Flash Fiction Friday #5

Coconut Freeze

They make a man of white, so life-like that they swear he's alive, and angel silhouettes on the ground which get smudged by clumsy feet when they try to stand.

They burry each other under brilliantly white piles, their noses blushing red.

They slip and slide and giggle when one of them falls over completely, landing with a thump which is followed by a series of foul words.

They stop laughing when the white turns to red under his head and his eyes can no longer stay open. 

They sob silently as they run back home, but the coconut continues to fall from the sky.

Flash Fiction Friday #4

Monkey Tail

The day I was born was filled with surprises.

Firstly, my parents were expecting to have a baby boy, and this mistake may have been caused by surprise number two; I was born with a tail. It wasn't the kind of tail you might expect - all pink and useless and misshapen - on the contrary, my tail was glorious even then. It was a long and slender thing, covered in beautiful chestnut brown fur. It tapered off into an elegant point which was as white as freshly fallen snow. I swirled it around like a master before I had even managed to squawk out my first cry.

My parents and doctors had planned to remove my tail when I was very young. The doctors assured them that I would be far too young to remember that I ever even had a tail, and my parents didn't want to have child with a mutation, so they agreed. When they eventually found out that it couldn't possibly be removed without paralysing me from the waist down they wept for days.

I very quickly learnt that my tail was an extremely versatile tool indeed and we soon became the very best of friends. As I grew older I insisted on doing absolutely everything with it and annoyed my poor parents immensely. I completely refused to use my hands at meal times and would grip my food with my tail instead, and nothing was out of reach once I had learnt to use it as a climbing tool. My parents often found that I had freed myself from my playpen walls and I could scale the kitchen cupboards as easily as crawling.

When I started school and learnt to write my name with my tail, my teachers disappeared, but my handwriting was the best in the year so no complaints could be made. Some of the other children could be mean; pinching my tail when I wasn't looking and pulling on it as I walked past in the halls, but mostly people were fascinated by it, or jealous. I made many, many friends in those first few weeks and we tore around the school as if we owned it.

*** To be continued.... ***

Flash Fiction Friday #3

This weeks Flash Fiction Friday is a day late because I completely forgot that yesterday was actually a Friday. Apparently my brain is a day behind at the moment. Hopefully it will catch up to reality soon though.

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Ham Sandwich

She takes another bite of her ham sandwich before realising that it might seem inappropriate and could offend. Trying to swallow it discreetly a lump sticks to the side of her throat and makes her choke. There is a splutter of an apology as a soggy mass of bread and ham flies from her mouth and lands at the hosts feet.

They snort in disapproval, looking from the congealed sandwich remains to her blushing face, and then back again.

She moves forwards; attempting to pick it up before they realise the choice of filling, but it's too late and no amount of apology will make it right.

'How dare you?!' He squeals in a rage, 'Get out of my pen!' With that, the pig turns around and trots back into his sty.

Hanging her head in shame, she is left alone to realise that this means the loss of yet another friend.

Flash Fiction Friday #2

Lavender Dream.

The breeze was gentle and filled with the scents of baby powder and warm milk. Pale lavender petals descended from the clouds, taking their time on the journey down, enjoying the view and eventually coming to rest amongst the rows of wheat in the field. Hidden insects went about their secret business, filling the air with a gentle hum, and children played in the nearby woods, their chatter floating across the countryside.

In the dusty corner of an empty cottage, unseen by man or beast, a dense shadow was starting to form. It was the thick black of lost memories and forgotten dreams, deeper than the deepest cavern and gave off the smell of burning flesh. No one was there to see the shadow grow, but grow it did; thicker and further inside the cottage. The old foundations groaned in their knowing – It had come.

If anyone had cared to look over at that old cottage they would have seen nothing but a dark black stain in the fabric of the world, spreading slowing outwards, growing wider and more rotten before their eyes. However, no one did look and no one did care. 

The world was left to melt away into shadow, unseen by anyone except the petals falling from the clouds.

Flash Fiction Friday #1

Today is going to be the start of a little weekly post that I'm calling 'Flash Fiction Friday'. 
I'm not sure if I'll manage to remember it each week, but I'm definitely going to give it a good go. I come up with the titles first and then write a story to fit it, so they can sometimes be quite surreal. They will mostly be around 100-200 words, so even if I'm feeling really tired and lazy I should still be able to manage it every Friday. I think that setting myself the goal of writing at least one short story a week should be pretty doable and its something which I've been meaning to do for a while now.

I can't promise that they'll be lovely and happy, and I certainly can't promise that they'll be good, but I hope that you'll bravely put up with them and maybe even enjoy some of them.

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Blackberry Thorn.

You stand in a small clearing; birds chatter all around you but not a single one can be seen, as if they disappeared long ago and their songs are just an echo of what once was.

Tall, thin trees are rooted into the ground as far as the eye can see. They are as black as coal and wear not a single leaf on their spindly branches. Unlike the birds, the leaves can be seen. They now lay peacefully on the ground, blanketing it in a pattern of white and grey which makes your eye spin.

You spot a single spot of red jumping out at you from the monochrome ground and slowly bend to pick it up. Turning the glossy business card over in your hands you briefly wonder how it ended up here and who it belonged to. Surely birds, even vanishing ones, dont carry business cards.

Squinting at the black text you read one simple sentence:

'You are all that remains.'

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you realise that the birdsong has stopped.