Long Reads, Short Stories & Flash Fiction
Comments 5


‘When did you realise for you the first time that you weren’t immortal?’

The blonde’s face flashed into his mind and he thought about the way she’d spoken with a smile, showing off the bit of apple stuck in her teeth and the crooked incisor that he’d noticed her poking at with her tongue during their entire meal.

‘Pardon?’ he’d replied, staring at her over a forkful of salad. ‘What sort of question is that?’

She’d blushed and shrugged.

‘It’s just a first date sort of question,’ she’d said. ‘You know, a sort of tell me who you are type question.’

‘Oh,’ he’d said before eating his forkful of salad and forgetting about it all together.

Now, now he was thinking about it though. Or more accurately, about how he’d never assumed that he was immortal until the day he’d found out that he actually was and being immortal was nothing more than a massive ball ache for all those involved.

‘Here we go again,’ he sighed, gripping the window sill with both hands and heaving himself to his feet.

Eight floors down the gaggle of neatly dressed police officers leapt to attention, the one with the crackly microphone shouting something up in that calm, measure way that one speaks to an insane person.

‘Poor sap,’ Thomas thought. Groaning, he stretched upwards, popping the kink from his shoulders. With a final glance down he shoved his leg back inside and ducked his body beneath the sash window. He landed solidly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he scanned over the living room and decided that yes, everything was most certainly being left behind and screw the price of furnishing from scratch, he’d earned more than enough over the years.

‘SIR! OPEN UP!’ The voice accompanied a series of heavy thuds which rattled the front door.

‘Great,’ Thomas muttered, straightening his tie and brushing off his sleeves. In three long strides he was stood in front of the door, handle in hand and face smoothed into what could be considered a welcoming expression.

‘Really,’ he said, swinging the door inwards, ‘can a man not enjoy his own window sill in peace these days.’

Just a random, quick free-write in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Finite Creatures.”

This entry was posted in: Long Reads, Short Stories & Flash Fiction


Carol Forrester is a twenty-four year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.


  1. I really enjoyed that story…though honestly I came here looking for something about the Windows computer…alas, disappointment 🙂

  2. I had to read it a couple times. The immortal question seems to imply he would jump out window. Did he go back in because the attention?

    • To be honest I’m not sure. It was a freewrite based off a prompt so it’s not something that I redrafted. Perhaps, I suppose in my mind he just wanted to sit in the fresh fair and enjoy the day.

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