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Tag Archives: flash fiction


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Caught. You dangle your affections like a carrot, and like an ass I follow, reluctant step after reluctant step. My instinct always to resist, my mind suspicious of the gift, fearing a trap. But oh! How bright the carrot! A beacon glowing in the darkness. The sweet, tantalising smell drawing me forward against that instinct. Hope and desire pulling me towards you, stretching my resolve till resistance snaps and I gallop headlong into your trap.

Paragraph Planet Oct 3rd 2015
Prose poem or flash fiction?


#15tt Remeant

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“With a sickening jolt the chubby little calf realised that a party for the remeant son was not good news for everyone on the farm.”

A #15tt twitter tale from my early word dabbling days (Feb 2013)


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Today the still small voice would be heard.
She lay quiet, listening to the steady sighing of his breath.
Outside the first birds, roused by the gentle lifting of darkness, tested their neighbours’ wakefulness. Soon others would wake and add their tentative chirps and chattering to the chorus. And the quiet would be broken. The morning would begin and she would have to turn her thoughts away from the night, and look to the day. This was not to be an easy day for her, most certainly not for him. He would not understand and she would not be able to explain. There would be tears and anger and heartbreak. She watched him sleep, sadness like stone deep inside her. She could leave now and not face the storm of anguish but she knew she would not. She would wait for this man, who she loved more than life itself, to wake and then she would break his heart and hers.

First published as part of Last Line First . A companion piece to Stillness.

Summer Love

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A summer of laughter. We flew half way around the world, walked hand in hand on beaches of golden sand, gazed rapt at the stars so bright in the night sky. We surfed, riding the salt waves. We dove beneath them; swam, amazed by the silent, undersea world. Dazzled by the colours, the sunshine, the glistening seas, we thought our happiness was complete, unassailable.

Just one month of English sleet drove an icy wedge between us, our sunshine forgotten, the colours leeched away. By six months the shades of our love were drawn, hanging limp and grey, our happiness quartered.

Time Travel

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Time transporters. Science geeks have been trying for forever to find a way back in time. All those gadgets and gizmos. Flux capacitors and thermal cores and such. Waste of time. I can show them how it’s done. Me, without a sciencey bone in my body. All you need is the right smell. Helena Rubenstein lipstick and powder do it for me. One whiff and instantly I am
back in 1968, stealing from mother’s handbag. Sat March 28th 2015

The Caller

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The phone rings, the shrillness making me jump, though I have been waiting for the sound for an eternity. I mustn’t answer too quickly. He’ll be expecting that. My mouth is dry. I count, heart thudding like a death knock against my ribs. One. Thud. Two. Thud. Wait. Wait. I lift the receiver, hand shaking, breathe out slowly, faking calm. “Hello?” Nothing. Then, at the end of the line, I hear the low, mocking laughter.


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The heaviness falls without warning, an impenetrable fog. The unbearable weight of its embrace crushing the life from her. She draws in a painful, shuddering breath, fighting against the suffocation, struggling towards the light and air she knows are still there, hidden by the dark opressive layers. It’s too soon. She hasn’t the strength or the will to fight it again. Better just to give in, sink into its grey folds and cease the struggle.

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