Category: Flash Fiction
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3 October: Saints Not Saints
SAINTS NOT SAINTS (Flash Fiction: words: 531, reading time 3-minutes) INKED I.He’s one of those –a saint who’s not a saint.He stands on the top stepof a long flight of stairs,and watches people … some in haste,suits and ties, mothers with their harsh wordsfor children dragged along on short legs, homeless men insulatedin newspaper for…
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1 August: White Horse
White Horse And he doesn’t even like horses. Moreover, he hates that he’s called the horseman without a horse. He backs away from its rising height over him. This white horse rearing up, its voice of thunder is a shockwave, and the guys are sitting over there on a railing watching the whole scene play…
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9 June: for Unicorn Challenge (flash fiction)
The Rise of Crows She knew something was wrong in her head when they started perching on the windowsills, and on the roof and fence. Crows, thick as blackness on the overhead lines. One two three four … six twelve twenty on the clothesline. Like worry beads. Crows in the field crawing at the cows.…
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26 May: for 26.05 Unicorn Challenge
A Spar and Rigging Some days he wanted to stay. Other days he just stared at the bridge. Portree could do that to you. Summer turned it oddly condensed with holidaymakers. They filled every table and every bed. July. August. Like a restless meridian. He compared it to living underwater. An aquarium. And God disowned…
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21 March: for Fandango’s One Word Challenge – Flash Fiction
THOSE KIDS And I say, The same kids who spray painted the pedestrian overpass are probably the same ones who poured Fairy liquid detergent into the fish pond, killed all the fish. A right luminescent stink on the hottest August day on record according to that weatherman on telly who looks like a skinny elf.…
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17 January: dVerse Prosery (Flash Fiction)
Stitched Up We measured moody clouds by hand widths, and when we bored ourselves of that, we played cops and robbers. We pointed fingers at each other, and then blew smoke off our fingertips. You made siren sounds. I was the bad guy. It was always me falling down dead. And Mum sat on the…
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21 August: That Old Photo
Note: this is pure fiction based on an image at Café of Imaginary Dreams. That Old Photo: Ekphrastic Prose On the right is Jeff. Granny S named him after Jefferson. Not that Jefferson. Jefferson Street, where she worked as a waitress on Saturday afternoons, where Grandpa S always came in for his regular burger with…
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15 Aug: Prose #FFFC
Another Song A passer-by offers confetti cubes of stale bread, casually thrown into the thicket of wings, and the air is trampled. What does it mean, all that hysterical noise that shakes the air, those elbow wings cutting sunlight, and enfolding space. Birdsong echoes against the clouds. Shrieks that cling as if by claw. Its…
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2 August: VV Anthology
Ten Minutes on the Central Line (445 words, 2min:53sec read) I’m always amused when someone offers me their seat. On a good day, it’s easy to forget that I’m old. Why would I do that, I said to my doctor when he asked, Don’t you ever look in the mirror? I decline the offer of…
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21 May: 2Cellos & Playing at the Ritz
2Cellos and Playing at the Ritz Mum paid for my piano lessons, but I paid for them with fingernails clipped to the quick (a classmate said, Eeeow, you chew your fingernails. No, I said, I play the piano). I practised two hours a day. An hour before school, and an hour after. The piano was…
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