Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Short pieces written in response to prompts on the Writers Carnival website.

Saving My Princess

02 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by in Flash Fiction

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Writer’s Carnival Sideshow Challenge : 500 words max. Write an entire scene looking into a window of some kind. It should mostly be internal thought, possibly discussion if there are two people watching through the same window. My story came in at 433 words. It was inspired by my son becoming a father for the first time.
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The corridors were deserted but the murmur of conversation hummed behind each closed door I passed. The air was a comfortable twenty one degrees and the faint odour of disinfectant felt reassuring.The chorus of muffled cries coming from the room up ahead tightened my gut. It’s okay. It won’t be her. But, somehow, I knew it was. The wall on my left changed from pristine white plaster to polished glass, and I stopped to look inside the room. Two rows of Perspex cradles ranged across the width of the nursery, the ‘family’ name of each infant placed prominently on each crib, as though perhaps they were ‘babies for sale’. I’ll have the third one on the left. She looks cute. My gaze swept swiftly across the bundles of blue and pink swaddled infants as, unerringly, I found her flushed pink face. She was crying. The pink ‘O’ of her mouth quivered, and my heart felt like a rock inside my chest.The bustling nursery staff looked efficiently busy, moving slightly faster than ‘usual’ in that exaggerated silent movie way – my mind added the soundtrack of rustling starched skirts and the squeaks of their shoes on the shiny waxed floor. None of them were attending to my little girl, and, unreasonably, I felt resentment. Thirty babies, someone had to be left to cry, right? But why my little princess? I swung around into a faster walk, made my way to the main door, and pressed the entrance buzzer. Smiling and waving on the outside, heat boiled on the inside. Honey gets you more than vinegar, my mama said, and as always, she was right. The harsh buzz almost drowned out the click of the magnet releasing, and I pushed through the door. A quick squirt of antibacterial from the wall dispenser, under matron’s pretended casual eye, and I was allowed into the inner sanctum.”Hello, Mr Holt.””Hi.” I hung onto the smile as I moved along the row of cribs. “Hey there , pickle.” I looked into the puffiness of the tiny pink face and my stomach flopped over. Slipping one hand under her bottom and one under her head, I lifted her up. “It’s Daddy. It’s okay, I’m here to save you, Princess.” A flash of sapphire blue heralded a sunrise in my soul as the quivering of her pink lips hesitated and the tension drained from her face. The whimper faded to silence. I cradled her beanbag soft body to my chest, switching to a ‘hey, I’m a dad who knows what he’s doing’ one armed embrace, and the nurses smiled.

Flight BA572, 259 souls.

16 Thursday Oct 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction, Horror

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This weeks Writer’s Carnival challenge : WHERE IN THE WORLD? You’re on a plane headed to New York, and you fall asleep. When you wake-up, you realize you’ve just arrived in a different world. In 750 words or less, explain where you are and how you ended up there.

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I felt sleep crawling over me even though I tried to resist. The warmth in the aircraft cabin and the movie being boring added up to the perfect recipe for a doze. I glanced at my watch. With New York still two hours away, I surrendered to the gentle sigh of somnolence.

“Sir, wake up.”

A sharp voice cut through the fog. I shrugged away the hand gripping my shoulder, shifted my ass back in the seat and wiped my hands down my face. “Thanks. Sorry. I fell asleep.”

A laugh as brittle as the smile pinned on the stewardess’ face tied my stomach in knots.

Billowing from behind her, the cabin of the aircraft was filling with smoke. The black acrid kind that I could taste as it emulsified on my tongue. My mouth dropped open in a silent exclamation.

The stewardess’ brows rose as she said calmly, “Please return your seat to the upright position. We are coming in to land at London Gatwick.”

“But…” Panic rose in my chest as I scanned the cabin. The smell of charred meat clogged my sinuses and bile flooded my mouth. The few passengers I could see all stared straight ahead. Flesh hung from faces. Their blood red scalps were carbon streaked where hair had welded itself to their scorched skulls. “What’s happening? We should be landing in New York.”

The stewardess grinned and repeated tonelessly, “Please return your seat to the upright position. We are coming in to land at London Gatwick.”

Her hand made a wet sound as she patted my shoulder. I looked at the blood soaked fabric.

“Flight BA572 burst into flames on the runway. JFK International is shut down,” she said, as she turned away.

I lost the battle to hold down vomit as the grey matter of her brain dribbled in an endless stream down onto her collar from the wide crack in her skull.

I put my hand over my mouth as I spluttered. I tasted rancid food in my throat and, when it spilled from my mouth, I realized my fingers were stumps, but I had enough feeling to know my lips had shriveled away.

A scream started inside my head as the tannoy clicked and a clipped voice said, “This is the Captain speaking. Please secure all hand luggage and ensure seat-belts are fastened.” Just before the click broke the connection I heard him say, “Air traffic control, Flight BA572 from New York. 259 souls heavy, requesting landing coordinates…” Then all I heard was static as my scrambling mind filled with screams. A flare of light made my eyeballs burn and the world went black.

“Sir, wake up.”

I felt a hand gripping my shoulder. I shifted my ass back in the seat and wiped my hands down my face as I muttered, “Thanks. Sorry. I fell asleep.”

A laugh as brittle as the smile pinned on the stewardess’ face tied my stomach in knots.

As she opened her mouth to speak, I whispered softly, “Please return your seat to the upright position. We are coming in to land at London, Gatwick.”

Flash Fiction: The King Is Dead.

12 Saturday Jul 2014

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This week’s Writer’s Carnival team challenge was to write a short story that begins with the following sentence: My life will never be the same…

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My life will never be the same again, once I reveal myself. I clung to the final moments of anonymity. The sunlight pouring in through the imposing window slanted across the flagstone floor, banishing darkness to the farthest corners of the castle’s cavernous great hall.

I had become accustomed to staying in shadows, sacrificing my happiness on the altar of revenge.

I’m no longer in hiding. For twenty four hours a day, the linen binding around my chest which flattened my breasts helped in creating a safe identity. The tunic I wore molded my shape to that of a youth. I bided my time and wielded my knife. Borrigan berries gave me a euphoric feeling of fearlessness, and four knights died at my hand. Drinking mead and ale until they could barely stand made them easy pickings, and they never considered that the enemy could be inside the castle.

Taking another step forward, I could see past the stone pillar. He sat at the banquet table alone. Although his face was streaked with dirt, pools of blood sat in the creases of his throat. The smell of battle hung in the air. Blood. The stench of melting fat and charred skin was a familiar one, as the bonfires raging in the courtyard burned the vanquished to prevent disease.

Red wine stained the aged wooden tabletop like dried blood. My vision blurred as I remembered my father’s fatal wound pumping blood between my fingers, despair seeping through my soul.

“I failed you, Arienne. Stay safe, Thomas…”

Thomas had helped me, fitted me out in squire’s attire and showed me how a ‘man’ walks. But not anymore. I wore a gown for the first time in six months, the bodice pushed my breasts up into the ripe swell of a maiden. Although, I could not disguise fingernails broken and stained with dirt, nor the callouses on my palm where the hilt of my dagger had spent so many hours in my hand.

I set a smile upon my artfully painted face, the dash of olive-colored henna on my lids accenting my green gaze. Pinching my cheeks to redden them, I stepped forward into the light.

The knight’s head snapped around. The goblet in his hand toppled over, the dregs of ale flooding the table. The scowl etched on his face deepened as he surged to his feet. I fell back a step as he strode forward, his fingers digging in as he gripped my shoulders and pulled me into his body. I yelped as the muscular band of his arm around my body crushed my lungs and his mouth covered mine. His tongue dipped in between my lips, seeking mine, his kiss hard and insistent.

My knees shook as a light headed feeling weakened my body. I grabbed his leather tunic, my knuckles white as I held on tight. His own breathing sounded harsh as he settled his hands on my shoulders and, holding me away, studied my face.

“I thought you were dead. When the King’s equerry brought news, he said the ladies in waiting and you…”

“Merek, they raped and slaughtered every female.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “They paid for their treachery. I’m sorry I could not save your father. So how…?” Taking my hand, looking down, he turned it over and studied the bruises and straight edged cuts in my calloused skin, and understanding dawned. “You pretended to be a squire?”

I smiled. “I looked too young to be a knight.”

As if noticing it for the first time, he ran his fingertips ran through my short, rough cut hair. He smiled. “This will never do My Lady.” Suddenly dropping to one knee and pressing his forehead to the back of my fingers, he said, “The King is dead. I swear allegiance to my new Queen.”

For the first time in six months, I took a breath that did not hurt. I had thought my life would never be the same again, and I was right.”

Flash Fiction: Scarecrow’s Quest.

08 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction, Humor

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This was another Writer’s Carnival Team challenge where we had to include a scarecrow, a rubber duck, and a blind donkey in a flash fiction story. This one came out a little weird, but I can’t say I’m surprised at that. (Word Count 762)

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The gritty soil whipped around my face as the vortex gradually unfolded from around my body, unveiling acres of farmland spread out before me like squares on a patchwork quilt. The tangle of twigs inside my head shuffled into some kind of order and, without looking down, I knew I was still a bloody scarecrow.

My straw neck crackled as I looked skyward. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Like a crazy carousel, I found myself in this field more times than I could remember. My dry hands felt scratchy, which of course, they were, as, tugging on the rim of a tattered straw hat, I pulled my shoes out of the mud. What did you think? Of course scarecrows need shoes.

Dust plumed into the air as I trudged across the dry cracked earth towards the farmhouse.

To be a man again was all I wanted. Some buck’s party joke this turned out to be. The fortune teller whose crystal ball I shattered had cursed me as an ‘unfeeling idiot’. I guess, in this part of the quest, a scarecrow was the closest fit.

She’d said ‘I must take a close look at myself and ‘see’ the error of my ways. The last test was a ‘sink or swim’ challenge.

I’d worked out the sink or swim bit pretty quickly. I patted my pants pockets, relieved when I felt the firm duck-shaped bulge. A rubber duck. At least the fortune teller was not resetting the day completely. I collected the duck when I found myself whisked back as a mascot in a shopping mall. Man, that chipmunk-costume head had been heavy. Except, for me, it wasn’t a costume. I really became an eight foot tall chipmunk. Stealing a rubber duck from the toy store was not easy with kids circling my legs like sharks.

I gladly jumped through every hoop she set, and here I was on the last quest.

I’d lost count of the scarecrow days I’d endured. I must be missing something. I shed a storm of broken straw as I vaulted the gate. This was bullshit. I knew the answer to this challenge must have a beating heart, if I wanted mine back.

I’d tried every animal on the farm. Every. Single. One. My clue from the fortune teller was, ‘you’re looking for a heart… nothing more, nothing less, a pure heart’.

What then? A frigging princess. I wasn’t about to take another human into the vortex. That’s why I was never human… we wouldn’t make it.

I scanned the farmyard, ticking off all the animals I’d already taken back. Cow, pig, even the sheepdog. The barn door shifted as the one hinge hanging onto the wooden frame creaked.

I crept inside. In the far corner was a small grey donkey. His nostrils flared. As he tossed his head, I caught the glimpse of milk-white cataracts in glistening eyes. Was this the ‘heart’ I needed to rescue? I didn’t have one inside my straw chest, but still, sadness seeped through me.

Closing in slowly, I reached for his rope halter. I didn’t want to scare him. I patted the blind donkey on a quivering shoulder as I whispered, “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” I hoped this was true. I tightened my grip on the harness as the hurricane of wind whipped up, realizing the vortex was taking us back.

I closed my eyes against the dirt and chaf blustering into my face and, when I opened them again, I was in the dimly lit room where gossamer scarves draping over the lights gave the room a rose-colored glow. The donkey had disappeared and I felt weirdly heavy.

The jingle of bracelets moving on a bony wrist drew my attention. The fortune teller was smiling. That had not been a good sign so far. My shoulders sagged. I dreaded the words she would utter.

I jolted in surprise as she said, “Quest completed. You are now a man once more.”

I scanned the cards laid out across the green baize table, reminders of the three tasks I had completed. I frowned. Heart, soul, and mind.

“If the donkey was heart, and helping the child escape from the maze was soul…. how is the rubber duck the mind?” I asked.

The fortune teller grinned, her black beady eyes glittering. “The donkey revealed your pure heart, the child, your kind soul, and the maze focused your mind. The duck was just for my amusement. To see you stuck as an eight foot tall chipmunk for three days was just hilarious.”

Flash Fiction : At The End of The Day

22 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction, Horror

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In light of it being Friday the 13th AND a full moon, and the fact that it won’t happen again until 2049, Writers Carnival celebrated by throwing a midnight challenge to post a SCARY story using NO MORE than 750 words.

*WARNING : ELEMENTS OF HORROR – but this is ‘scary pants’, Friday 13th BADGE entry!* (Word count 590)

The desk lamp cast a pool of light over the black laquered surface of the desk. The nape of my neck prickled and, slowly turning my chair on its spindle, I gazed out over the muted city lights. Shit, it’s late. Pink blood-like streaks stretched across the dark grey canvas of an evening sky.

Leaning back and clasping my hands behind my head, I eased out my neck muscles, frowning at the tightness which pulled them back into knots. With a sudden explosion of movement, I stood up. Yanking my jacket from the back of my chair, without tidying away the spread of papers scattered over the desk, I headed for the door.

As I left the office, I scanned the open plan workspace beyond, relieved to find there were only two halos of lemon light glowing above the partitions of distant cubicles. Okay, I can get out of here. I walked carefully out to the deserted reception area, the measured stride of my footfalls echoing on the solid wood floor. A rush of heat made me sweat, and, running my finger around the inside of my collar, I cursed under my breath because it was tighter than it had been this morning.

The thin cotton of my shirt felt like sandpaper against my skin. I shifted my shoulders, grumbling gently as I stopped at the elevator.

With the side of a clenched fist, I hit the call button. The boldprint black ‘G’ became ghost grey as the safety glass fractured. I closed my eyes, listening to the whine and swish of the straining cables which, on a normal day, I could not hear, and began chanting. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

A musical chiming sound announced the arrival of the elevator, and I snapped my eyes open once more. For a moment, I stared into blood red eyes shining back at me from the mirror finish of the polished steel doors.

Glancing quickly over my shoulder as the elevator doors parted with a sigh, I strode swiftly forward into the brushed steel box. Letting my jacket drop onto the plush ruby red carpet at my feet, I leaned against the back wall, my unsheathed claws scraping over the metal panel. The doors swished as they began to close, smoothly narrowing the gap.

“Wait.”

Jerking into movement, I reached for the button displaying the ‘door close’ symbol, my lip folding back on my distorted features, a muzzle unleashing a rumbling growl.

A manicured hand slipped between the doors. “Wait. Please.”

I recognised the red nail varnish. I backed away. “Catch the next one, Kate.”

Her arm pushed into the car first, swiftly followed by a sidestepping body dressed in a cream silk blouse and tight black skirt.

“Pheww, that was close. Jason, why didn’t you hold the…”

She turned to look at me, the blond curtain of her hair swinging back. Her features froze in sudden terror and she jolted back against the sealed elevator door.

I killed the scream in her throat as my canines punctured her windpipe. My arms closed around her, holding her close in a macabre dance as her blood flowed down between our clamped bodies. When her flesh was cold, I lifted my chin and howled at the full-moon, which I felt like the burn of ash stroking over my skin, even though I could not see it. A tear lay a damp trail over the fur covering my cheek as the human mind trapped inside me screamed.

Flash Fiction: Trapped

14 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction, Horror

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I was challenged to answer the MYSTERY CAVE prose prompt on Writer’s Carnival.

Write a story, no more than 500 words, that tells about finding something in a cave.  What is it and how did it get there?

This is what I came up with… bending the rule a little? I don’t think so, no one said who ‘finds’ whom. (Word Count 495) 

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The noise of crumbling stone snapped my head around. My clawed grip on the rock lined ceiling of the cavern held me secure as my body swung gently, the jerking action tensing my muscles. The coal dust atmosphere billowed as I eased my eyes open, but it was the sound that made the walls of the cave come to life. Like a disrupted signal from my sonar, it bounced around the space and mapped it in my mind.

The membrane cocooning me felt tight, and the dehydrated skin crackled as I eased the tight embrace I had wrapped around my body. I felt the cold dank air of the cave whisper over my outstretched limbs.

The scraping grew louder, the pitch hurting my ears when an avalanche of dust and rock fragments erupted into the air. I recognised the sound. It had the same jarring resonance I heard when I became sealed inside this rock encrusted space. The grit I had breathed in still lined my nose. Survival instincts taking over, I resorted to preserved my energy by hibernating.

“Give it another shove, Riggs. We’re nearly in.”

The creature’s screeching call grated like splintered glass through my head. I detected the waft of a familiar salt-laden scent. It flavored the smooth skin on my food source, which slept at night. They were easy to feed from when asleep. My long tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

“Well if you’d give me a hand, we’d be in there a lot quicker. Bloody storm is coming.”

“Can’t we find another cave?”

“Don’t be so soft. We’ve only got to shift a few lumps of rock, they’ve hardly even settled. Just put your back into it.”

“Ouch.”

The smell of blood plumed into the darkness as the rocks shifted and a glittering shaft of light, like a blade of silver, illuminated the packed mud floor. Empty drink cartons and a rusted oil lamp were all that waited for the scavengers when they finally broke in.

“For God’s sake Pete, wrap something round it and stop whining. It’s just a graze.”

The air inside the cave suddenly tasted of dirt as the currents inside whipped into frenzy. The silver light faded to the dullness of molten lead and stones clattered… no, not stones, rainwater splattering, pummelling the rocks.

“Quick, I’m getting soaked, get inside, get in.”

The creature, it’s succulent pink skin gleaming, fell through the hole. It crawled across the ground, the blood staining its hand making my mouth water. The crinkling sensation of spreading dry wings grated through my muscles. I released my grip on the rough hewn ceiling, and dropped like a stone. The rushing torrent of falling rain drowned out the animal’s gargling scream when I buried my fangs in its neck.

The ruptured throat bubbled, and its spluttering mouth oozed blood which ran down its body.

“Be careful in there, Pete. I hear there are some bloody huge bats living in some of these caves.”

Flash Fiction: Morrigan’s Curse.

08 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction

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Morrigan’s Curse is my first attempt at ‘fantasy’ genre fiction.

The prompt demanded I use the words : stagger, lake trout, conflict, success. Maximum word count : 500. This came in at 496.

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The Swordlord staggered up the bank, his grip on the hilt of his weapon turning his knuckles white. The wet leather tunic pulled tight across his muscular shoulders as he gasped for breath. Reaching for the support of a nearby tree, he twisted around.

Pushing wet hanks of hair back from his face, ignoring the water running down over his cramped features, his gray gaze scanned the water’s surface where the sun scattered a carpet of glittering diamonds.

Daring to look away, he dug his fingers into the holes torn in the leather at his shoulder. They came out smeared with blood. Damn, Athlean, he almost had me. He took a steadying breath, his eyes glowing as the fizz of anger heated his blood. The capillaries in his skin glistened like threads of copper wire. The water on his skin boiled.

At the sudden sound of rushing water, his head jerked around. His jaw twitched as he raised his sword, feet braced ready for conflict.

From the churning water, the creature reared, towering above the Swordlord. The pallid membrane covering it’s bulk glistened, the distinctive lake trout speckled marking on its flesh bore witness to its fate.

“You took my life, cursed me.” Strings of slime-like saliva hung from the gaping mouth, his rage spraying the words. “You hoped for success, Gharient, but now…” The pearl-sheened eyes gleamed. “The potion runs through your blood, too.”

The Swordlord raised his blade. “You failed, Athlean.” He stamped his boot. “Here, on land, you are nothing. You sealed your fate when you drowned my daughter.” Gharient took a step closer, his glare discharging a lightning strike which cut through the air between him and his enemy. The fish eyes blinked rapidly and then were welded open as the jagged blaze bored into his mind. The flaccid lips twisted as the scene of Morrigan’s death burned into his retina. “Never forget, if she had died by flame I would condemn you to Hell.” He spat on the ground. “The lake is your prison for eternity.”

The ice-white blaze of his glare dimmed as Gharient grinned. “You live with what you did, and know this, my warriors slayed your brethren. There is nothing of your bloodline left to avenge you. You are nothing.”

“And yet, you could not stay away.” Athlean bared the ridged blade of his jaw, blood staining the white-bone spines on either side of the cavernous bite.

Gharient laughed. “I have what I came for. Morrigan lives inside your head now, as her suffering has long screamed through mine.” He turned away, the sword slipping from his grasp. Bending to retrieve it, he stopped. Straightening, spreading his fingers, he stared at the webbed membrane clinging to them. “No…”

Harsh laughter behind him faded into the spluttering gush of water. Turning back, ripples racing across the lake’s silver skin were all he saw as his flesh began to chill his bones and breathing air began to lacerated his throat.