It was a simple little wallet; plain black faux leather, worn and tatty. She saw it fall out of his coat pocket and land on the pavement as he walked down the street. He didn’t notice; his hands were full. She lurched after him, grabbed the wallet, and babbled at him until he turned around.
“Excuse me! Your wallet. You dropped… I’ve got… wallet… Excuse me!”
When he turned and looked at her, she lost her breath and flushed bright pink. She thrust the wallet at him. “You dropped it.” Continue reading “I Gave Her My Glock | Flash Fiction”
“Take a seat, Miles. Drink?”
“No, no thank you. Better not.”
“Oh, go on. It’s Friday, after all.”
Miles wipes his brow and sits down at his boss’s desk, while Mr Cooke pours two generous tots of whiskey.
“It’s been a tough week, Miles.”
“Have you not found it a tough week?”
“Oh, yes sir. Very tough week. Yes. I nodded.”
“No, I… I agreed. Tough week.”
“Let’s talk about it.” Mr Cooke pushes a glass towards Miles. “Tell me about your week.”
“Well. I had… a few problems.”
“Oh, I know, I know. Exactly how much money did you lose the company, Miles?”
Miles swallows hard. “It was, um, a little over… seven, I think. Yes, seven million.”
CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >
“Lacy knickers?” Leslie’s face is crinkled with confusion. “Is this a joke?”
“They’re not for you,” Gerald grumbles. “They’re supposed to be for Lesley.”
“I am Leslie,” says Leslie.
“The other Lesley.”
“But I picked the other Lesley out of the hat – I bought for her.”
“Hang on. How do you spell your names?” Continue reading “Secret Santa | Short Story”
“You damn hipster,” Olrug said with a sneer.
Xalmun took a long toke on his electronic cigarette and blew plumes of vapour straight into his friend’s face. “It’s better for you.”
“Is it now?”
“Yup. Filters out all those filthy toxins. The dark thoughts. The sins. The impure fantasies.”
Olrug sighed. “But they’re the best parts. They give that nice, bitter burn at the back of your throat. It’s not the same without that kick, y’know?”
Xalmun rolled his eyes. “You gonna put this one out of its misery?”…
CONTINUE READING ON MEDIUM >
Park, park, park. Leaves, leaves, leaves. Park, leaves, park, leaves. Damn, I wish I had more information.
The park’s huge. There are leaves everywhere. I’m never gonna find those damn bones.
I should’ve grilled him. Should’ve got some more to go on. Should’ve asked him outright, “Where’d you put the bones, Punk?” But I’d have probably just spooked him, I guess. At least he has no idea that I’m about to raid him. Continue reading “The Hunt | Microfiction”
The cretins have locked me in again. I can only assume it is down to the cold, white fluff which is falling from the sky. It may be chilly, but it’s awfully pretty to look at and rather fun to frolic in. I suppose it will have to suffice that I watch it through the window, since I have been unjustifiably incarcerated.
The worst thing about the locked door? Having to shit in sawdust, like a damn rodent. I don’t think the humans quite understand the importance of feeling grass beneath my paws when I relieve myself. Imagine if I took their strange, porcelain throne away from them; they’d feel degraded. Perhaps one day, if I ever manage to sprout opposable thumbs, I’ll do exactly that and present them with a plastic box instead. I think they’d soon realise that it pays to let a cat keep to his normal toileting habits. Continue reading “An Incarceration | Short Story”
Trev gnawed viciously at his stubby fingernails, which incited a curled lip of disgust from the detective.
“Don’t do that. Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
Trev wiped his moist fingertips on his tracksuit bottoms. “I didn’t do it.”
“But we have CCTV evidence which suggests you did.”
“Wasn’t me. There’s a bloke who looks a bit like me, y’know? You police are always getting me mixed up with him.” Continue reading “Wasn’t Me | Flash Fiction”
The house seemed to have crumbled from the foundations up. If there were bodies buried within the rubble, they weren’t going to be easy to find.
The detectives were totally perplexed. It was the only house for miles around, and there’d been no witnesses to give clues as to what had brought the structure tumbling down. Continue reading “Hungry | Flash Fiction”
“Hey, new guy,” says my manager. “You coming to the bar? We’ve got a bit of a thing for liquid lunches here.”
Inwardly I cringe. Trust me to join a company where getting steaming drunk at lunchtime on a Monday is accepted behaviour. Don’t get me wrong, I like a beer as much as the rest of them, but not on a Monday lunchtime. I just want to do my job, get paid, and hit the pub with my friends when the weekend comes around.
“Sure,” I say. Gotta fit in, right? Continue reading “Liquid Lunch | Short Story”