He was short. That’s what caught my attention. I’m a fairly average height, but he barely reached my shoulders. Otherwise, the guy was unremarkable. Dark hair, blue eyes, handsome but not gorgeous — if not for his height, few would spare him a second glance. Continue reading
This story is for people aged 18+ as it is NSFW. If you under 18 please click on the Fiction Friday link in the menu to read some of my other stories. Continue reading
Hushed whispers and tugging hands startled me awake. My fuzzy mind, still groggy from sleep, struggled to make sense of my surroundings as I was roughly dragged down smooth stone stairs towards a cold steel cell. I felt something wet on my leg and looked down. My heart froze at the trickle of red I saw there. Oh, Gods! Blood!
Shock cleared my mind and brought clarity. I was no longer being dragged into the bowels of the basement. Instead, I was racing towards the safety of sterility, thoughts spinning towards panic. Continue reading
Hum of traffic
from endless hours of drudgery.
Roar of mowers
in tame parodies of the wilderness. Continue reading
I was having a hard time deciding on a post for today, and my response to the twitter tag #microprompt was slightly too long for a tweet, so I just posted it here, instead. I’ll take a screenshot to post on twitter. Continue reading
Terry waited for Julie to pass before emerging from the shadows.
“Hello, Michael.” he said coldly.
“Terry! But you… you’re…” Continue reading
That’s what we all thought when we saw the video of the homeless guy tearing out the cop’s throat with his bare teeth. Two point three million views and not one person thought it was real. Sure, the word ‘Zombie’ was jokingly bandied about in quite a few comments, but no-one was insane enough to truly believe it. Anyone who did sure as hell wasn’t wasting time watching videos on YouTube. Continue reading
Peering over the rusty gate, she noticed patches of moss growing on a broken stone path. Dandelions and toadstools littered the overgrown grass hiding the dens of field mice. An old tyre rested between the roots of an ancient oak tree, the frayed remains of rope still swinging from a strong branch. Ghosts of children’s laughter echoed on the breeze.
Infestation: noun — the presence of an unusually large number of insects or animals in a place, typically so as to cause damage or disease.¹
I slam the dictionary closed. The word certainly describes my life at the moment. Infestation. The only question now is what to do about it. I’ve tried traps, but they only catch one at a time, barely making a dent in the population. Continue reading
I am so sick of the sight of ash. It’s worse than sand, you know. It gets into everything. Cleaning it is a never-ending chore, since it just keeps on falling. It’s in my clothes, my hair, even my food. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything that didn’t taste of ash. Continue reading
The day before they came was the same as any other. I woke to the sound of my alarm blaring at six a.m.. Grumbling about the unfairness of life, I stumbled blearily into the bathroom where I performed the usual morning functions before showering and dressing for school. Continue reading
Sunlight filtered through the partially closed blinds, creating a pattern of artificial lines across her pale skin. She lay still upon the bed, arms out-stretched, hair framing her face, like a sacrificial offering. His eyes roamed her body, flawless, save for a small yellow tattoo above her left ankle. Leaning closer, he noticed a small yellow star smiling up at him, dressed as a cowboy, with a ten gallon hat on its head and a gun in each hand.
He snorted, amused, reaching out to caress her leg with a calloused, but gentle, hand. Such exquisite beauty deserved to be displayed, admired, like a priceless work of art. He took a step back and gazed at the traces of confusion still lingering in her warm brown eyes.
“Perfection,” he whispered.
Silently, he placed the photograph carefully between her developing breasts. Satisfied, he made his way to the street, blending seamlessly with the crowd outside. Leaving the door open would ensure that she would be found quickly. He smiled.
Let the games begin.
The room was quiet, oppressive. The sound of her own breathing filled her ears. Continue reading
I got to help Dad pick the tree this year. The one I chose took up the whole backseat. I didn’t mind. It meant I got to sit in the front with Dad. Still, we drove home slowly, ‘cos the trunk was sticking out the window. We’re lucky there weren’t any cops around to give Dad a fine. When we got home, my brother helped Dad carry the tree inside and put it in a bucket. I held it up while he and Dad filled the bucket with dirt from the garden. Continue reading
You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath. Your ears strain as you try to convince yourself that the house is empty. A low moan sounds from beneath the tree, causing your breath to hitch. Slowly, softly, you caress the brightly wrapped gift as you gently remove the paper an inch at a time. Continue reading
I have been so busy concentrating on NaNoWriMo this week, that I completely forgot to write something for today’s Fiction Friday. Instead I have decided to give you a sneak peek at one of the earlier scenes from Planet X, the novel I am currently working on.
If you decide to read it, please bear in mind that, besides a basic spell-check, this is completely unedited, un-revised, un-refined and un-beta’d. You read this at your own risk. Continue reading
The worst part about the apocalypse isn’t the zombies. Continue reading
The room is cluttered with memories of a well-spent life. The wall-to-wall bookcase is filled with leather-bound books. An urn, brimming with scrolls, stands in the corner. On the walls is a portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired woman, holding a child. The large mahogany desk holds an intricately carved cigar case, a small globe and a glass box containing a lock of blonde hair and a tooth. The spirit of the former occupant pervades the room.
This is another creative writing assignment from 2005. We were given the sentence “The room contained a desk and a shelf full of books” and told to add atmosphere.
I just want to take this opportunity to apologise to those people who were looking forward to part 2 of X53Za. There is not going to be a part 2 to this short story. Before you all mob me, let me explain. Continue reading
The footpath was teeming with commuters, pressed so tightly that Sam was carried along with the crowd. He sighed. This would add at least an hour to his travel time and he was already exhausted. By the time he finally manoeuvred his way out of the crowd, his feet ached and his head throbbed with each step he took.
As he turned back the way he had come, he noticed a large booth he had never seen before. Inside was an average looking woman, dark hair framing her smiling face. She was well-dressed, though not in a ‘flaunting her wealth’ kind of way. In fact, she looked like one of those government flunkies you always see surrounding the politicians on the television.
What really caught Sam’s eye. though, was the posters plastered all over the woman’s booth. ‘Explore the frontier’, the brightly coloured letters proclaimed above pictures of pilgrims and cowboys and wagon trains, ‘Your ancestors did it, Why not you?’. He paused for a moment, undecided. Today’s air was particularly thin and his lungs felt tight and unresponsive. Couple that with his headache, and he wanted nothing more than to go home to his oxygenated apartment, swallow a tablet and relax in a steaming shower. Continue reading
Through the trees, the sun broke in a dappled pattern on the ground. The smell of the rich soil and vegetation swamped my senses. Birds, sounding their calls, echoed through the valley. Lizards scurried through the undergrowth. It was morning already.
I held my breath, listening intently to the sounds of the forest. It was sheer luck that alerted me to his presence. A sixth sense, really. I had almost missed the signs — an extra rustle in the wind, the random snap of a twig, a flash of grey that should not have been seen in this place. So, now I waited, my cloak pulled tight, my nerves stretched almost to breaking. Continue reading
“Hello?” Sandra said into the phone.
“G’day. I’m calling to speak to Mike.” Said the voice on the other end.
“Sorry, mate. Wrong number. There’s no Mike here.” She answered before hanging up the phone.
Thirty seconds later, the phone rang again. It was the same bloke, still looking for Mike.
“Look, I already told you, there isn’t anybody here by that name. He obviously gave you the wrong number.” She hung up again.
Almost as soon she replaced the receiver, it was ringing again. “Look mate,” she snapped. “I already told you, I don’t know this Mike of yours. Now don’t call again!”
“Actually,” a soft voice spoke. “This is Mike. I just called to give you a heads up that I gave this number to a particularly persistent guy at the club last night. I take it he’s called you already?”
Sandra was annoyed and told him so. Mike was apologetic and told her so. He’d made up a number on the spot, and only later did it occur to him that it might actually be a real number. While still annoyed, Sandra was impressed that Mike was willing to own up to his mistake. She commiserated with him about overly persistent suitors, as well.
Mike and Sandra chatted for nearly an hour. They had a lot in common and never seemed to run out of things to say. Before ending their conversation, they had agreed to meet for coffee the next day. As she hung up the phone, Sandra mused that maybe wrong numbers weren’t all bad.
OK, this week’s story is very short and not very good. I apologise. I ran out of time before leaving for my holiday and figured something was better than nothing, so there you go. The prompt for this story was “It all started with a wrong number…”. I can’t remember where I got it from.
The first time I disappeared, I was six. One moment, I was sitting at the table eating spaghetti with my family, the next moment I was gone. Just like that; now you see me, now you don’t. Continue reading