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.

Case One: The Missing Boy

Gates called the flat opened planned, Felhorn called it a dump. It occupied the top floor of a condemned building where demolition had ceased halfway through, leaving only front half standing and the rest as rubble. At night Felhorn would dream of the floor suddenly collapsing beneath her bed, the chipboard walls they’d thrown up as protection from the elements tumbling with her for the sixteen floor drop, before waking soaked in sweat in the very sheets she’d just been clinging to, her throat alight and aching. Gates didn’t help much. After six hundred years of not needing to sleep he’d forgotten what it was like to have nightmares and couldn’t understand why she didn’t just change the story if it wasn’t going the way she wanted. Finding him standing above her with that frown on his face when she woke often ended with her sending him sprawling across the flat, magic burning in her veins as it jumped to the surface before she could quench it. It didn’t teach him, he still came whenever …

Not Quite Prince Charming

Even ice has the decency to creak before it plunges you into frozen waters. Really, you should have started with ‘once upon a time’ rather than ‘Hi, my name’s Michael, I’ve just moved it across the hall, could I borrow your phone book?’ That introduction didn’t indicate the shit storm biting at your heels or the chaos coming my way after I decided that for once I was going to be a grown up and actually answer the door rather than hiding until the person on the other side went away. Fairy-tales are supposed to end with happy ever after. Daily Prompt: Suddenly I’ve just finished reading The Hazel Wood by Melissa Albert so I decided to go with a hundred word, fairy-tale themed flash fiction for today’s daily prompt. If you want to read a longer piece then just click on the Long Reads option in the menu above.

North Of Watford Gap

The battered ford focus spluttered to a stop somewhere north of Watford Gap, next to a suspicious looking field of cows along a winding country lane that looked an awful lot like every other country lane. ‘That would be because they’re not cows,’ said Martha, head down beneath the bonnet as she wrenched something one way and then smacked something else another. The little car had stopped spewing up smoke so James counted that as an improvement… maybe. ‘They’re sheep,’ she said, straightening up and wiping her hands off on her jeans. She left two long scores of grease on the denim, one down each leg. James wondered if that would require a special sort of stain remover or if the normal kind would do. He shifted slightly so she could lean against the gate with him. It was one of those old sorts, made of that metal that turned orange and brown after a while and squealed loudly when you tried to get past. She put her foot on the bottom rung near the …

Off The Edge Of The Map

‘Leave me alone ya bastard!’ Henry’s words bounced off the cave walls harmlessly, much like the driftwood had, and the empty whisky bottle had months before. Despite the projectiles, his reflection continued staring up from the shallow pool at his feet. Slightly warped and vaguely true to likeness. ‘You’re the one who wanted to chase after princesses,’ it pointed out. ‘I was quite happy on a street corner with my lute.’ ‘You and your lute were shite,’ Henry spat. ‘We barely made a crown a day.’ ‘Perhaps,’ shrugged the reflection, ‘I wasn’t stuck on an island alone though. I could take a break whenever I wanted, speak to whoever I wanted.’ ‘But you didn’t.’ ‘But I could have.’ ‘But you didn’t.’ ‘I almost did once.’ ‘No you didn’t!’ Henry spat in the pool and sat down beside it. ‘Happy, fucking, ever after,’ he muttered. ‘Still blaming you,’ the reflection replied. Writing Prompt From The Story Shack If you’d like to read something a little longer I’m working on redrafting my Safe Haven series. In the …

The Last Of The Embers

Sunrise was not for another hour but already the sky had taken on the grey haze that suggested morning was just around the corner. Elaine let her rucksack slip from her shoulder and hang in the crook of her arm while she fumbled with the knackered zip. The bottle inside was almost half empty, not enough to see her back down the mountain, but enough to see her to the top. She wrestled it free and used her teeth to pry to cap open. ‘Are you coming?’ Damien watched from where he’d stopped further up on the steps, bare legs and arms, tanned and muscled. He was younger, fitter as well but that had little to do with age, at least that was what Elaine told herself. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she called. The water was lukewarm and sour on her tongue but she swallowed it and snapped the cap shut. Her sweat had her clothes sticking, every crease and fold in the fabric welding itself to her limbs. She could swear the last time she’d …

The Curse Of The Ex-Wife

‘You know something, I think life was better on the other side,’ said the mummy currently unwinding the bandaged around her torso. ‘So there is one?’ Dr Williams asked, cheeks colouring as the creature plucked a bullet from between flesh her ribs. She examined it for a moment and then tossed it aside into the sand beside the yellow placard marking one of the entrances to the burial tomb. ‘I’m dead, a revolver is not going to make me any deader,’ she sighed. ‘No, of course not, I do apologise,’ said Dr Williams. ‘You just, well you know, caught me a little off guard.’ ‘You were preforming an ancient revival ritual in the middle of the desert over a corpse. What did you think was likely happen?’ ‘Well honestly, I thought nothing would happen,’ Dr Williams admitted. ‘Then why bother?’ ‘It seemed harmless enough,’ he shrugged. ‘The rest of the team have taken the day off and I was the only one about so I thought why not give it a crack. The least the …

The Clave’s Envoys

When the sun rose the world was empty and quiet. Some mornings there seemed to be no one left on the planet Emil decided. Watching from the bell tower of the ruined village’s church, he slipped his phone from his pocket and checked the messages for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. The text he’d fired off to the Clave showed as delivered but unread. He tapped the lock button and tucked it away. ‘Come on, time to leave.’ He turned from to the corner behind him, not missing the way Leif flinched at the sunlight pouring in now Emil’s body wasn’t shielding the window. ‘Grab the shield. The Clave want that thing stashed away and out of sight before dusk.’ ‘You think someone else will come after it?’ Leif asked. He was younger than Emil, and not just in the sense that Emil had nine hundred years on him. Leif was barely twenty, still steeped in hormones and raw nerves. Emil had been closer to thirty-five when he was turned, battle hardened …

The Leviathan in the Fog

The swamp land on B-12-56-SLT covered the majority of the southern hemisphere, dissipating only where it crept towards the planet’s equator and morphed into a sea of emerald green lakes and salt beaches. When the sun rose Brigant could see the salt crystals shimmering beneath the waters, turning the whole horizon to silver and white. Beautiful and barren it marked a failure in his work, a failure he’d been unable to explain after ten years of studying the planes for any evidence to suggest why the terraforming hadn’t taken on that side of the planet. He’d found nothing, and during that time the southern hemisphere had grown into chaos. With the northern half of the planet a ruin, The Planetary Authority For Planning And Development had refused to grant permission for any building work to take place on-world. They had ignored the small wooden shack that Brigant had cobbled together for himself, but set firm orders that any attempts to create networks for the habitation of life forms would be severely rebuked. In their words, …

Hidden Mountains

From this distance it could have been a limo or a hearse. All that was clear was the length and the colour curving around a bend in the road near the bottom of the mountain, sun glare bouncing off the blacked out windows. Lydia watched it through the scope on her rifle, following it as it crept closer. ‘Visitors?’ Jeremy asked. He sat beside her, body wedged between the jagged boulders on the outcrop, one hand still wrapped around the tether that joined them to the rest of the team above. Despite the cold, his cheeks were grey and Lydia could feel him constantly shifting beside her. ‘I don’t think so,’ she answered. The vehicle had ground to stop and the passenger door popped open. Two figures emerged and swept around to the bonnet, waving at the windscreen for the driver to release the latch so they could lift it. ‘Looks like car trouble,’ she said. ‘Should we help them? It might be something easy and then they can be on their way.’ Lydia shook …

Friday Fiction Challenge – Carry On The Story

I kicked this off last week but since there was only one response I thought we might extend the run of it a little bit. Below you will find the opening of a story. The first part I wrote, the second part was written by Kaleiyah Prose. All you need to do is carry the story on in the comments below. Have fun. The pocket watch has sixteen hands and they all pointed in the same direction. Twelve. It was ridiculous really, who would want a watch that didn’t tell the time, never mind one that had sixteen hands, none of which had ever moved a millimetre. Marcel clicked the watch closed and slid it inside his jacket pocket. He was used to the weight of it bumping against his ribs as he walked and when it wasn’t there he missed it. Missed the useless bit of junk like a limb. He waited for the little man to light up green on the crossing and checked both ways. The way was clear and he followed as the …