A Little More Gaslight #2
“Come in.” A swirl of a red dress. Capped off by a pair of red shoes. The owner has her face hidden in her hair. She won’t even make eye contact. An ominous portent indeed. A thud as she falls into the armchair opposite. “I wish…” Deep breath. “I wish…to report a case of sexual…
A Little More Gaslight #1
“Come in.” The last one, he thinks. But at least we’re getting the numbers down. And the iron laws of arithmetic don’t apply. A pair of red shoes enter. The owner strides in, pulls out a leather armchair, scrapes it along the carpet. She sits down and crosses her legs. Without any preamble, she begins.”I’m…
My entry in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction competition. Genre: Ghost Story, Setting: Waterfall, Object: A Salt Shaker.
My amended entry for the https://www.writerscentre.com.au/furious-fiction/ competition. <a href="”> Read More…
My entry in the NYC Midnight Short Story competition…A romantic comedy set in a charitable organisation featuring a window cleaner….
Think What I Want (The Power of Lying)
“What happened Cynthia?” “Tommy broke the swing. He jumped up and down, round and round, up and down, round and round, till it broke.” Mummy’s green eyes went black. She’s looking through me again. “Cynthia, are you lying to me?” Mummy’s voice was in my head. Think nothing, say nothing, Mummy can’t hear me anyways. What about…
Celine Dion’s Lyricist
Music. My pager beeps. Must be seven o’clock again. Third time this week.
“You shouldn’t encourage her,” her mother pontificated. “Me? I thought it must have been you.” “I never said a word. She made it all up. By herself.” “She has some imagination, I’ll grant her that. But she’s only a child. She’ll get over it. In time,” her dad said patiently. “Reality catches up with us…
A kiss. A heavy unmoving kiss. Like my first : open mouthed and no movement. A kiss that flowed over me and washed me downstream. I woke a little. I drew a breath. I held it. I threw up my arms. I pushed her away. She didn’t want me. I wasn’t interested. I had other…
Daddy Tick Tock
3:06am. He’s crying. The father groggily wakes and looks at the digital clock on the bedside table. The shrouded corpse far across the bed doesn’t move. He hears the seconds dripping.
Drenching Human Sheep
“All rise!” The Court Clerk brayed in a tone of bored authority. The words echoed and then died against the wooden paneling. There was a pause. The door to the left opened. A short bobbing woman entered robed and wigged even though convention didn’t demand it anymore. The pause followed her and held its breath.…