Tag: Flash Fiction
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3006: Brigid’s Diary – Two Sixes
Part 15 & 16: 1842, Cagnes-sur-Mer, France (Brigid’s Diary, Winter: 1842: one year on) Where is Felreil?That’s what I want to know. Where is he in his black frock coat, moving as if Boreas lived in its pockets, striding streets and alleys in long English-blackened boots, as though Provence’s glossy night had always been part…
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2906: Six Sentence Story
Brigid and Felreil Arrive in Room 215 Brigid and Felreil came through the hidden closet of Room 215 as though stepping between centuries were merely a poor plan carried out with good manners, and Felreil, without visible surprise, laid his French Imperial Navy-cut coat across a time-aged leather wing-back chair with the air of a…
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2406: Six Sentence Story
Clam Chowder Summer heatwave; you’ve fallen asleep with The Telegraph spread across your knees. I remember our second date: we spoke of death, a girlfriend, a fire, a club with locked exits; only those who’d paid went in. Most of them didn’t, you paused, and I finished the sentence. It was that time of year…
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2306: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Part 14, Brigid’s Diary: Winter, 1836 – 1841, Cagnes-sur-Mer, France Where Waiting Is Believing The arbours are vine-brittle skeletons touched with ice; terracotta pots lay shattered by winter’s slow fist, and even the small grey angels above the door have surrendered to grimaces. For these five years, we’ve lived in a stone cottage adjoining the…
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1606: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Part 13, Brigid’s Diary: The Abbey of Saint-Roman Beaucaire, July 1836, Camouflage The Beaucaire Fair moved like the Rhône in flood, bodies and bargains braiding into one slow current, and Felreil folding his foreignness into the merchants’ black coats and polished leather while quick fingers rehearsed their small rebellions at the height of a purse.…
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0906: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Brigid’s Diary: Part 12.2, Arles, Spring 1836 Under the Floorboard The shouting started next door: boots on stairs, a man’s voice like a stomp, the scrape of furniture across wood, and the thin-pitched sound of children when they learn the house is not theirs. I tasted blood where I’d bitten my lip without noticing, salt…
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0306: Slightly Dangerous
(an off-piste Everywhere Poem gone for Six) “How is it in there?” asks a man. “In a word, chaos,” I tell him,“but worth it; the olive oil is half price,” and I close the boot of my car while his wife claims my empty trolley. I hate this placebut always return,navigating the demonic ritualsof warehouse…
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0206: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Part 12.1, Brigid’s Diary: Arles, France, Spring 1836 The Yellow House and the Thin Law We took rooms at 2 Place Lamartine in a yellow house that looked like warmth from a distance, and up close smelled of damp plaster, fried onions, and bodies worked too hard for too little. Around us, the neighbourhood spoke…
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26 May: Six Sentence Story
The Accent of Exile Brigid’s Diary: Part 11.2, Avignon, Spring 1836 I crushed a sprig of tansy between my fingers when the fishmonger’s voice split the morning, “Hear her English accent; she stirs rebellion,” and a bitter, cold metal scent spooled in me like warning smoke. The market thinned into silence so quickly it felt…
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19 May: Six Sentence Story
An Undated Note Inserted in Brigid’s Diary Part 11.1, Avignon If this diary is ever found, know first that we did not leave England lightly; we gave it our backs, our hands, our winters, and still it asked for more …more hunger, more silence, more gratitude for wages that would not keep bread before a…
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