Category: Flash Fiction

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Blue

– Yoghurt can be, but then you shouldn’t eat it – But you would eat the cheese, if it were – My jumper, which smells of cigarettes from last night’s bar – Your favourite packet of crisps – What we call your hair, in that other place, where we’re from...

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Here I Am, Here You Are

Can’t remember what happened last time? Read the first parts of the story here: One: Parking in the Rain Two: A Doorway Three: The Party At the end of voting on part 3 there was a tie. The choices were: She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and started...

Classic Red Mic - by Alameda821 1

The Party

I guess most of you felt the man is more adventurous than generous, so the result was: “Do you want to come to a party?” (57%) Missed the beginning? Read Part 1 and Part 2. Part 3 – The Party “Hey,” he said, suddenly deciding. “Do you want to come...

Pink painting no 1 - Virginia Verran 2

A Doorway

Your votes are in, and the result is: He speaks to the girl. New to the game? Read Part 1 here. Part 2 – A Doorway He stepped up out of the gutter onto the footpath, and ran his hand through his wet curly hair. “Nice sandwich?” he asked the...

C: Rick Doble - rain on my windscreen 2

Parking in the Rain

He stopped his car in a side street and hopped out the door to check on the price of parking. There was always some bloody rule or other; police vehicles only, fifteen minutes loading zone, clearway on the second Monday of every month during school term. Was it too much...

blue 4

Blue

She feels the press of it in her palm, the weight of the thing. Such a small key, she thinks, for such a large door. The heavy wood is cool, gives away none of its secrets. But she hears it at night, calling to her. He will be home soon....

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The Stripper

It’s gotten to that point of the night already. He’s asking me what I do. “I’m a stripper,” I say. “I strip for a living.” His wife, taller than him, holds onto his arm and my words. “No!” she says. “Not really?” “Yes,” I say. “Really.” She gives me a...

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Four Friends

Norah, not one for nervousness, nimbly nudges her intent into the gnarly craniums of her no-good neighbours. “No nonsense, now,” Norah announces. “This ain’t no novel. Nuance is necessary.” Sally sneaks into the side alley, slithering her scaly skin over the slimy stones. “Thissss way?” she whispers to Fyodor. “For...

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Grandma’s Budgie

I hate that bird. Its black eyes. That hooked beak. The way it turns its head to stare. Its dark red feathers. But mostly, I hate its voice. I’ll never understand why Grandma bought a budgie. I guess she wanted a companion, a living thing to share the house with...