Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts

Aug 12, 2015

Best Twitter Accounts (at the moment)

I know not everyone likes Twitter, and lately I don't much like it either. It's all a bit exhausting. But there is still plenty of gold in Twitter. These are the accounts that are currently making me smile.


We Want Plates (@WeWantPlates)

Showcasing the worst of the restaurant craze for serving food and drink in silly things.
The photos make me LOL.




ManWhoHasItAll (@manwhohasitall)

So, so good. When you've spent a few years wrangling parenting and work AND dealing with the endless scream-worthy, useless, unfair and impossible "advice" in women's lifestyle articles, welcome to your soulmate, ManWhoHasItAll.  Turning all the stupid "work-life balance" advice for women around as if it were written for men:





I could keep going. I have retweeted so many of these I've virtually stolen the account.



Spineless Wonders (@SpinelessWonder)

I love short stories, in particular of the speculative fiction type. And I love flash fiction - when it's good (which it often is not). All last month under the hashtag #MicroLitMonth, this account put up some really great short short fiction.

Like this one



The Conversation (@ConversationEDU)

Source of excellent articles which look at issues and ideas slightly differently, with the benefit of academic insight. The articles are a good length, striking just the right balance between Buzzfeed and Longform, and they publish them all under a Creative Commons license. Nice work, The Conversation.



 God (@TheTweetOfGod)

The God we really need.

Daily Dose of Puppies (@TheDailyPuppy)

Cynical exploitation of internet-cute? Sure. But ADORABLE.




And my favourite tweet today:

Posted by 4 comments:

Aug 2, 2014

Words for Wednesday: The Good Shot

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week the prompt words were:
marksman

stellar

blindsided

indelible

crazed

imbecile

 Here is my story:
The Good Shot

 Austin was new to shooting, but his marksmanship was improving by the day. Yesterday his performance was stellar; he had stunned his team mates with his accuracy and ruthless cunning. Approaching stealthily, he had blindsided local legend Danny Frank with a shot to the heart that felled him, wide-eyed and silent, in front of shocked on-lookers.

 The impression Austin left was indelible. He went home exhausted and triumphant, the power of the weapon and his unexpected skill making him feel slightly crazed, almost dizzy.  But there was still plenty of work to be done. Only an imbecile would relax now, when there was so little time to practice and improve. The Grand National Paint-Ball Championship was less than a week away.

* * * 

 So silly - but this was fun anyway.  Thanks for the words, Delores!
Posted by 5 comments:

May 6, 2014

Words for Wednesday: Memories of the Sea

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or part of a story, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

 Last week's words were:
crunch

foam

blister

riptide

fencing

blast

Memories of the Sea

In the lounge room above the wide couch was Holly's favourite painting, a beach scene. It was a wild beach, obviously windy, with pampas grass bending over on the dunes and gulls wheeling in the sky. A rolling wave crashed on some unseen rock, sending spray high into the air. Swirling foam lapped the sand.

Holly could imagine standing on that beach - the blast of salt air on cheeks, the crunch of broken shells in sand underfoot.  She imagined it so much, she had real memories of being there. Sometimes she walked with a dog, who barked at the spray and the gulls and ran in and out of the water. Sometimes she carried a stick for him. She called him back when he went in to swim, as the riptide was dangerous. Usually though, she was alone. She wore rolled up jeans and an old jumper, and her hair was long and untied. She passed through the crooked, broken palings of long-rotted fencing that marked the start of the public beach, down the small dunes past the grass and onto the rough sand. She walked, or she stood watching the sea and the gulls, arms wrapped around herself tightly. 

It was always late afternoon on that beach. It was always cool, and the sky clouded pink with the beginnings of a beautiful sunset. But Holly never saw the sunset. There was nowhere to go if it got dark while she was there, after all; that part didn't really exist. She didn't know if she was visiting (and if so, did she have a car?) or if she lived nearby and had walked. If she had walked, she had to get back home before evening. (Why?) Occasionally, she gave herself physical memories too: the itch of the pampas grass on her ankles, the sting of hair whipping her face, the beginnings of a blister in a sneakered foot.

Back in the lounge room the cries of the gulls began to fade and Holly pulled her hair into a pony tail. Her ankle was itchy and she scratched it with the toenail of her other foot. 






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Feb 27, 2014

Words for Wednesday: Winter

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

 I've only ever spent two winters in snow, once in Boston as a child (magical) and once in Fussen in Germany in my twenties (first couple of days magical, thereafter just a long, cold winter). So I have limited to zero experience living with snow and ice.  I've had a go at describing it here, hopefully it's not too laughably wrong. 

 This week's words were:
incarcerate

phlegm

damp

groan

knife

blessing

Winter

The winter was like an incarceration, trapped in the house and everywhere you looked out the window was white. It was not silent. There was the wind and there were snapping twigs and icicles and sometimes the groaning and creaking of ice on the roof.

Inside the house the heater was on all the time, and the air grew thick. Our breath hung in the rooms, stale and close. There was constant illness, the rattle of phlegm in damp chests.

Spring sliced through all this like a knife. The sun was not warm but the season had turned and the gleaming wet of melting ice was like a blessing.
Posted by 3 comments:

Dec 8, 2013

Words for Wednesday: a Christmas story

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

This week's words are:
surprise
aromatic
elfin
toboggan
steep
dashing


It appears that the festive season is upon us.  So, let's begin.
* * *

Marcie opened her eyes to the distant, pleasant sounds of her parents getting breakfast in the kitchen and the aromatic scent of fruit toast.  She remembered it was only two days till Christmas and smiled to herself.  Christmas Eve Eve, she thought, the family phrase immediately bringing back memories of other Christmas Eve Eves where she had thought the same words.

Marcie padded down the steep wooden stairs to the loungeroom. She glanced only a minute at the little Elf on the Shelf her dad had set up on the mantlepiece, just long enough to confirm he hadn't moved during the night. He sat motionless against the wall, his creepy smile and unnaturally rosy cheeks bright in the morning sun. Marcie shivered and hurried round the corner to the kitchen. 

"Dad," she said. Her parents were buttering toast, clearing the dishwasher and chatting. They turned when she came in. 

"Hey! Good morning." Her dad handed her some toast. Her mum smiled over her coffee.

"Dad, the elf didn't move last night."

"Well," said Dad, "I guess he had a rest last night." His face was a little tired-looking. Marcie knew he and Mum had stayed up quite late last night, as their neighbors had visited for drinks. "But I'm sure he'll get up to some tricks again tonight!" 

"I don't want him to," said Marcie. She sat and started on some toast.  "Can you actually put him away, Dad?"

Her father raised his eyebrows. "What? But he's part of the family now! And he only gets to come out at Christmas!"

"I don't really like him," said Marcie. She'd lowered her voice a little to say this, as if to make sure no one else could hear.

Her mum smiled. "I'm not crazy about him either," she said. "Gordon, let's call it a day on the elf. Maybe he can come out again next year."

Dad shrugged. "Okay," he said. " I'll pack him away today."

That day was fun. Mum took Marcie out for some last-minute shopping, and the shops were all beautiful and sparkly with Christmas. People were rushed but seemed happy and there was festivity and goodwill in the air. Marcie and her mum stopped at a cafe and had hot chocolate. The cafe looked out on a park with grassy slopes at one end. Some kids had made a toboggan out of a big piece of cardboard and were sliding down the slopes squealing and yelling with glee.

When Marcie and Mum got home, the elf was gone. Mum checked the hall cupboard, opened a red box, and said "Yep, there he is." She put the box back on the top shelf, closed the door and smiled at Marcie. "All gone!" she said. 

Marcie felt immediate relief.

That night she helped Mum wrap the last presents they'd bought and put them under the tree. Dad made her laugh by pretending to jump up on the mantelpiece to take the place of the elf. She was allowed to stay up a bit late, and they all watched The Polar Express on TV. 

When Marcie went to bed she felt warm and relaxed, and it wasn't long before she was asleep.

She heard the sounds sometime late in the night. 

At first she didn't know what had woken her, and then she heard it. It was a slow tapping sound, like something on wood. Tap...tap...tap. Marcie lay very still and told herself she was dreaming, or that she had imagined it. Tap...tap...tap.  Her heart thumping, Marcie listened again. It was a branch outside, she thought, or ...what did Mum say about strange noises? It was the house settling.   

Tap...tap...tap.  Like something on wood. Something.... on the wooden stairs.  Tap...tap...tap.  It was louder, she was sure it was. It was closer.  Marcie drew the blankets up to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Go away, she thought, go away, go away, go away....

After awhile she opened her eyes. The sound had stopped. She waited. There was nothing.  Still scared but exhausted from her fear, Marcie at last fell back asleep.


In the morning Marcie's room was golden with sunshine. Marcie woke up and for a moment she had no memory of the sounds during the night. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. The garden was bright and cheery, with birds tweeting and the sun shining on everything. She could hear a lawn mower next door and her parents moving around downstairs in the kitchen.

 She remembered the sounds from the middle of the night. The fear seeped back into her; the sunny morning did not dispel it.  Marcie sat up slowly. Her bed faced the bedroom door. Outside was the landing that gave onto the wooden staircase that led down to the loungeroom.

 Marcie got a horrible shock but it was not really a surprise. Sitting on the floor just inside her doorway was the elf. Its head with the cherry-red cheeks and knowing smile was turned slightly to face her, and its bright blue eyes were staring straight at her.


* * *

Merry Christmas!
Photo: InspiredinDesMoines/Flickr



Posted by 6 comments:

Sep 28, 2013

Words for Wednesday

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
Use some or all of the week's words, write a poem or a story or a fragment, and visit Delores' current week's prompt to let her know you've joined in.

 This week's words are:
spasm

uneventful

trek

early

limestone

felt

Here is my story:

 Between the beaches of Perissa and Kamari on Santorini lies the stark white rock called Mesa Vouno. 'Vouno' means mountain, but it's a hill. It can be climbed in an hour, if you're young and fit, which I was back then. I climbed it one day early in the summer season, when I had hours between shifts at the bar where I worked. I wore my hiking boots and carried a daypack whose contents I don't remember but were probably a book, a chocolate bar and a bottle of water. 

 The sun was hard and bright, and the limestone scree made the climb tricky in places. There was a path but it was easy to lose. It was hard going, but despite the heat I felt good. I liked to be alone and I liked to walk. The trek over this strange, scrabbly white hill was exhilarating. 

 At the top, I stopped to catch my breath and enjoy the view. I was alone on the summit and could see Perissa on one side, Kamari on the other, and behind me the island's only true mountain, Profitas Ilias. On the beaches there were people, but up here there was no one. I was gloriously, wonderfully alone.

 I shuffled closer to the edge of a steep drop, and looked for the easiest route down. The climb up had been uneventful, but climbing up was easy. Climbing down was hard. I scuffed the loose rock with my foot and a sudden tumble of stones clattered straight down the drop. In a moment I lost my footing and flailed wildly. A spasm of terror. I twisted and landed on my stomach, sliding down; my hands grabbed rocks that moved with me. The crack and clatter of tumbling stones was loud - louder than my shallow breaths and my own blood pounding in my throat. I seemed to slide forever, but it was only a few feet. I lay still for a moment, too scared to move, then sat up shaking. My pants were dusty and torn at one knee. My palms and chin were grazed painfully. 

 I stood shakily and looked around me. There was no one else. I was completely, utterly alone.

fitzgabbro/Flickr Creative Commons
(This is a climb I did do, many years ago, and I was all alone - but there was no mishap. I did have a moment though, climbing down the hill covered in loose rock, where I realised if I did fall, there was no one to help me.... This was in the days before mobile phones.
Oh, and Mesa Vouno is actually partially limestone - I wasn't sure but thought it might be. Confirmed in this geological map of Santorini).
Posted by 5 comments:

Sep 10, 2013

Words for Wednesday - 4 September

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
I did this for the first time last week, and enjoyed it a lot.

Last Wednesday's words were:

crystallize

morbid

fragrance

cling

instant

blueprint


 Here is my contribution. 



In those dying days Alan took calls from a hundred desperate clients.  They rang at all hours, in a panic, some weeping. There were others he called, who were unable to make a decision, silent on the other end of the phone in their shock. Some were still strategizing, taking a hit here or there to crystallize a loss for a write-off, or scanning value stocks with a buyer’s eye even as everything went to hell. In the office things were frantic for a couple of weeks, and then quiet, as the money ran out and the phones stopped ringing. Some of the advisers took a holiday, or stayed home. But Alan was salaried and anyway had nowhere to go. So he stayed at his terminal, watching the lines of red numbers with morbid, daily obsession.

There were moments, even days, where things seemed to pick up, as a few stocks bounced up from rock-bottom and the market pounced. When these bounces lasted more than a day, the office became vibrant. Even though everyone knew it was nothing it was good to be busy; good to remember the excitement and the happiness from past times – the sweet fragrance of wealth.  It was easy to cling to that buzz and that hope, and everyone did.

Alan was young and had missed the bull market. “You’ll catch the next one,” they told him. They even said his timing was perfect because he was building up clients and knowledge right now, and when the market took off – as it would, finally – he’d be in on the ground floor.

But meantime the perks were all gone. The cars, the lunches, the drinks, the gym memberships, the couriers and the dry cleaning – not to mention the cash bonuses. All gone. They were never coming back, everyone said.  Of course, they probably would, eventually. Just not to this generation.

Companies struggled not to sink and withheld that truth from their staff. All over the city, companies sank or merged or were bought out, and people lost their jobs. Alan had no idea how his company was faring. No one did, either inside or outside the dealing room.   Internal communications insisted all was well.  Prospects were good, said the emails, and the company’s strengths and market share were keeping them in the black even as others sank around them. Things were tight, no question – and it was true that some serious cuts would need to be made. But if everyone stayed focused and kept doing what they were doing, then the company would continue to do well, buoyed by its greatest asset: its people.

The communications never mentioned the company’s balance sheet. They were light on detail and never included a specific dollar amount, target figure, future date or indeed any number of any kind. They were all words – words and no numbers. In an industry which was usually, proudly, all numbers and formulae, someone had changed the language. 


Outside the dealing room and away from the numbers, priorities had changed in an instant. Gone without mention were the old roadmaps, goal sheets and mission statements. The policies and procedures page kept moving on the intranet, and whole sections were gone. The only direction now was to survive. The blueprint was secret. 

Posted by 6 comments:

Sep 3, 2013

(Last) Wednesday's Words

'Words for Wednesday' is a writing prompt held by Delores at Under the Porch Light.
I haven't done one of these yet, but I enjoy reading River's so thought I would give it a go.

Last Wednesday's words were:

drugged

scandalous

frying

clerk

entrance

hidden

Here is my contribution.


I awoke in full sun, heavy and slow as if drugged. I had to pull myself together. I was losing control, losing my grip on proper behaviour. Sleeping all through the morning every day this week, barely leaving the house, speaking to no one. A scandalous way for a grown person to behave.

 I blinked and sat up slowly. I could smell eggs frying from the flat across the hall. There'd be no frying here. I'd be lucky if there was enough bread and butter to make toast. Was there coffee? I couldn't remember, but I thought there was not.

 I didn't get out of bed. I couldn't go into work. I just couldn't. I hadn't been all week, had stopped calling in sick. I had stopped answering the phone, and I'd ignored the buzzing at the door yesterday too. A colleague had come to the entrance of the flats, buzzed and called my name, and then accosted someone walking out the security door, but they hadn't let him in. Today there was silence. What could they do? They'd fire me, I knew. I didn't care. I was just a clerk. They didn't need me. I didn't need work, if only I could stay hidden in this flat, this room, this bed, for long enough. 

 But as it turned out, I couldn't. This was the last morning I would spend in this torpor. Because although I didn't know it at that moment, everything was about to change.


And thank goodness for that. I have no idea where this "story" would go, but I couldn't just leave the poor character in that state ;)






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