Blog Archives

The Stranger

31/10/2013

It was a cold, murky evening.

Jack played in the cul-de-sac. A stranger stood at the entrance of the narrow street with his back to him; he wore a black cape and wide-brimmed hat.

From a nearby house came a call: “Come in Jack, it’s time to eat.”

“Be there in a minute, Mum,” Jack replied. He was curious to see more of the stranger first.

The stranger turned to face Jack: no eyes or nose, just a tooth-filled mouth. Smiling, he spread his cape. “Come closer, it’s cold. My cape will keep you warm.”

Dutifully, Jack did as instructed.

The Hacker

25/10/2013

Martha stared at her computer. The enormity of her achievement had finally dawned on her.

Aged just seventeen, she’d hacked into one of the world’s biggest banks. She’d simply become the Royal Bank of Scotland. All that remained was to transfer money from the RBS account into an unmarked Swiss account that only she knew about.

Typing in the last steps, the screen greeted her: “Welcome, RBS. What service would you like?” She asked it to transfer ten thousand pounds to Switzerland.

There was a delay, then the screen said simply, “Sorry RBS, you have insufficient funds for this transaction.”

A Love Story

11/10/2013

Eric the drain stood erect just a couple of feet from his partner Kerry.

“We drains belong together in the world,” he said. “We’re already living together - why don’t we just tie the knot?”

Kerry stood impassively. “I think we work better this way, doing our own thing,” she said.

Just then, a bath began to empty. As the water coursed through her, Kerry’s beautiful voice echoed in the night sky.

“You and I make such sweet music together, Kerry,” Eric said, just as someone flushed a toilet in the same bathroom.

Kerry smiled. “Eric, you’re so full of - ”

(Sorry, there's a 100-word limit to these stories.)

Ravenna To Bologna

4/10/2013

Some "classic" flash fiction. This was the very first one ever.

I recently found myself on a return train from Ravenna to Bologna in northern Italy. Confused, I’d messed up validating the ticket on the outward journey, but the friendly train conductor scrawled a note on the ticket for the conductor on the journey home. That way I wouldn’t incur a huge fine.

But coming back, the train conductor didn’t speak any English, and my Italian wasn’t good enough either. Exasperated, I kept saying “Non copisco”. Exasperated, he kept shouting louder and louder.

So I did the only thing possible. I took a gun from my jacket and shot him dead.

The Stranger

The Hacker

A Love Story

Ravenna To Bologna

Flash Fiction

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