the letterbox. Continue reading “An Ode to Sausages | Short Story”
Today is the launch of my latest collection of short stories, Come What May Day, which naturally has me feeling all excited and utterly fraught with nerves in equal measures.
Just like my last collection, each story in Come What May Day takes place in the same nameless Yorkshire town and on the same day, only this time the onset of spring has brought about some new adventures.
May Day has arrived and the storm clouds have parted just enough for the annual May Fair to kick off without a hitch. But how long will it be until the town’s dark streak rears its ugly head? Continue reading “Come What May Day | Another Short Story Collection!”
“I cannot tell you how sick I am of this whole leopard print trend.”
Lenny laughed. “But you’re wearing it, darling!”
“I know, I know. I wish I wasn’t.” Lolly sighed. “Aren’t you tired of seeing it everywhere? Everyone’s wearing it these days. It’s so overdone, and not even done well. Leopard has become the trademark for trashy.” Continue reading “Fashion, Darling | Microfiction”
The fortune teller has been glaring at Polly for 10 minutes, and Polly hasn’t dared to look away. There’s something in the woman’s eyes that makes it impossible. Something almost threatening that tells her not to break the silence.
And yet, despite the hostile atmosphere, Polly’s feeling a little bored. She’s also more than a little peeved that she’s spent £45 just to be stared down by a woman with cold, hard eyes. She came here to be told of her future. She expected a crystal ball at the very least.
The fortune teller blinks, shakes her head, and finally looks away. “Gotcha,” she says. “Here. Take this.” She pulls a cardboard tube out from beneath the table and hands it over. “There’s a picture in here which depicts your future. Don’t peek until you get home. And don’t get too upset… we can’t all have the perfect life.”
Polly nods as she takes the package. “Thanks,” she says.
The fortune teller grunts. “My commiserations.”
Continue reading on Medium >
“You’re never 60!”
Her colleagues stare at her with pure jealousy. She doesn’t look a day over 45.
“What’s your secret?”
“Ah… that would be telling,” she says smugly. Continue reading “The Ultimate Anti-Aging Secret | Microfiction”
A roundup of the miniature stories I wrote on Twitter and Instagram this week.
“I can’t believe that dumb bitch put me in the washing machine.” Silk Shirt takes in the dark grey sky and her rage grows. “If it pisses it down on me now, I swear I’ll shrink on purpose just to teach her a lesson.”
“Give it a bloody rest, will you?” mutters Holey Old Band Tee. “There’s no wonder she treats you like crap when you’re so hoity toity and full of yourself. If you ever want to bag yourself Favourite Garment status, you have to relax. Roll with the punches. Pitch yourself as reliable. Comfortable. Cool. And make sure you age gracefully. That’s what I did. 20 years she’s been wearing me. My hem’s all raggedy and I have five holes and counting, but I still look fucking awesome. I’ve been through more wash cycles than I can count, andI’ve been left out in the rain at least six times a year since she first bought me. Do you catch me complaining? No. You’ll only ever catch me looking totally rock and roll. That’s why I’m her favourite.”
“It won’t last,” says Paint-Splattered Jeans glumly. “I was you, once. She never wanted to take me off. She wore me everywhere. We saw the world! Then one day, all of a sudden, I was relegated to DIY.”
Silk Shirt gasps. “What happened?”
Continue reading on Medium >