Category: flash fiction

100 words – death

Silver needle, mercuric solution, glinting in the shaft of light penetrating the dust mote filled room.

I pushed it against his arm, the skin resisting, a small unnatural dimple forming in his elbow. The sound sense of a tear ripped through the silence, the inhaled air, as the skin broke and the needle penetrated his being.

A swirl of blood in the syringe as the plunger pulled back with expectation, and forward, pushed rushing, liquid flooding into his body.

A slow sleepy smile on his face as the hole in his soul shrinks. And implodes with a ragged final breath.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone and the waves glistened, surfers bobbing in and out of the water like sleek seals. Eager families in psychedelic costumes and sandy bums stood knee deep in the warm water. Cyclists, runners, women with prams; the beachfront was a riot of early morning energy and colour.


A mixed race gay couple approached, holding hands, strolling in the gentle morning sun. They gave way to a Muslim woman in a burkha and side-stepped a coloured child on a bike.


6:30 on a Friday morning and I absorbed my land, my country, my future.

Sun beating through the window, piercing my sleep, making a glorious mockery of the early hour. Bleary eyed as I pull socks on, unable to work out which shirt to wear, stagger down the stairs, unsteady, rubbing sleep from my eyes

Fast forward thirty minutes

Warm sand on my feet, gently scratching them awake. Cool waves rushing up the golden beach to meet me, lifting me onto my toes with the shock of the wet. Breeze filled with salt and stories from afar lifting my hair, stroking my cheek.


Sunlight and sweat, sand and surf

the way good days start

He packed his new pencils (house brand) and crayons (cheap thick ones) into his hand-me-down backpack, his name written in black across the brown paper covering thin books. He polished his new, hard shoes that felt like stale marshmallows and the future. Pulled up his scratchy nylon socks and got ready to face the world with his gappy smile and excited eyes. Held tight to his mother’s hand in the taxi, excitement threatening to bubble into tears.

King of the world in proud shiny shoes and square shoulders going out into a world with cruelty and unkindness on its breath.

100 words

I went to the funeral of a sixteen year old. Her 18 year old boyfriend lay in the coffin next to hers. We all wore pink. Her mother, ashen faced, clung to the coffin throughout the service. Her father shushed her, looking in equal parts devastated and embarrassed by the show of emotion.

Pimply and self-conscious, their friends talked of remembering them forever. They told stories of shared teenage moments, stories full of hope and faith. They promised to think about them every day.

I am old enough to know this is not true. I cried because they are not.

song: Shakespeare’s Sister – Stay