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Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Grief

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Grief hits at the most random moment. A song, a smell, a phrase overheard in conversation, each
reduce her to a mess of tears and sobbing and snot. She hears his voice, calm, in her head, “It is what it is. Enough now. No more tears.” But the tears will not stop, not yet. She feels the pain of his absence, as real as any wound, raw and red. The tears are her only salve.

#paragraphplanet 31.3.19

In memory of my friend Alan.

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Ripples

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The words had been carefully placed. Dropped like pebbles into water they rippled outwards in infinite circles. The repercussions would drag them all down. The chaos he had held in check for so long was breaking loose, and he knew without a doubt attempting to stop it now would simply churn the waters more. It was unfair, but once uttered, those words could not be taken back. Helpless, he watched as life collapsed around him.

Paragraph Planet 10.1.2019

paper

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Peter folded the paper, carefully aligning the edges, and slowly scored the crease with his thumb nail. His gaze focused somewhere off in the distance as he absently tapped the paper with his forefinger. Tap. Tap. Tap. The movement and sound seemed to pull him back to the present. He looked at the paper, tapped it again – tap, tap, tap – then tucked it carefully into his pocket. Time later to deal with that, he thought.

Paragraph Planet 17.10.2018

Fairweather Friends

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Fairweather friend. I am not your fairweather friend. I am your foul weather friend. I am your friend for the dark days, the stormy days; the days when you roar and stamp and everyone else runs for cover. Not for me the days of sunshine and sweet talk. On those days I am sidelined, shunned. On those days my presence is too painful. I disturb the peace of your sushine days with my stormy memories.

Paragraph Planet, Nov 9th 2017

Tweaked it slightly.

Water

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Water was everywhere. Running from over flowing gutters, streaming slick-like down brick walls and fences. The drains had given up long since, throwing back the water in fountains of protest. It pooled into puddles on saturated lawns. A gust of air sent a drum roll of droplets across the polytunnel. Be careful what you wish for, Granny used to say, you might just get it. Who had wished for rain for the garden, she wondered?


Submitted PP July ’17

Head Count

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https://unsplash.com/photos/7Z03R1wOdmI

Nothing more than a number.

Our individuality ignored, denied.

We are nothing to them.

#3linetales

Mug

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It’s tattooed across my forehead. You can’t see it. It’s in some special ink but it glows whenever he is around like the trails left by bees and ants near a tasty snack or a particularly fertile wildflower meadow. Invisible to the human eye, it sends out a clear message to him. “Come on here, she’s ripe to swallow your honeyed crap today; drop your best line and wait.” I fall for it every time.


Paragraph Planet 16.4.17

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