Bullet | Flash Fiction

All aboard! Please have your tickets ready to show the inspector. Failure to produce a valid ticket could result in fine. Enjoy your journey with us today.

The shot knocked him straight to the floor and for a split second he thought he was dead. But he wasn’t. He touched his fingers to the back of his head. Wet. Blood. And when he realised there was blood, the pain kicked in – searing, burning, debilitating pain. The pain was so bad that he almost wished he had died. And then he passed out. Continue reading “Bullet | Flash Fiction”

Rosemary | Microfiction

“Delicious stew. What’s that lovely flavour?”

“Rosemary.”

“Nice. Fresh or dried?”

“She was pretty fresh. Got a lot left over though, so I might dry her out – make some jerky.” Continue reading “Rosemary | Microfiction”

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…

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Oh, Chute | Microfiction

“Wait, wait, wait. There’s something wrong with this parachute.”

“Really? But I checked it myself.”

“Really. Look. Someone’s tampered with it.”

“Well, shit.”

“Fuck! Good thing I noticed now. But this is serious. Who would do this? Do you think someone has it in for him? Trying to kill him off?” Continue reading “Oh, Chute | Microfiction”

The Reckoning | Microfiction

The locals thought little of the rock; it had always been there and it probably always would be. But when a stranger came from out of town and took interest in the great boulder, their world turned upside down. Continue reading “The Reckoning | Microfiction”

Future Fitness | Flash Fiction

“Ten quid’s a real bargain for a treadmill. There something wrong with it?”

“We just want rid of it really — not bothered about the money. I mean, it’s a bit temperamental, but it works on the whole.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes the speed setting gets stuck. You have to have someone switch it off at the plug, or just jump off it. No big deal. You could probably get someone to have a look at it, get it fixed.”

“Right. I dunno, mate.”

“Go on. You drove all this way to look at it. Tell you what, I’ll let it go for a fiver. How about it?”

At home he donned his tracksuit bottoms and his trainers and he psyched himself up for his January journey to fitness.

He began with a stroll, speed set to minimum, and it wasn’t long until his heart was pounding and sweat was beading on his forehead.

“Power through,” he told himself, and he mashed at the control pad to increase the speed.

He made it up to a jog. His throat grew dry and his legs burned. He thought about the ice cold beers in his fridge and the pizza place menu on the kitchen counter.

“Power through,” he told himself, and he hiked up the speed once more, just to prove to himself that he could do it.

He hadn’t run anywhere in years. He couldn’t even remember the last time his legs had moved so fast. His heart hammered and his lungs wheezed and the sweat began to pour from every inch of his skin.

“Can’t power through. Don’t want a heart attack,” he told himself, as his tacky fingers pressed desperately at the control pad.

Nothing happened. The speed wouldn’t drop…

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Premium Tears | Microfiction

Buttons from a yellow jacket – check.

Feather from a buzzard – check.

Blood from a bounty hunter – check. And that shit wasn’t easy to get hold of. I hope that dude doesn’t have any vengeful friends. Continue reading “Premium Tears | Microfiction”

Day 358 | Flash Fiction

By day 358 on the island I was shitting through the eye of a needle.

I didn’t know if the coconuts were rancid or I’d simply eaten so many that my body was finally starting to reject them. But what choice did I have? I could shit myself silly or I could starve to death. I was seriously considering the latter.

And then I saw the boat on the horizon. I thought it was coconut-induced delirium at first, but I blinked and I blinked and it wouldn’t go away. I stoked the fire and piled it high with every flammable thing I could find until thick plumes of grey smoke rose high up into the azure sky.

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Cockerels Are From The Fiery Pits of Hell | Short Story

It’s a sure sign that your owner is having problems when they bring home a cockerel.

“Look at this handsome guy, Bruno,” he said to me, all smiles and with just a flicker of madness behind his eyes as he stroked at the cockerel’s rubbery head. “He’s gonna get me up. He’s gonna change my life.”

I wagged my tail at him because that’s my job, but I wanted to do was give him a slap round the back of the head and tell him to pull himself together.

He already has three alarm clocks, all of them set at staggered times in an attempt to rouse him from sleep. But they don’t do the job. They go off, alright. They sure as hell wake me up from my beauty sleep. They just don’t manage to sift through into the murky, sleeping subconscious of my incompetent owner.

It’s not like I let him sleep, either. I’m desperate for him to wake up so that he can take me out for my morning ablutions and give me the almighty meal known as Breakfast. I nuzzle him. I lick his face. I paw at his head. I scrabble at his chest. Once I trampled all over the area he’s most precious about, and even that didn’t wake him. When that man falls asleep, he’s dead to the world. Only his own body clock can wake him, and that seems to be set to permanent snooze mode.

His life is falling apart. He’s had a million warnings from work about his tardiness. He lost his girlfriend when she got sick of waiting for him to wake every day. His family think he’s a lazy oaf and will have nothing to do with him. And even though I’m obligated to provide him with unconditional love, he’s really starting to go down in my estimation. The only reason he’s remained in my good books for so long is because he buys the fancy treats with the bacon wrapped around them.

So he brought in this cockerel and I’m all freaked out because, let’s be real, those things look like something out of the Jurassic Park animatronic reject bin. Its face was too small for its body, its feet were too big for its legs, and it had what looked to be the off-cuts of a ballsack attached to its head.

But I’m a dog. So I played nice…

CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >

Bickering | Flash Fiction

“Do you hear what I hear?”

Cow chews on her cud and shakes her head at Sheep.

“Dog and Cat at it again,” Sheep whispers. “Listen.”

Cow stops chewing and strains her ears. Faint growls and yowls can be heard from the other side of the barn. She sighs and begins to chomp once again.

Sheep chuckles. “What do you think it’s about this time?”

“I want nothing to do with this gossip,” mutters Cow. “It’s none of my business and it’s certainly none of yours.”

“Oh, but it is. I answer to that bloody sheepdog, see. The more dirt I can get on her, the better.” Continue reading “Bickering | Flash Fiction”