Flash Fiction

Very short pieces of writing – prose and poetry

Just Like That

Just like that, you might have… I can’t think about it. I can’t not think about it. I can’t push the weight of possibility off my chest. It sits there like an engine block, crushing me with parallel universes of outcomes. You could have died, before I even got to… Know you? Touch you? Hear…

Laundry

sheets

What are these gifts that we’re given? These injections of time-released trouble, slipped between our cells so young and carried unawares into all our endeavours? I used to say that I was all my own, lived like a second-rate Aphrodite, risen from a sterile sea. Because to live another way was to acknowledge all those…

Under the Livid Sky

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With him, I can. Because he’s all bone and flesh, bear-big and fight-smart. And no matter how the madness breaches in me, no matter how blood-hungry its glory, I will never get the best of him. I strike him on the cheek, and he smiles and hits back, dislodging the sullenness of lazy lust. The…

Carapace

In the dead room, tastefully done out in shades of charcoal, he comes again.  A little slower this third  time. His body goes rigid and he makes a sound like his orgasm has been wrenched from him with violence. As if I’ve shoved my hand into his gut and pulled out a kidney. Moments later,…

Way Down There

He was a god. A disdainful, disappointed, impatient god. With his head and shoulders massive and black against the weak autumn sun. And me, way down. Down in the dark cold of the oily water that made me retch and clung to my face. My lovely new red coat soaking it up, dragging me down…

A Writer’s Seduction

tunnel (1)

This is an erotic story about stories, about writing, about writers and readers. If you came to this page believing yourself safe or immune to my seduction, perhaps it is because you need to. Perhaps you are a lover who wants to be taken and ravished. Perhaps you hope to come away believing yourself the…

Drink Me (6)

alice04a

Down he goes. Not hard, but with the unexpected grace of a tall building demolished by experts. The drug in his bloodstream smiles, using his muscles, his lips, pulling him on like a disguise, sleek and pretty. Sometimes, he’s nothing but pain, but not now. Now he inhales deeply, and sighs aloud, as if launching…

Cusp (5)

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Vampires feed on blood. I feed on disquiet and decision, on rage and regret. On the decisive moment and the slow flowing syrup of bitter aftermath.  These days, I maintain a strict rule not to trigger it, but if it falls in my lap, lover, you cannot blame me for the pleasure I take in…

reSade / T-Shit (4)

t-shit

I’m going to fuck you, naked but for this artfully ruined t-shirt made in Bangladesh, holed and torn by an exhausted, bony, dead-eyed worker in a Chinese megafactory who is following the pattern of destruction to the millimeter; each hole specified by a smug cunt in a leather chair and designerly geek-glasses in a minimalist…

Time stops at 4:35 (3)

snail

On a morning like this, a bruised dawn, fat with rain and murmurs of far off thunder, the air is dense with spent showers. In a garden at the far end of a forty-year lane with sand instead of grass and soft white seastones marking the lines between walking paths and growing places. Snails, their…