All posts tagged: fiction

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 …

#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 …

Loose End – #FlashFiction #writephoto

‘Do you think there’s a body in there?’ Baz asked. He held his pocket knife with both hand, blade pointed downwards as he scratched ‘Baz woz ere’ into the breast plate of the knight carved onto the tomb. Goria pursed her lips and swung her legs. From her perch on the railings around the pulpit she had a pretty good view of both the knight and the top of Baz’s head. She considered spitting on it. ‘Don’t know,’ she shrugged, feet thudding against the wood. ‘Suppose she’d be all dust by now anyway.’ ‘She?’ snorted Baz. ‘Knights ain’t girls Gor. You gotta be a man for that sort of thing.’ ‘She so is a girl, look! You’re leaning on her f’ing boob you moron.’ Baz paused and pulled away. ‘Huh, guess you right. She is a chick.’ Gloria sighed and hauled her legs up to her chest. ‘Hurry up and let’s go,’ she said, turning around so she could climb back out of the pulpit. ‘Your mum might realize you’ve got her key.’ ‘Not likely, …

Luck Of The Draw – #FridayFictioneers

The heating has been on since six and the kitchen is warm. Beyond the windows trees are grey skeletons, the lawn knotted with weeds. Three fence panels slump away from their posts, and the sun is out. Through the glass it pretends that the heat in the kitchen is its doing. Kara knows it’s lying and pads barefoot across the tiles. The kettle has boiled but she leaves it, takes the jar beside instead, twists a slip of paper free. ‘Live,’ it reads. She folds it and places it back, rooting it towards the bottom. Tomorrow she may pull different.

This Terrible Thing Called Hope – #ShortStory #FlashFiction

‘There be giants in these parts,’ Gavin muttered, hiking the pack higher onto his shoulder as they trudged through the snow drifts at the bottom of the monument. In front of him Eddie huffed, his breath turning to ice and smoke. As the sun sunk towards the frozen horizon the temperature would continue to fall, and in the fading light Gavin had to squint to see the humped silhouettes of the outpost. There would be traders there they hoped. A chance to refill their supplies before moving deeper into the wastelands. ‘You believe all that, really?’ asked Eddie. ‘Damn Gav, you’re worse than those priests back at the temple, always trying to tell us that we’re only here by the mercy of the gods.’ He scratched his chin and tipped his head back. They were right beneath the right hand of the statue, the lines of its palm a shadowy black web in the dust. In full light it would seem almost human. The same shape to its face, its arms, its legs. The only …

In Search Of The View

You striped your shins raw and red spilling from an open window onto the porch roof outside.   Hands flat against the bitumen you brought yourself upwards, tall, bearing gravel bitten palms.   My hands will ache at the thought, of your smile through the lifted glass, half shadowed by the sunset.   Second, I was more careful in the going, kept my skin as it should be, clean, whole, unharmed. I did not spill.   Then we watched as clouds scudded east to west on slow, hidden winds.   Your slips always taught me lessons. Like how to pick old wounds clean.            

Uneasy Footing – #FridayFictioneers

The jetty had rotten clean through in places, creating a hopscotch of holes almost impossible to see in the dark. Gritting her teeth, Emile slid one foot in front of the other and eased her weight onto it. At the end of the jetty a light flickered and went off. She paused and steadied her breath. Patience, she reminded herself. She’d waited fifteen years, she could afford fifteen minutes to get across this dock unscathed. She ran a hand across the outline of the pistol inside her jacket. Fifteen minutes, she promised herself. That’s all she needed.

Rooftops At Sunrise – #FridayFiction

The ladder from the garage wasn’t quite tall enough to reach all the way, but it brought us within touching distance of the guttering. From there you could pull yourself up and afterwards, reach down for my hands, smaller, thinner, not quite as adept at clambering about. I let you lead me to a lot of places I couldn’t reach on my own. Perhaps I should have worried sooner about being left behind but back then all I could think of was how strong you were. Lifting me like a bag of sugar to watch the sun set beside you.

NaPoWriMo – Day Eight: Troll Men

In the borderlands are wooden glens where troll men stump on hollow legs, and wait for the pretty faced prince to come with sword and horse in need of trophies to convince   some foreign king of his cause.   He’ll trade his sack of skulls for a wife he’s not yet met but been told of in fairy tales, in tavern songs and children’s rhymes. He knows her hair is gold, her lips ruby, eyes sapphire tongue silent to go with a quiet mind.   But he’ll do as princes do when winning princess from their father’s. He’ll forget to show kindness to the widow on the road for she is ugly, dirty, worthless, and the witch will curse his blindness and bless his wife not yet met with a tongue and lips not made of gems.   In the end he’ll find a queen, new upon her father’s throne without the need of troll remains or princes bearing their bones. She’ll return him to the forest glens where troll men stump on hollow …