Flash Fiction: Lost in the Museum

Lost in the museum by the dinosaur room.  There are signs to follow, toilets this way, exit that, café open, closed Mondays. You loved the dinosaur room. Each Friday I brought you or would have to risk your tears. Fridays were always our dinosaur days. I come alone now, for the memories, at the risk of my own tears. I am lost.

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Flash Fiction: Cinderella

“I need to get back home soon…’
‘Stay with me, come on. It’s still early, don’t go.’
He’s kissing my neck; he doesn’t understand.
‘You don’t understand. If I don’t get back before midnight…’
‘What’s the rush, babe? Who’ll be waiting?’
He’s nibbling my ear, trying to undo my dress.
‘My two sisters need me, back home.’
His hand slides up my leg.
‘You didn’t tell me you had sisters.’
His breathing turns heavy, laboured. 
‘There are more like you at home?’
‘I need to go, really, I have to be back before twelve… before my shoes turn to glass.’

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Flash Fiction: Remote Control

“Pass the remote control,” he demanded. “The colour’s gone all wrong.”
“Looks fine to me,” she replied, squinting at the telly.
“Those trees shouldn’t be purple, look…”
She looked.
“And it’s too bright.”
She liked it bright.
Buttons were pressed, levels were changed. A smile took the place of his frown.
“See, that’s much better,” he said. “Those trees are the proper colour now.”
“Go and put the kettle on, love,” she said to him.
And when he plodded to the kitchen, she took control of the remote.
The trees were purple again.

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Flash Fiction: School Report

Susan is an enthusiastic and positive learner. Her contribution to the school netball team has been remarkable, resulting in St. Mary’s becoming national champions for the first time in its 150 year history.  Her English and Maths grades are improving.  In Science, she shows an impressive understanding of chemicals. However, she needs to learn to treat school property with respect and to be more sensitive to the opinions of others in her group..  Other than that, she gets on well, in the main, with her classmates and we trust that Keith will be out of hospital soon and his burns have not scarred too much. We also hope this might result in Susan's return from expulsion in time for the start of St Mary's netball season.

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Flash Fiction: Cell

Christening invitations had already been sent before their baby died. Eggshell blue, heavy linen cards scalloped with silver she’d designed while life was growing inside her. A cell that had split and split again, creating skin, eyes and bone. A cell that had split into two.

The christening could still go ahead, the vicar said gently - if she felt able to cope. The  funeral for his twin was arranged the same day.

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Flash Fiction: Freak show, chat show

When Joe left I cried so much my tears turned sticky and black. I went to the doc who prodded and poked and looked puzzled. He sent me to a lab where men in white coats diagnosed oil leaking from my eyes.

I was a phenomenon, they said.

I ended up on chat shows, those modern-day freak shows of daytime TV. I made the cover of OK! and HELLO and the Oil & Gas Journal. I was the crying oil lady, they all wanted to see. 

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Flash Fiction: Benji the flying dog

When Benji grew wings, the vet agreed it was unusual for a dog of his age. It troubled me more than it bothered the dog that we had to visit the vet. It was the first time in months I had left the house - but I still couldn’t make eye contact. When the vet said beware of Benji flying at night I gazed at the animal hair on the floor.

But as it turns out, the night flights are the best. Benji circles the garden, jumping and barking and just before take-off, just before, I jump on his back and we soar, the two of us laughing and barking and flying and happy. And I see all that I’ve been missing in months.

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Flash Fiction: We’ve all been there

After changing the font twice he underlined the title, made it italic and bold. Then he stared at the cursor blinking, blinking. That’s when he saw greasy fingerprints on the screen. He wiped it clean and liked how it looked, so he polished his writing desk too. And then he got the hoover out and did the whole house, knowing he’d score points with his wife who always complained he never did anything. And once the carpets were hoovered, it was time for his lunch. This was followed, as always, by his afternoon nap. Refreshed, he returned to his desk where the cursor was waiting, still blinking, blinking. Then, and only then, he was ready to start his first draft.

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Flash Fiction on the Fly

It's been a horrible few days and I've had much on my mind, not least local council corruption, greed, people losing their jobs and of course Trump, Trident and May.

Today I smiled for the first time this week. Just found out that I've had my first bit of flash fiction accepted into a national competition, one of 75 people every week whose work is featured online. 

I can't say which one's mine as the competition is anonymised with readers asked to vote for their favourite story.  I can only hope you like mine.

You can read and vote at http://adhocfiction.com/read/#FlashEbook

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Seagull City

Everything I know about writing flash fiction I have learned from one person, a lovely woman called Dr Sarah Dobbs. She's a lecturer in creative writing at Sunderland University and is a published writer. 

Sarah is launching a new writing project called Seagull City. The Seagull City project is part of events for the Sunderland City of Culture 2021 bid. It takes people on a journey, literally and metaphorically, exploring the literary and cultural heritage of Sunderland.

The launch takes place inside the Elephant Tea Rooms in Sunderland on Friday 4 November and all details are here.

And the reason I'm blogging this is because Sarah has asked to read out my flash fiction story, called The Seagull, at the event. It's a piece I wrote at Sarah's session on flash fiction, which was part of the Sunderland Literature and Creative Writing Festival 2016.

I couldn't be more chuffed.

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