A shiver passes through the snowman (75 word flash)
(Featured on Paragraph Planet 3rd January 2016)
The vacuum moans (75 word flash)
(Featured on Paragraph Planet 13th March 2015)
They Spend more time (75 word flash)
(Featured on Paragraph Planet 20th February 2015)
Money (75 word flash)
(Featured on Paragraph Planet 9th September 2014)
My boss gave me a written warning today. If I fall asleep at work again I’m out. Truthfully I’m just too exhausted to care. Can’t sleep at home because the wife has been seriously moody lately. I remember when the shouting had a purpose. We’d fight about money, always money - I miss those days. Now it’s just endless bouts of vicious night time screaming. So much has changed since we buried her in the garden.
Torn limbs are strewn everywhere,
littering the floor in mangled heaps.
"quit crying!" mom shouts "they're only toys"
Mother always used to say that I have guardian angel watching over me. Never believed her until last week when I realised that I have a second shadow. I felt safer knowing that I’m not alone but that was before the whispering started.
Her eyes burnt like hot coals. Colours blurred into one another as if the entire world had been rendered in finger paint by a horde of enthusiastic five year olds. Greys melted to blue, splashed in dashes of bright orange that shimmered around the constantly moving splotches of pink and black. One of the blobs spoke, or at least she thought it did. She couldn’t be sure. Her ears were fuzzy; they stung as if filled with molten marshmallow. The wetness was unsettling.
Alexa knew the mumbles to be words although she could not discern any meaning from the shape of the sounds which attacked her from every direction like a cloud of rabid flies. She closed her eyes to escape the pigments slashing at her senses. In the darkness behind eyelids the searing pain lessened, but not much. Formless noise intensified.
A sharp scent crawled through her nostrils making her think of burnt pork. She became aware of a rumbling sensation beneath where she sat on what felt like tarmac smattered with sharp stones. Pain crept over every pore of her skin, biting like angry ants. Opening eyes she blinked wildly but her vision did not clear. She wondered if it ever would.
Wafts of air accompanied by heavy thudding flew past.She started at the coloured streaks as they went. Her ears popped and flooded her senses with a wall of sound. Shouting, screeching and crunching bones filled the void in her skull with images that she didn’t want to think about.
She felt a hand grab her firmly by the arm, a slippery wetness on it that could not be a sign of anything good. The pain of its grip sent flashes of white across her still muddled view.
“Get up Alex,”
A man’s voice, though she couldn’t be completely sure with the high pitched fear that dripped from each stunted syllable.
The hand tightened, pulling her to her feet. Alex winced but didn’t resist the tug. Her legs were unsure on the hard ground.
“We need to run, now”
Still blind she didn’t argue, they ran.
Waiting (100 word Drabble)
It lurks on the top shelf when the lights go out. Nestled in the shadows between an ageing porcelain doll and a ragged teddy as it watches. Unblinking eyes survey the room as it has done nightly since the soulless thing arrived. It regards the small body dozing below as each new breath shifts the sailboat dappled duvet. It is hungry, it’s always hungry. The creature’s once immaculate white fur now matted with a crust of sticky decaying sweets. It bides it’s time, the waiting ever as much a part of the hunt as the feeding. Furby is ever patient.
Steaming little baggie (100 word Drabble)
It's never pleasant, but it must be done. After Mutley’s finished, I pull out a tiny plastic bag. The fresh heat pressing against fingers is sickly, it takes concentration to keep my porridge down.
I stash the baggie next to the path. I’ll pick it up after our walk, senseless to carry it. Not long after, enthusiastic footsteps approach.
“Hey I think you dropped this!”
The man plants the baggie in my palm then scurries away.
I’ve watched monkeys at the zoo and I gotta tell you, those little bastards are onto something.
My happy helper never sees it coming.
The Secret Garden (100 word Drabble)
Beneath a perfect blue sky, beyond trees which no man will ever name, we found the garden. After passing through, we were awestruck by the abundance of colour, the scent of peculiar fruits and the greener than green leaves. Holding hands, we laughed about the inexplicable door in the basement and wondered how it had brought us there. We were picnicking on the riverbank when the velociraptors arrived. I only just made it in time, Sam wasn’t as quick. It was hard holding the door shut as he screamed. I told his parents that he ran away in the night
A knock at the door (100 word Drabble)
Often I hear a knock on the door. I’ve never really bothered to get up and find out who it is. Terrance says that I should just ignore it and whoever it is will eventually get bored and go away.
“Just one of those Jehovah's Witnesses” he says
“Up to no good. Here to bible bash us into submission, the bastards. Get back to your cleaning”
I don’t know what a Jehovah witness is, but as a rule I agree with everything Terrance says.
I’ve been scrubbing Joanne out of the floorboards for weeks.
She always was the outspoken type.
Some nights when I climb into bed beside her,
I recall the pinning of that first night. It fills me with contagious heat. Other times, I’m too tired to even stand, let alone consider the weight of the universe and our inescapable place within it.
On those nights I don’t see the pillow coming.
It takes me out, hits like a truck would a suicidal pheasant on the freeway. Of those nights I remember nothing, only the perfect warmth beneath the covers.
Shallow pockets (100 word Drabble)
As soon as the vast steel doors have shut, his hands are free of their bindings. He plunges them deeply into shallow pockets, fingers grasping for solutions to the myriad of problems which could thwart his escape.
Left hand returns with a paper clip and a stale baked potato,
his right with a tuft of blonde pubic hair which he cannot quite explain.
‘Why is the cool stuff always in my other pants?’ he thinks
‘also why do these things only happen on laundry day?’
After a moment's stare at the items on his outstretched palms,
MacGyver hatches his plan.
Rain (100 word Drabble)
I don't see Rain nearly as often as I'd like to. She tells me that although the river stays, the water is always different.
I miss her often, in the flow of our lives.
Even though the heat of a cloudless sky warms me.
When I hear the rumble of her coming beyond the horizon,
my heartbeat doubles.
Somehow she always knows when I'm sad.
I run barefoot over the grass to meet her and when lightning kisses me, there is no pain, she whispers that she loves me.
Rain tells me that the sunshine's always perfect above the clouds.