Flash Fiction

  • The Plughole Picker

    Maya pulled the tangle of hairs from the shower plughole. Long black ones clung on like greedy tapeworms but the blonde ones gave in quickly. The red ones were often quarrelsome but this morning they cooperated. She stood up and marvelled at the knot of hair colours glowing in the bathroom’s fluorescent light. Then she…

  • Serendipity

    There’s too many Nuns in that boat. They’ll be in if they’re not careful. They pretend to be Irish you know, with their soft, sing-song voices, looking like dirty great big pints of Guinness. It’s all a big con to make you like them, so you give them stuff for free. Bastards they are, with…

  • Bombs, Lilies

    No bombs have fallen for three days, and this evening her husband has brought home lilies. It does not matter where they have come from, these flowers, just as it does not matter where the bombs come from. The men talk about politics, about the war. They think she is stupid because she is a…

  • Steps

    The buildings that line the deserted alley cast shadows as gloomy as the drizzle of rain. Jocelyn shivers. Her fear lurks here. If she doesn’t retrace her steps and face the origin of her torment, the trial, the conviction, the year of therapy, would mean nothing. She’ll remain a victim. Her shoes heels click on…

  • Dominoes

    I remember running to the Red Lion at teatime, skinny knock kneed limbs jumping oily puddles. Intent on my mission. “Fetch your Da for supper lass.” Ma would flick her pinny at me to get me moving. I’d laugh and skip out of the way. Da didn’t own a watch. He counted time in pint…

  • The End of Escape

    Escape is a small white pill gone in one gulp and white lines of numbness sniffed straight to her brain. Feelings melt into a puddle underneath patent high-heeled shoes. Escape pierces through her skin and breathes its release into blood. Memories of grabbing hands and stabbing pain shrink to a dot as she gulps air…

  • En Garde

    My thumb and forefinger repeatedly click and unclick the cap from the lipstick. An overnight bag sits on the floor at my feet, half unpacked from the conference. The wait has been interminable, enhanced by the suffocating warmth of our marital bed where I sit. Click, click. Maybelline. Perilous plum. The front door slams, and…

  • Tender Arrows

    Things have gone downhill since new management took over. I had to reapply for my own job. Honestly.  Who else can they get as Cupid except… well, Cupid? So I’m still in place doing my best to get folks to fall in love; appropriately or otherwise. I had an episode of it myself a while…

  • The Bubble

    Pop is our favourite word. We listen to pop music, eat popcorn, suck popsicles and lollipops. You pop over to mine and we watch TV until we fall asleep on the sofa, bubble gum wrappers stuck to our faces. It was the lipsticks that gave it away. “How can you afford them all?” you said…

  • Missing Anna

    I close the lid of the box and carry it to the kitchen. It feels heavy, which is strange. I only cleaned out the bathroom cupboard. The box contains a collection of half-used face creams, an empty spray can of deodorant and a bottle of pink nail polish. They’re items I won’t use. Does the…