Category: Flash Fiction
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17.12: Six Sentence Story
Note to my readers: I’m travelling for the next few weeks in Colombia. I’ll be reading with gratitude, even if I can’t reply properly immediately. El Mohán: the Colombian River Spirit Time braids itself into the mist and murmur of the Río Magdalena, where women wash laundry in silence and speak of El Mohán only…
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9.12: Six Sentence Story
Hols with an O Not a U Brigid sits near the electric space heater — warmth feeling like salvation as it chases the damp chill off the floorboards. And there’s a pigeon in the birdbath: it lifts its left wing into the gauzy rain (sheets of it falling, half-translucent), splashing about as if the rain…
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2.12: Six Sentence Story
At the Intersection of Odd Numbers Bon Appétit — The Pepperbright Canticle The bell above the door startles itself into a shriek of fingernails on a chalkboard as a woman, trailed by a rosy-nosed child in a cat-eared hat, ignores the door slamming shut behind her and asks, “What do you have for a dinner…
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25.11: The Intersection of Odd Numbers
The Glyph of Rainmoth Fold The Unbound Heart The bell above the door startled itself into song as a woman stepped inside, trailing the scent of wet wool and old rain, her umbrella dripping quietly onto the floor, the air folded small around her shoulders like it didn’t want to be noticed. Brigid set down…
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18.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
A Black That Remembers Brigid had the office door painted Vantablack; she loved this colour, it was so dark it erased everything but consequence. Customers slowed in caution as they passed it, uncertain whether it was a surface or a hole; the crow croaked “wormhole” at it endlessly, and Pierre swore he heard a slow,…
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11.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
A Way In The door had always been red — not bright, not cherry, but the dull rust of dried blood and arm-folded resolve. Brigid pressed her palm against it, feeling the wood grain beneath the scabs of paint, crusty layers that reminded her of scraped knees, sun-hot pavement, blood blooming through grit … and…
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3.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
At the Intersection of Odd Numbers: A New Beginning (Parts 1 & 2) Brigid’s back in the city, mop in hand, crow in tow, and at the intersection of odd numbers, the door to something new just creaked open. (A Six Sentence Story — Prompt: “cross”) A Mop and Bucket (Part 1) Brigid coaxes the…
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28.10: A Six – The Book of 27
27 of 27: (De-Scribing) – a hollow gold once felt, not seen —(The unstitching and de-scribing of a binding) The Unstitching of The Book of 27 Felreil stands alone in the Scriptorium of Memory, the Book of 27 heavy as the ghost of a forgotten word, and gilded faintly with that hollow gold that glows…
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28.10: A Six – The Book of 27
The 26th Glyph of 27 — Bellhollow – A return mistaken for grace At the Intersection Named after an English King and a Saint The Pull Back — Return to a Mad World The brass key warms in her hand, its bow pressing deep into her palm like a vow; Brigid slips the blade into…
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22.10: A Six – The Book of 27
24 – Briarthrest: The restlessness that follows after healing Of All the Goodbyes Brigid stands in the doorway of a house she once called hers. Behind her: packed books, a pair of curtains that never quite fit the windows, two chipped mugs (left not in carelessness, but filled with gratitude and the faint spice of…
It's Still Life 