Flash Fiction
Very, very, very short fiction...
Often where the reader is left to make a number of their own conclusions.
Often theme, but insignificant inclusion of plot.
Content
I have dropped three existing Flash Fiction & Sudden Fiction pieces onto this page (and two test pieces). This is a temporary measure until I can find what I've done with the others and can catalogue them properly.
Chris-talisation
Any outsider would find it difficult not to stare at the beautiful blond young man, sipping from a shot-glass of amber liquid where he sits in the corner of the empty student bar. Blue trimmed cricket jumper; knee length white shorts and deck shoes without socks. A silver chain adorns his left ankle and a heart shaped tattoo shows in the V of the sweater. Should the outsider look a little closer, they may even deduce that the name in the center of the tattoo reads Chris even though the C is obscured. His nails are perfectly manicured and not a single hair atop his perfect sculptured head sits out of place. He looks like a person who could buy the world and if the outsider had seen him arrive in the Porsche, it would have only confirmed this view. But for some reason he sits staring coldly into space like an icicle formed from a leak above, an air of fragility surrounds the space it occupies. But the outsider would never see ALL of this, for as soon as another person enters the bar, the ice melts and Christopher begins to buy new friends, a round of drinks.
Fallen Bloom
"Max?"
"Mmmm?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"I thought I heard a scream."
"No." And he turned back to pruning the roses.
Path of Fear
We had to carry out the dare to be in the gang. A gang of three; Me, Spud and Bernie. Having crept up the alleyway in total silence I could hear the blood thumping in my ears as we pushed open the back gate. Hidden by the shadows, we edged towards the house.
Crash! The steel tipped wooden cane came down before my face. Spud screamed and Bernie ran. Evil smiled down from an elderly face. My voice froze. I could taste tears. I tried to turn, but a craggy fist held my shoulder in a stone like grip. I kicked away at the ground. A cartoon running on air.
"Your mate just pissed his pants!" He said, and let go.
That was then, and now I listen to the children walking up the path at the back of the house and I reach for my steel tipped wooden cane as they raise the pebbles to throw.
Footsteps (Test piece ~ more descriptive than story)
Where the rotten apple had tripped across the worktop were little footsteps, left as the bad side made its mark. A single legged pachyderm hopping to it’s certain doom upon the concrete floor.
Growth (Test piece ~ more descriptive than story)
It lurked in the corner of the kitchen like a being from some primordial swamp and no matter how long I stared, there was no obvious sign of change. The moment I turned my back, it grew, it spread, overflowing the boundaries set by its plastic shell. The time has come to empty the bin.
