Reverberation

Another really, really, really short story. Dead on 80 words.

We Talk of Growing Old

A short story written for the Portico Sadie Massey prize. The brief: the North.

A Stubbed Toe

A really, really, really short story. Exactly 80 words.

Self and Insensibility

No one who had known Will Elliot during any period of his life could have hoped for him to be anything other than what he had always been. Reaching for the last cardboard sleeve from the depleted pile next to the stirrers, he turned towards the curious woman at his side, who, he thought, had…

Calverly

They said let’s go to Calverly for the afternoon, check out our old haunt. We’ll hang out just like we used to. So, we drove out of the hustle, bustle, toil and trouble of Leeds city centre, through the inbetweeny suburbs, into the countryside and the little village which we loved, Cara in the driver’s…

Forty Seconds

Giving flash fiction a go…

Duvet Cocoon

It was worse than ever that morning as you climbed out of the duvet cocoon, its comfort superficial but desperately appreciated, and the despair hit straight away. A tidal wave – no, too clichéd, you preferred to think of it as a syrupy, dripping liquid which seeped further and deeper into your pores with every…

Strangled

Prologue His warm, mighty hands encased her fragile neck as he reached down and touched her throat, the malicious grin in his eyes mocking his deadly straight mouth. Here she was, trapped, and bitterly cursing her repression of that initial, inexplicable repulsion in the heat and excitement of his promises. Now, as he wrapped his…

A Journey

Drenched in sweat, eyes drooping. Spirits broken. As the doors of the rickety, ancient Bolivian van swung open, the stench accosted our nostrils and the heat, a tidal wave, engulfed us. The previous passengers plodded off the vehicle in a steady stream of fatigue and dismay. ‘Enjoy the ride,’ remarked one perspiring American to a…

White

‘He’s quiet as he sits, shivering slightly from the cold,’ observed the sympathetic prison guard. Hugging his uniform more closely to his core and rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to kindle some little warmth in the bitter, icy night, the kind-hearted Frenchman (known to all as Jacques) cast a long and sensitive…

The Bustling Green

Busy villagers were balls on a snooker table’s green baize as they mingled and chattered on the green; the warm sun exposing them as a floodlight illumining the playing surface. Vibrant and bounding, one bright red ball bobbed towards a deep black, stern sphere ahead of her. She glowed as she hopped across the small…

The Usual Suspects

“Could I have a cup of coffee, please?” With a deliberately (and provokingly) uncomprehending glare and furrowed eyebrows, the lady on the till replies, “Just coffee?” “Well, this is a coffee house, isn’t it?” I chuckle in an attempt at humour (which isn’t appreciated). “We do latte, cappuccino, Americano, flat white, macchiato, frappe or moccachino,”…