Blog Archives

Struggle

23/8/2019

It was now or never, she told herself. The pair of them lay on the bed together, and if she was ever going to sort out their relationship, she could delay no longer. Hesitantly, she reached across.

They launched into a violent struggle. Although able to remain upright at first, she was writhing on the floor in no time, pushing and pulling with every ounce of strength in her body. She was in such a grip that she could barely breathe.

Suddenly, with one final pull of the zip, she had won. "Yes!" she cried, "I'm into a size 12!"

Donald and Melania, in the Afternoon Sun

16/8/2019

Donald and Melania lay, naked as nature herself had intended, soaking up the afternoon sun. Away from prying eyes, they'd skinny-dipped in the pond before drying off poolside.

An hour of doing nothing later, Donald edged closer to Melania.

"Hey Mel, what about it? Right here?" There was a lascivious gleam in his eye.

Melania didn't move. "Do as you must." So he did.

Afterwards, he lay satisfied; she was just relieved it was over.

"You did your duty, Mel," he said.

"I did. But must you make that awful croaking noise, Donald?"

"Sorry, Mel. It's what we frogs do."

One Day in the Life

9/8/2019

He sat outside a flower shop window, shoulders slumped, staring at the pavement. Four policemen stood around, having arrived in two patrol cars. None of the policemen acted harshly; they just wanted to help. The flower shop owner, who'd called them, understandably didn't know what to do.

The man sat silently for ages, incongrously framed by roses and chrysanthemums. Then he said his name, and the police were able to find out some details about him: the usual problems: drugs, alcohol, unemployment, mental health, hopelessness.

They took him to a nearby hostel. Tomorrow he'd be back, or somewhere else similar.

The Woman in Number 7

2/8/2019

The woman across the road from me in number 7 is a hired killer. To my certain knowledge, she's taken out at least five individuals. She specialises in contracts on cheating husbands or wives, or the brazen husseys who break up marriages. Her methods are simple: she approaches them in broad daylight and shoots. No one ever expects a hit from a woman, do they?

You don't believe me, officer? Well it's the truth. Sure, that's my gun there with my fingerprints, there's gun residue on my hands, and my wife's blood is all over my clothes.

But I'm innocent.

Struggle

Donald and Melania, in the Afternoon Sun

One Day in the Life

The Woman in Number 7

Flash Fiction

Archives