Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Flash Fiction’ Category

My mother told me:

Always keep to the road!

If I go through the woods I can save twenty minutes.

For weeks, the rain has been covering southern England

with a blanket of black mud which slops and squelches

underfoot. I’m wearing my white trainers.

I have a fetish for clean shoes.

Today it’s stopped raining and the pasty path draws my feet

like dry bread.  A few paces in, I stand on a knoll

for a better look at the pond. Sparse green shoots are sprouting

on the trees and sunlight skims across the water.

I hesitate. Deep inside the woods,

no-one will hear the scuffle or a girl’s screams

as she’s bludgeoned to death

and her body dragged beneath the green algae.

Last nigh, a prisoner escaped

from a high security jail.

This is a re-write of a piece of flash fiction. I’m not sure which form works best. As I wrote this it moved away from depicting the consequences of disregarding a warning to the narrator being the agent that fulfilled that warning.

Always keep to the road!

If I go through the woods I’ll save twenty minutes. For weeks, the rain has been changing southern England into a blanket of black mud which slops and squelches underfoot. I’m wearing white trainers and I have a fetish about clean shoes. But today it’s dry underfoot and the pale path looks inviting. I take a few paces to get a better look at the pond which I can see through the sparse green shoots now sprouting on the trees. The sunlight skims across the water, caressing the green algae. Once I’m deep inside the woods, no-one would hear if there’s a scuffle. No-one would hear a person being bludgeoned to death and their body being dragged underwater. I take a few more steps along the pathway. No-one will ever know.

Last nigh, a prisoner escaped from a high security jail

A man has been charged with the murder of three prostitutes in the NE of England, following the discovery of the remains of one of them on a river. It’s difficult to understand the mindset of the perpetrators of such awful crimes.


Read Full Post »

3WW CXXIV

Pierre stumbled downstairs. The knocking on his shop door was insistent.
‘I’m coming! I’m coming! Keep your shirt on,’ he cried.
She was leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched forward as she gasped for breath, her clothing in disarray.
At the end of the street the rabble’s uproar was swelling.
‘You’ve got to let me in.’
‘No got to about it. I don’t know you from Adam…or Eve,’ he replied.
‘Oh I think you do.’ She was more composed now. She looked him straight in the eye.
‘Don’t you remember when I had to validate who you were?’

(Apologies but I can’t get this post to indent!)

Click here or on the icon for more 3WW fiction and poems.
3ww1

Read Full Post »

Rumour – 3WW #92

This week Bone has given us rumour, shake and spontaneous.

‘You must be the change you wish to see in the world.’    (Mahatma Ghandi)

Rumour has it he was in Sichuan when the earthquake started to shake the buildings. There was no email to his aid workers, always first on the scene at a disaster – natural or man-made. They watched on TV: saw schools collapse like houses of cards; orphans and bereaved parents, stunned into blank disbelief. He would have known what to say and what to leave unsaid, the right questions to ask and whether a children was old enough to face mortality. He worked instinctively and his love for his fellow humans was spontaneous, not something he put on like shaving cream.

Read Full Post »