The Mug | Flash Fiction

The mug sits unwashed on the kitchen table, a layer of white fuzz growing on the surface of the dregs of tea inside it. A smudge of lipstick is on the rim, and there’s a fingerprint made in chocolate on the handle.

The rest of the kitchen is pristine. Every single other mug, cup, glass, plate and bowl is dutifully washed, dried and put away immediately after use. But the mouldy mug remains on the table, as it has for three weeks now.

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Wild Things My Grandma Told Me | Short Story

Grandparents have secrets. And trust me — you don’t want to know what they are.

My Grandma was 87 years old when she revealed her secrets, but nobody would have pegged her anything beyond 75. She had a few lines and wrinkles here and there, sure, but you’d never guess she was pushing 90. And if you spoke to her without seeing her, you’d think her in her 30s. She could talk a mile a minute and she swore like a trooper. She knew her stuff when it came to modern music and the latest blockbusters. She had an iPhone and a Snapchat account and thousands of followers on Instagram.

So when pneumonia took her down we were all surprised. None more than her, mind.

“I’m too young for pneumonia.”

“You’re 87,” my Mum told her.

“People like me shouldn’t get pneumonia. Haven’t had so much as a cold in decades. Only time I get sick is when I overdo the whiskey sours and that doesn’t count — that’s self-inflicted. Are they sure it’s pneumonia? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. So you’ve to keep quiet, be on your best behaviour and cooperate with the doctors.”

“Yes, dear. I will. Best behaviour.” And then she saw me clock her crossed fingers and threw me a sly smirk.

I visited her as often as I could. I got the bus from the hospital straight after college every weekday, and I went in the morning and again in the afternoon on Saturdays and Sundays. She’d always have a tale to tell about the time that passed during my absence. How she initiated a group singalong of Bruno Mars’ 24K Magic throughout the ward. How she invited the charming 28-year-old hospital porter out for drinks. How she’d given one of the specialist doctors a lesson on achieving the ultimate orgasm. How she’d sneaked into the hospital kitchen to add chilli powder to the meatloaf mixture. On and on it went — miniature adventures which transformed a drab old stay in the hospital into a thriving chapter of her life.

But after the second week on the ward, the adventures became less frequent, less exciting. Her retelling of the few escapades she did manage — having a cheeky squeeze of a handsome nurse’s bum, for example — became less animated. Her cheeks grew paler. Her voice grew weaker. The wheezing and rattling in her chest grew stronger. Her skin was almost translucent.

“Not long for this mortal coil,” she croaked at me one day.

“Don’t say that, Grandma. You’ll be alright. Keep your chin up.”

“It is up, it is. But we’ve all got to go someday. My time’s coming up and that’s alright. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Invite Michael Bublé to my funeral. His number’s saved in my phone. He might not come, but I’d like for him to have the opportunity to say his goodbyes. He only knew me briefly but… well, he knew me rather intimately.”

I didn’t ask for details. “I’ll invite him,” I said, though at that stage I didn’t mean it. I didn’t believe she’d ever even met him.

“Thank you, dear.” She sighed, shook her head slightly. “There’s a lot you don’t know, young lady. A lot that nobody knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“My life. I don’t want to blow my own trumpet, but it was bloody colourful.”

“So tell me about it.” That was my first big mistake.

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An Update that Nobody Asked For | Blog

I’ve been AWOL for a while and I felt like I should do a short blog post to explain my disappearance and to make preemptive excuses for any future relinquishing of my website, social media, email, writing and general life responsibilities. Continue reading “An Update that Nobody Asked For | Blog”

Questions for Kids | Flash Fiction

“…so the pig offered a piece of his meat for the bloke to use as a muscle in his leg. That’s why they call it a hamstring.”

“Cool! Thanks, Dad.”

Kids are inquisitive. Too inquisitive, for Jez’s liking. They ask a lot of questions to which nobody really knows the answers, but if you try to fob them off with an “I don’t know, pet,” they’ll witter on and on and on until you’re about ready to lose your mind.

Jez came up with a solution to this problem. Just make shit up. Easy…

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Here Comes Dreary January | Flash Fiction

“Oh, shit. Dreary January is here. Prepare yourselves for misery.”

“Hi,” says January, face blank, dead behind the eyes.

“Hello, mate!” says February. “How are you doing?”

“Well, I’m skint. I’ve got nothing to look forward to. I’m freezing fucking cold and I hate everything.”

February grins. “Least you’ve got your health, eh?”

January gives a pointed cough. “Nope. Just getting over the flu.”

“Stop whinging, January. You really are a buzzkill,” December slurs. “Have a drink with me, won’t you?” Continue reading “Here Comes Dreary January | Flash Fiction”

Chitchat | Microfiction

She despises these events. Free tea and coffee is fine, but it comes with the pressure of idle chitchat and ‘making connections’ for the company she hates working for.

She pours a mound of sugar into her coffee and catches the eye of a man opposite her. Continue reading “Chitchat | Microfiction”

The Ultimate Mood Ring | Microfiction

Have you ever wanted to match your accessories to your mood? Why not go one step further and let your accessories transform your mood!

With the Ultimate Mood Ring, you can switch up your mood in a matter of minutes by simply switching out the stylish stone. Continue reading “The Ultimate Mood Ring | Microfiction”

Smell Ya Later | Blog

Just wanted to leave a wee note to say that I’m jetting off on my honeymoon today and will be happily ignoring everything internet and writing related for 10 glorious days.

I’m not deluded enough to think that folks will miss me during a measly 10-day absence but… just in case anyone does wonder where I am, know that I’m okay and not dead and I probably have a nice big glass of wine in my hand. The following gif is a fairly accurate representation of what I’ll be up to: Continue reading “Smell Ya Later | Blog”

If You Can’t Beat ‘Em | Flash Fiction

Don wakes up with a taste in his mouth that is reminiscent of the arse end of a badger. His head throbs and his stomach feels raw and empty. He’s slumped against the locked door of his local pub, and all around him is chaos.

People are running up and down the street, some carrying baseball bats, others lugging cardboard boxes, more still swigging from beer cans and bottles of liquor. Most of them have hoods pulled low over their faces and they’re shouting and screaming, whooping and laughing. Continue reading “If You Can’t Beat ‘Em | Flash Fiction”

Ash | Flash Fiction

The fortune teller doesn’t notice that her cigarette is slowly burning down to the filter, dropping ash onto her yellowed fingers and the table beneath them. Instead, she is mesmerised by the images in her crystal ball. Continue reading “Ash | Flash Fiction”