Short Story and Flash Fiction Writer
“It’s a Flingahrung. Duh.”
She scrutinised the mass of screwed up newspaper, bent chicken wire, flaking acrylic paint and globs of PVA glue. “What does it do?”
He ran his grubby fingers through his hair, coiffing it into an electrified bird’s nest. “Don’t you know anything?” Continue reading “The Flingahrung | Microfiction”
“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?”…
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”
Stick after stick they flung into the water before tearing along the muddy riverbank in chase.
Each twiggy sacrifice hurried along the current to its destiny; a big leap over the edge of the rocky outcrop. The sticks plummeted into a deep, dark pool and disappeared beneath the surface. It wasn’t long until they rose again, buoyed by the amber, peaty water. Continue reading “Poohsticks | Microfiction”
They were bones like no others. Every single one was intricately carved with an array of pretty patterns. A mound over here had geometric designs. A mound over there had elaborate flowers and delicate leaves. More still featured tiny human figures bearing guns.
And then there was the jewellery. Bangles. Necklaces. Pendants. Rings. All of it gleamed with an off-white lustre, polished to perfection. Continue reading “Better Run | Microfiction”
“What are you doing?”
“Painting, Mummy. Look. Our house.” He points at the crooked series of shapes and blobs on the page. “And us stood outside.”
“Look at the mess.” Continue reading “Tried | Microfiction”
“Trick or treat!”
Mr Swinton eyes up the pair of children – dressed up in old white sheets and skeleton face masks – and crosses his arms. “I choose trick.”
The kids glance at one another, rolling their eyes behind their masks.
“You kids all expect something for nothing, don’t you? Well, impress me with a trick and maybe you can earn some sweeties.” Continue reading “Trick | Microfiction”
“Ugh, my hair doesn’t look right. I want it to be bigger, y’know? Messier. It’s all flat and thin and tidy.”
“It looks fine, stop whinging.”
“And my clothes are all wrong. They’re not all ripped and raggedy like yours. And the hollows under my eyes aren’t dark enough. And you can barely see the bullet wound in my chest. This sucks.” Continue reading “Prepare for Spooks | Microfiction”
Hairbrush, makeup, phone charger, laptop and… that’s about it.
I never understand why people think moving house is so hard. Just chuck your stuff in a bag and get a shift on. Easy-peasy. Continue reading “Packing Up | Microfiction”
