Tag Archives: flash fiction

Ghost Writer (65)

“I write… Stop… Write again… This is my way and ever has been. Why change it for the sake of supplicating demons?”

The Ghost Writer

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Ghost Writer (64)

“I have fallen so far, yet it was the not making a sound when I landed that hurt the most. If ever I landed at all?”

The Ghost Writer

The Birds and the Bees

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The Birds and the Bees

The leaves hung like hummingbirds hovering for food. In swarms of suspended metals, autumn’s glinting deposits waited to settle on the scorched ground.

Next came the wind. Warmer than a lover’s kiss, colder than a refusal, it took me in its swirling embrace unsure whether to throttle or enfold. Me and that last of all trees in that last of all places.

Those leaves that remained whipped about like bees stinging at my skin, my throat, my everything. In beauty, I died.

We all did.

50 Word Stories – In Cocoa

It was an idea, a fanciful dream. I packed nothing and left everything.

The plantations were green, not brown. A prevailing wind filtered out the sounds of humanity’s pickers but the life I had wished for never existed.

I returned home deflated. My mum smiled and offered me a coffee.

Champagne

Beneath the veneer, the sparkling wit and quaffed hair lay the remnants of a soul in despair; it was his eyes that gave him away. They were lost. He would always be lost.

I pitied him then, turned away with the broadest back. And though he spat venom, riled and roared, it missed on all accounts. So weak!

I left him to his collected friends and so-called compatriots like grapes on the vine missed in the picking. Worthless, a vintage fit only for insects, he’d rot into the soil without ever knowing what it was to taste champagne.

Forgotten to Bloom

Forgotten to Bloom

Every morning the flowers in the meadow raised their heads. I watched them from the riverbank as a scirocco licked my bare legs and arms, the birds and the bees, too.

Summer lasted longer than normal; each new year the same. Still the flowers clasped shut unwilling to colourise my little corner of the planet. Still I waited. We all waited.

The first snows of a late winter happened overnight. I stepped out into a world of freckled frosts and individual snowflakes. The flowers, at last, cold and confused, had bloomed.

They died the same day as confused by man’s earth as us all.