All posts filed under: Short Stories & Flash Fiction

Short Stories & Flash Fictions contains a collection of prose pieces that range from six words to three thousand words. Some are linked into each other; the vast majority are one hundred or two hundred words entries for weekly prompts.

In Quest Of An Answer #WeekendWritingPrompt

‘Well it’s certainly…’ Amanda trailed off. ‘I know right,’ said Thomas. He rocked back on his heels and grinned at the stack of chairs teetering upwards to beyond the cloud-line. ‘I had to impress you otherwise how would I get you to say yes.’ ‘Yes?’ Amanda squeaked. ‘Yes to what?’ Thomas’ turned his grin on her. ‘Oh you know.’ Amanda swallowed. ‘So,’ said Thomas. ‘What do you say?’ ‘I…’ She stepped away, stumbled. Her hand caught the stack.’ ‘No!’ Thomas leapt past her, the tower already teetering. It went down. ‘No,’ said Amanda, examining Thomas’ limp hand beneath the rubble. ‘It was always no.’

Gathering Of The Equinox #WeekendWritingPrompt

Someone had strung lights from the trees, making up for the clouds creeping across the moon’s face. They drenched the clearing white, bright enough to illuminate the flakes of bark littering the feast table and the bad icing job on Elizabeth’s cupcakes. ‘There were more of us last year,’ Malvoc commented, hand hovering over a plate of pink wafers. ‘You always say that,’ replied Grot. He was perched, his feet hanging an inch above the ground. ‘It makes no difference, we’re still enough.’

No Light By This Moon #FlashFiction #MarchSpeculativeFiction

The settee springs had burst through the cushion and what little stuffing there had been was gone. The remaining fabric sagged or clung to the rusted springs, much like the building around it, and the skeletons beyond it. Eddie gripped one of the springs near the base and tested it. He sneezed as the cloth attached crumbled to dust. The coil snapped free of its anchor, surprising him and opening a line of crimson across his other hand. He cursed and pressed the cut to his mouth. The taste made him gag, as if the pollution in the atmosphere had changed even his blood. He tore a strip from his sleeve and used his teeth to tighten a knot in the bandage. It would have to do, much like everything else he had done for the past six days. Desperation was a great provider of inspiration he had discovered, but he didn’t hold much hope that it would see him through. Asides from the settee there was no other furniture in the room he’d settled …

Past The Point Of No-Return

The yarn unwound until they were past the horizon, swallowed up by stars and darkness, the rowboat’s oars stirring infinity. ‘We’ve run out,’ said Eli, and when Carter checked he too confirmed that the yarn had unravelled as far as it would. ‘So, we have a choice. Reel ourselves in, return to shore or go on without the yarn.’ Eli nodded slowly, carefully, thumb and forefinger pinched. ‘On,’ he agreed, and let go.

Not Here But There

It reminded her of home. The sea mist rolling in onto the shingles. Of course, it wasn’t quite the same. Peat mist rises different. The earth sort of oozes tendrils that simmer and thicken on the low lands. Stretches of green that look beautiful and safe but turn to bog at the first hint of rain. It’s similar enough though. When the mist rolls in and she’s standing inside it, condensation on her cheeks, damp in her hair… she can pretend it’s England. Pretend she’s inland, back where she belongs. It never takes long for someone to wake her.

Lost: One Bench #Throwback Thursday

‘How can you forget where you left it?’ Samantha demanded, shooting Michael a withering look before closing her eyes and counting to ten. In a moment she would let out a deep sighing breath and give Michael her best, why do you insist on embarrassing me stare before ordering another drink from the bar and forgetting the subject altogether. 1,2,3,4- ‘I mean really Michael!’ Michael blinked, confused as to where the last 6 seconds had gone and why she hadn’t ordered a large glass of red wine. She wasn’t following the natural order. ‘It’s a bench!’ Samantha spluttered. ‘You cannot misplace a bench! Especially not one of yours! They’re massive and made of wood. WOOD MICHAEL! WOOD!’ Everyone else in the pub had fallen silent now, the hum of conversation dying as all eyes turned to stare at the couple having the argument. Or rather, Samantha yelling at her bemused husband since Michael rarely said two words to anyone about anything. ‘I could understand a nail or two, perhaps even your level metre, but misplacing …

Fallen From The Beaten Track #FlashFiction

No matter how he wrapped the blankets around himself, the wind found a way through the fabric. When he’d been here before it was summer. Bright and green, the pass lined cherry blossom and blackberry brambles. The other men on the pilgrimage had ignored the fruit, chosen instead to set up camp on a rocky outcrop and dine on the tough heels of bread they’d brought with them. James had spent an afternoon with purple juice staining his hands and mouth. When he was done, he’d cleaned himself in the stream than ran close by, marvelling at how cool and crisp the water felt across his tongue. Now the stream was little more than a strip of ice, the brambles only thorns. Perhaps, James thought, he was seeing the truth of it at last. The beauty of before was only a trick designed to lure him in, distract him from the death that was waiting for him, now he could see it all he could see what this place truly meant. The wind screamed through …

A Girl Called Spider #ThrowbackThursday

She sat smoking three seats away from the door, cigarette pinched between black talons as she waited for the boy in a green apron to bring her coffee. ‘There is something of the devil about that one,’ whispered an old woman standing in line. She leant in so her companion could hear. ‘Something unnatural.’ The pair twisted to stare; peering over round spectacles to examine the girl in black leather and brass buckles. ‘Very unnatural,’ hissed the old woman’s companion. “Not the right sort at all!” The girl sighed, pouring the smoke from her lips. She smiled at the old women and stabbed out the cigarette on the table-top. ‘Problem ladies?’ she asked. ‘This is a no smoking zone!’ squawked the first, pointing a shrivelling, stumpy finger at the no smoking sign just beside the door. ‘You are no supposed to smoke that,’ she pointed at the crushed cigarette, ‘in here.’ The girl smiled again, teeth bone white against ebony gloss. ‘I must have missed the sign,’ she said, curling her lips back further. The …

Fixer-Upper #FridayFictioneers

‘You realise no one is going to buy this place, right?’ Adam’s hand appeared above the back of the sofa, stray screwdriver retrieved. Sally took it off him, one knee wedged so firmly between the cushions that she stayed stuck when she tried to stand. ‘It’s a fixer-upper,’ she shrugged. ‘People like that sort of thing.’ ‘No, they think they like it,’ said Adam. He’d stood up and Sally choked down a laugh at the dust wig haloing his bald head. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Nothing, nothing,’ Sally spluttered. ‘Just maybe you’re right. It might be time to get a hoover.’

#SundayPhotoFiction: Stranded

Isabelle watched the foam settle as the speedboat winked out of view, scurrying its way back to the city. The old man hadn’t been keen to take her, counting her money twice before letting her aboard and then lingering for longer than necessary when she leapt out into the shallows. Her skirts were damp, but she’d kicked her shoes free before getting off the boat. Her feet had dried while she waited. She checked her watch and scowled. The glass was cracked, had been since earlier that morning when a cyclist outside her apartment careened into her. It was her own fault. If she’d not spent so long on land, she might have noticed him before he had chance to get close. Instead she’d been thrown from her thoughts by the bite of handlebars into her ribs. The wind picked up and threw the waves higher along the beach. Isabelle waded out, shivering as the water closed around her ankles. ‘Please,’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry. I have learnt my lesson!’ Above her a seagull cried …