Short Story and Flash Fiction Writer
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.
Me Mum always told me I shouldn’t stop at nothing to get #victory. So I wasn’t gonna let him take my girl out, was I?
And I didn’t even lay a finger on him. I just had a fiddle with his brakes. I didn’t know it would kill him!
Can’t say I’m bothered, mind. She’s mine now.#vss365— Ellie Scott (@itsemscott) April 29, 2019
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”
Wee stories from my social media this week.
“She called my manuscript ‘infuriatingly #vapid.’ Isn’t that great?”
“I don’t know…”
“It’s not a copy-paste form rejection. It’s real, tangible feedback! Finally I have proof that my writing makes people FEEL something. My words have the power to infuriate! Cool, huh?”#vss365— Ellie Scott (@itsemscott) April 24, 2019
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.”
“You’re never 60!”
“I am.”
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.
“So we only have one #vacant room left, and it has a few… quirks. Don’t remove the plastic sheets on the bed, don’t turn on the lamp in the corner, DO NOT make eye contact with the thing in the bath…”
“What thing?”
The receptionist smiles. “And don’t ask questions.” #vss365— Ellie Scott (@itsemscott) April 6, 2019
The toilet stall read “Vacant” and yet the damn thing wouldn’t open. She hammered on the door desperately, wincing as her full bladder threatened to revolt if it wasn’t relieved soon.
“Anyone in there?” she called.
No reply. Continue reading “Don’t Trust the Toilets | Microfiction”
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.
