The waiter approaches the couple’s table and lays a plate between them with a flourish.
“Sir and madam, may I present to you the World’s Most Accurate Fortune Cookies. These cookies are handmade by a renowned oracle. The cookies which you select from this plate are destined for you, and you alone. Inside, you will learn of your fate.” Continue reading “The World’s Most Accurate Fortune Cookies | Microfiction”
Why won’t he text? Is he dead?
No, don’t be so stupid. He’ll have just forgotten.
That’s nice, isn’t it? Forgotten the love of his life. I must mean an awful lot to him if he can’t even be bothered to spend 3 seconds texting me.
Seriously, though, why would he forget me? Shouldn’t I be on his mind every second of every day like he is on mine? Continue reading “Is He Dead? | Flash Fiction”
The groom pours stale coffee into a cup, leaving a half an inch of the black liquid in the bottom of the percolator. He brings the cup to his dry lips and takes a long swig to relieve the cotton wool sensation that plagues his tongue.
He needs distraction. He retrieves his phone from his trouser pocket and taps at the screen to access his documents. He skims over the latest draft of an article he’s been battling with for weeks. It’s good. It’s almost perfect. He just can’t seem to find the right words to conclude it.
And he probably won’t be able to find them now as the nerves swirl in his stomach. He takes another sip of coffee and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.
She’ll turn up her nose when she catches the whiff of stale fag on his breath. He told her he’d quit. She doesn’t know that he never managed to kick that first and only smoke of the day.
When the nicotine has delivered a surge of faux confidence, he tosses the cigarette — only two-thirds smoked — onto the ground and grinds it beneath his shoe. He can probably go through with it, he thinks. It won’t kill him. He’s managed three years already; a lifetime won’t be all that bad…
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Glass after glass was filled haphazardly with champagne and passed around the eager party. Everyone had scrubbed up well for the occasion; new dresses had been purchased and best suits dug out of the back of the wardrobe and dusted off. Only the very best would do for Mr and Mrs Acton’s golden wedding anniversary.
A microphone squeaked into life and cheers went up as the room prepared for the speech. Soon enough all eyes were on Mr Acton, who swayed gently from side to side. He held his sixth glass of champagne in his hand. Continue reading “A Toast”
“Hurry up, it’s almost on,” he shouted from the sofa, remote control in hand.
“I can’t find it!” she called from the hallway. She’d already pulled everything out of her purse and was scrabbling through month-old receipts and year-old gum wrappers at the bottom of her handbag.
“If you’ve lost that ticket and it’s a winning one I’ll never forgive you.” Continue reading “The Lottery”