Emily swings the metal detector from side to side, ignoring her brother’s pleading tones behind her.
“Come on, Em, please! I need to pee so bad. And I’m bored and my legs are tired and we haven’t found anything all day.”
“Shut up, Isaac! It’s beeping. There’s something here.” She drops to the ground and begins to scrabble at the soil with her hands. Continue reading “Loot | Flash Fiction”
Every day at 12.45pm sharp, a middle-aged woman drops into the supermarket to purchase 18 bananas.
She’s done the same for five years. Monday through Sunday, she carefully chooses 18 perfectly ripe bananas, takes them to the checkout, packs them into her reusable carrier bag, pays, and leaves. There’s never anything else on her shopping list, it seems. It’s all about the bananas. Continue reading “Bananas | Flash Fiction”
The heat wave wafted across Great Britain and melted everything in its path.
Buildings sagged. Trees wilted. Cats puddled. Humans grew sticky and stretchy like warm gum. Tarmac and asphalt grew soft enough that cars sank and became stranded in the middle of the motorway. Continue reading “The Heat Wave | Microfiction”
The title screen rolls while Netflix queues up another recommended show.
“I can’t take another,” Fran mutters as she drags her fingers down her face, pulling her features down into a grotesque grimace.
“But the day isn’t over,” Lisa replies with a sigh. Continue reading “Longest Day | Microfiction”
The queue for Shy Styles snakes right around the block. The men and women patiently waiting in line are all completely silent. Some listen to music through ear buds or headphones. Others tap idly at phone screens and tablets. A few are reading books, while more still simply gaze about them, taking in the cars and people that pass them by.
The same goes for the lucky customers who are at the very front of the queue and able to find seats inside the salon’s foyer. None of them say a word. The only sound is that of a lone hairdryer, which the hairstylist wields expertly as she finishes off a sleek cut and blow dry. Continue reading “Shy Styles | Flash Fiction”
“The best way to overcome fear is to face it head on.”
Pete gazed across Trafalgar Square and felt his heart pound. He turned to his life coach and shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You can, Pete. And you will,” she said with a confident smile. “Look.”
She produced a paper bag from her pocket and showed Pete the contents.
He frowned. “Isn’t this illegal?” Continue reading “Face Your Fear | Flash Fiction”
‘I know he’s right for the job. I know he has all the experience. I know he’ll make this department the best it’s ever been. The trouble is, he knows it, too. He’s got an ego on him. If we give him this promotion, his big head’ll only get even more obnoxious.’ Continue reading “Ego | Flash Fiction”
Once upon a time there was a woman who only ever walked backwards.
She was the retrospective type. She believed that looking back would help her to learn from the past. It gave her time to brood over old regrets and figure out what she would do differently if she could turn back time and replay her life. Plus, it meant that she didn’t have to worry one jot about the future; she didn’t look ahead, so everything that was to come next was a perpetual surprise. Continue reading “Looking Back | Microfiction”
Dear Lost Forks,
I’d like to begin by thanking you for your vital, if short-lived, service. Over the past few months, you have done important work in aid of my taste buds and my stomach. You helped me to shovel pasta into my mouth at a rate that is almost superhuman. You allowed me to mash avocado onto toast so beautifully that my Instagram followers were driven wild. You even helped me to tackle the ring pulls on my Diet Cokes when I was afraid of breaking a nail, a task that is far beyond your intended role.
I know that I haven’t always been kind. Many a time I woke you from your slumber in the cutlery drawer, only for you to lay idle beside my plate as I threw my manners out the window and ate my food with my hands. You didn’t pass judgement on this lewd behaviour of mine, even when I ate so viciously that you were splattered with sauce and crumbs like mere placemats. Following this, and to my shame, I would simply mark you as ‘unused’ and replace you, unwashed, in the cutlery drawer.
Without a doubt, it is antics of this nature which have forced you to leave without saying goodbye…
Read the full post over at Medium >
Yeah, I’m writing on Medium! I’m hoping to post one new post -either fiction or silly non-fiction such as this – each week, so be sure to Follow me if you’re a Medium member. I’m looking forward to connecting with more people over there, too, so let me know if you’re a Medium writer.
‘What are you doing, Grandad?’
‘I see that. Why?’
‘Goin’ to China.’ Continue reading “Diggin’ | Microfiction”