“How’s the missus?”
Matt frowns. “What missus?”
His colleague frowns right back. “Alisha, isn’t it? How is she?”
“No idea what you’re on about, Marie.”
Marie snorts. “Oh no, you haven’t had a falling out have you?”
Matt maintains his look of puzzlement. “What you on about? I don’t have a girlfriend. Been single for months.” Continue reading “Gossips”
I saw a Twitter thread at the start of the year in which people were discussing the Ray Bradbury Challenge (I’m not gonna share it ‘cos I can’t find it… bad blogger alert, sorry), and it got me thinking. So naturally, I’m going to ramble on about it for a few hundred words or so.
The idea behind the challenge is that you write a short story ever single week for a full year, because it’s not possible to write 52 bad stories in a row. At some point, you’re bound to come up with a gem, right? Continue reading “Quantity or Quality in Fiction Writing?”
Mr and Mrs Showers cling onto each other’s hands and look up at the ceiling. They’re in the living room, directly below the bedroom of their young daughter, waiting for midnight and hoping it won’t come.
It’s a yearly ritual, this waiting malarkey. It occurs on the evening of the 31st of March, and it’s an opportunity to reflect upon past mistakes. They watch the clock and curse themselves for ever being stupid enough to name their daughter April. Continue reading “April Showers”
Summer Sundays were always meant for al fresco dinners. An opportunity for a busy family to share the week’s news over a bottle of wine and a table straining with food.
I didn’t see why it had to be different after the accident. Every week I prepared a spread fit for a king, only I was the sole diner. Continue reading “Summer Sundays”
Rachel’s back ached and her calf muscles were in spasm. Her alarm blared at her incessantly like a child screaming for its mother. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to wake up, and she groaned as she willed her eyes to open and figure out the cause of her pain. Continue reading “Time is a Social Construct”
The detective gazed into the glazed eyes of the corpse on the floor and wondered what its last thoughts could have been as its blood spurted from its neck and flooded the floor. Probably, “Oh fuck,” or something to that effect, she thought.
She had three months left on the force, and she’d been craving a juicy case to get stuck into before she stepped into the quiet lane of retirement. This looked like it could be the one. Continue reading “Big-Eared B*stard”
Bruno froze at the click of the bathroom door. He heard the floorboards creak, a splosh, then the squeak of skin on the bottom of the tub. He waited for the sound of moving water to subside, and then he let the silence hang for a couple of minutes.
Satisfied that his roommate was fully ensconced in her bubblebath, Bruno launched himself at the sofa, then clambered up onto the back of it. From there, he manoeuvred himself to perch on the windowsill. Continue reading “The Voice”
“I’ve seen pictures – they’re beautiful!”
Ant sighed as he waited for his friend to the finish the phone call.
“Well their mother looks incredible, so it’s no surprise, really.”
It was always the same; he met Dylan “for a few drinks,” paid for the first round, and sat listening to half a conversation while his friend wittered to somebody else over the phone. Continue reading “Better Plans”
An angry man exits an apartment building with a red face and the shine of early tears in his eyes.
He talks three steps to his left, three steps to his right, then drags his hands down the length of his face.
He wants to scream, but he can’t. He wants to hurl some verbal abuse at the window three storeys up, but he can’t. He wants to return to the apartment he left just moments before and throw some plates against walls, but he can’t. Continue reading “Fighting Back”