Bullet When I was a kid, I wanted to be Superman.Bullet3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They said he was faster than a speeding bullet. Not just any old bullet, moseying home after a long day at the office. A speeding one, tearing up the atmosphere like nothing in the world could stop it. I wanted to punch through the sound barrier and carry on and on, away from everything.
I started running a year after my mom died. I was nine years old, but already fast enough to beat my army dad to the corner of the street. There was a local cop with a big brewster moustache who was always dragging me back home. I forget his name. His sedan could run faster than my legs, and his hand was quick enough to grab my collar. When he was still fetching me back two years later, he stopped by to have a word with my dad.
"He's pretty quick on those legs of his," he said. "You thought about getting him to do sports? Might burn up some energy
Her Necklace Now It began as a very small thing.Her Necklace Now4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Junior and his dad disagreed on an item made in their silversmithing shop.
That shop was kept away from the family's houses, set up in an old outbuilding because of noise.
Silversmithing was always too noisy for the dozen homes on the family's half-section of wood and meadow land.
The lapidary equipment alone made a terrible sound.
Allie, Junior's wife, used that equipment to smooth rough turquoise and coral into stones ready for silverwork. She used a spinning grinder of damp and charcoal gray stone for her main work. When Allie put a stone against that, it sounded just like the machine it was. She used a smaller spinning buffer to polish stones.
One Saturday, human voices escalated in the little, old shop about who owned a particular design.
Even Allie, using loud lapidary equipment, heard Junior and his father argue. Naturally, curiosity won and she slowed her work, listening through a thin old wall of warped
ResearchSome writers frequently delete browsing history.Research2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Golden TicketThe candy factory? But I'm diabetic.Golden Ticket3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Antikythera mechanismElise sunk down with the rest of the ship, dragged down by her brass innards. Wordlessly, she begged her creator to let go, but she knew he wouldn't. He'd brought her to life out of love, and he would do anything to save her. Elise watched him struggle and drown, her perfect sculpted face impassive while her mind whirred and clicked behind it in turmoil.Antikythera mechanism3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She hit the seabed and was swallowed in a cloud of mud as the carcass of the ship broke apart around her. Over the ages her gears seized up and her alabaster curves effervesced and decayed, macerated by the sea. Still her soul lingered on. Aphrodite had infused life into her copper heart, and it would never stop now. Never.
She lay in the Lethe for the longest time, while the lives of men went on oblivious above. When she was dredged up, she was no longer recognisable as an entity, let alone the paragon of femininity she had once been. She was limbless and worn, a sentient pebble. They held her in their hands and probed her jammed up m
I've Really Lost My MindThe young man smiled, with just a touch of embarrassment. “I seem to have lost my mind.”I've Really Lost My Mind1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The female attendant looked at him. “This is a railway ticket office.”
“You want the lost property section over there.” She pointed at a counter where a severe-looking man was rearranging misplaced umbrellas.
“Thank you!” The young man nodded politely and headed across to the other section.
The lost property attendant looked up as the young man approached. “Is it an umbrella you want?” He indicated the display.
The young man appeared to be tempted for a moment by a purple one decorated with cats and dogs, but then apparently remembered why he was there.
“No,” he said. “I’ve lost my mind. I’m pretty sure here was the last time I used it—I was trying to work out what would be the cheapest ticket to Inverness on a weekday in June, outside peak hours, travelling with my back to the engin
His EyesIt has been three months since we heard from the mainland.His Eyes1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Speculation abounds. Some catastrophe has befallen them there: a plague has ended them, perhaps, or a war, or something so dreadful that we cannot even imagine it. We are left here to starve, slowly, as we wait for news and supplies.
At noon we saw a boat on the horizon.
Through the spyglass we saw that its occupant was a lone boy, and that his skin was patterned with lesions. Sula saw something in his eyes, he said, though he would not speak more clearly of it; but he was so shaken by the sight that he begged us to shoot the boat down at a distance.
We were without choice but to obey. We pitied the boy, perhaps, but if he carried a plague – as indeed he must have – any show of mercy might have doomed us. We fired the cannon as soon as he came within range.
At nightfall we burned the flotsam brought in by the tide. There was no sign of the boy's body. With luck the current carried it away, to be eaten by the fish.
ItchyFirst anniversary: Paper.Itchy1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Our love unfolded.
Seventh anniversary: Wool.
It all unravelled.
Men and Monsters"Why can't serial murderers kill like normal people?"Men and Monsters4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I paused for a moment, shooting Detective Rattigan a sideways glance before I finished lighting my cigarette. "What?"
"You know," Rat said. "With a quick stab. Or a gun. Like a normal person."
"I'm a little disturbed by your apparent belief that it's normal for people to kill each other. Maybe you've been working this job a little too long," I said, kneeling to examine the bloody corpse that lay in front of me.
"I'm just saying that there are easier ways to kill someone, that's all. Quick knife blade in between the ribs, that's all it takes."
"Rat? Do me a favor and stop talking."
That man frightens me sometimes. John Rattigan has been my partner for almost 4 years, and I still haven't gotten used to his... eccentricities. Still, he's smart and reliable enough, and a good cop. I looked back at the body, taking a drag from my
Red, Yellow, and BlueToo poor to purchase more art supplies, I learned to paint only with primary colors; I covered canvas after canvas--or reclaimed wood when it was a choice between painting or eating--with saturated sentiment. Canary yellow was the color of the dress you wore the day we met--and it harmonized perfectly with your straw colored hair--while cadmium red matched both your tempting scarlet lips and the fire I saw in your eyes. But ultramarine blue didn't suit you, and I never once used it until the day God or Guilt or some Guy stole you from me.Red, Yellow, and Blue1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The KettleThe inside of Sharon’s house had changed since Janie had last seen it. Now there were Persian carpets, and rich tapestries on the wall; in the kitchen the counter was made of silver, the table of gold.The Kettle1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Er,” said Janie. “You’ve redecorated, haven’t you?”
Sharon sighed. “It’s been a long couple of days. Let me tell you all about it over a cup of tea.”
“I’ll make it!” said Janie and she went to the kettle. This was also new but perfectly ordinary looking. Except—
“You know, I can’t find the on switch. Or its lead for that matter.”
“You need to rub it,” said Sharon.
Janie stood aside and watched as Sharon started polishing the kettle with a duster. Suddenly smoke began pouring out of the spout and as Janie stared, it coalesced into a seven foot man: bald, bare-chested, and wearing rather billowy trousers.
“Gracious,” said Janie.
LionheartIts first flicker of awareness was of a hot, musty dim place, though at the time it didn’t know what hot, musty, or dim were. It only knew sensation, proximity, and presence.Lionheart1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There were others there – like it, but different. And then others still, not like it at all, and one of them lifted one of its shining kindred from the wall, twirling it, dancing light through the air...
A whistle, a clash, a terrible ringing snap, and one of its kin extinguished.
For the first time, it knew fear.
“No good. Another.”
Another was taken, tested, and duly shattered.
“I thought your work better than this.”
“No – here! My greatest yet. Please, test this one, and know I have no better.”
A hand settled upon it, and it tasted sensations beyond its own newborn fear: boredom, distaste, a vague acknowledgement of its fine form and shining steel. It was turned and spun, examined and shaken, and then suddenly whirled high, twisted, and swung shrieking towar
The Crazy Kind"How much is that dragon in the window?"The Crazy Kind3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"What, Balthazar? Keep dreaming kid it takes a special kind to care for a dragon."
"The crazy kind."
"You take care of him."
"Aye, that I do."
"Yeah, yeah, don't go pointing out the obvious. What do you want a dragon for?"
" How much you got in your pocket kid?"
It's Always Blackest Before the ThroneCurriculum VitaeIt's Always Blackest Before the Throne1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Snake Cult Leader
General in the Legions of Shagamemnon
Reason Left Last Job:
Green, three-boobed alien women wanting to be taught the Earth-concept of love.
Has own armour (black leather with spikes).
Interviewer’s notes: This guy seems perfect!
I realise there is no way for me to get this letter to you but I feel in need of a sympathetic ear at the moment.
Things haven’t been going too well. I thought the dungeon was the way to go in order to gain power and riches but people somehow completely misinterpreted the whips and chains. Thought it was a place offering… erotic satisfaction. It all made me terribly uncomfortable.
So I gave up and swapped genres from Fantasy to Sci-Fi. But things didn’t improve and now I appear to have ended up in Gritty Realism. I’ve managed to get a minimum w
Mo (1,315w) The first time they met, Mo smiled. In her head, the girl knew that smile was one that the world would call “ugly”; however, she was still a child so her heart was bigger. Her heart smiled back.Mo (1,315w)1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a wintry Friday in February. Beth was almost thirteen—possibly the worst almost in a girl’s process of growing up, the almost of never catching a break from her own mirror and wishing her body would just make up its mind already. She poked at her soggy corn flakes and plucked at the itchy new strap of her bra. Wished her breasts were either big enough to actually make some shape, or small enough that she wouldn’t have to bother. Her parents lounged their way into a late morning with black coffee and yesterday’s crossword puzzles. This was a typical family snow day: nothing out of the ordinary was supposed to happen in t
Hairball“The cat did it.”Hairball2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A bizarre case—woman suffocated in her sleep by her cat dozing on her face.
“Can’t arrest him,” said DI McGonagle. “Better phone the RSPCA, Sergeant.”
Pompom smugly washed his paws.
Handy that a cat isn’t legally responsible for his actions, but can be named sole beneficiary in his owner’s will.
The Goblin: An Unexpected JourneyIn the waning years of the Third Era, The War Of The Ring drew to a close. With the One Ring destroyed at the hands of Frodo Baggins, the lands of Mordor were emptied after the battle at the Black Gates, but something happened then, that no one intended. The battle was survived by the unlikeliest of creatures, a goblin, Garzaht of Mordor.The Goblin: An Unexpected Journey2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Urgh, get off!" the scratchy voice said from beneath a heap of bloodied orc corpses. With a rustle one of the bodies was dislodged tumbling down the side of the pile and hitting the ground with a sloppy, bloody thud. A hand reached out from under the mass, pushing limbs aside and clutching onto whatever solid handhold it could. "Pathetic, fat, stupid, stinking, dead orcs!" the voice continued.
Getting a solid grip on the hilt of an orcish scimitar, blade dug into the ground, the hand pulled hard and with a loud slurp, the grimy form of a grimy goblin emerged from the pile. Getting to his feet with a clumsy stumble, the goblin spat on the pile of his
Watching Butterflies--FFM 17Sometimes, he wishes he had someone to talk to. Ray sits on a bench, his rusting, creaky elbows perched on his rusting, creaky knees, and watches the butterflies. Cumulonimbus clouds stretch across the sky above his head, the kinks in his metal spine curved against the wood and groaning with the breeze.Watching Butterflies--FFM 173 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Let's put him here," they'd said, a gleam in their eyes. "He'll make a great tourist attraction!"
They'd glued him to the bench, molding his rusting, creaky feet to a slab of heavy concrete. "Feed the birds with Ray," they'd yelled. "He's a great listener!"
And for twenty years, he was. He'd heard war stories and sex scandals and all the secrets a child could keep bottled up in their chests. He'd heard sob stories and comedic reenactments and over thirty-two million declarations of love. He'd kept count. Sometimes, people came back more than once. Often, Ray had been ignored.
Systematic Amnesia [10.2.12 Daywrite]They came for us at four in the morning. We had stayed up all night, of course we had, peering out of the windows into the darkness, foreheads pressed up against the icy glass. Our breath fogged our vision, but it didn't matter. We knew no number of sentries could keep us safe when they finally came.Systematic Amnesia [10.2.12 Daywrite]3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
So they waited most of the night, just one more step in their game of playing with our minds. We were tired when they came, fearful. Edgy. But they arrived in silence, just a whisper as they surrounded our house.
Then Cole's cell phone rang. Its trill in the deathly silence shocked us all out of whatever level of unconsciousness we each happened to be in, and we all stared at him with wide eyes. The only people with that number were supposedly in all in the room with us.
"It's them," he said, voice tight. "They're doing it again." It was a power play of course, and we had all known it long before he said it. We were just clinging to that last hope