Tag Archives: micro fiction

In Confidence

“…yet for all his faults, she just couldn’t stop. She told me, in confidence, that she’d never seen anything like it.” Mary paused to take a sip of the now-cold tea.

Liz wiggled back into her chair. She’d been edging forward for the past ten minutes and was close to tipping point. “Why?” she asked. “Was it really big? Did it look funny? Oh gosh, it wasn’t one of those micro ones you see on telly was it?”

Mary licked the last traces of Earl Grey from her lips. “Well you know me,” she said, “I’m not one to gossip.”

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Often with over 100 people taking part.


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How to park

Have you ever had that thing where you drive to the supermarket or the shopping mall, park your car in a bay, get out, lock it and look around for some sort of sign or landmark by which to remember quickly and easily the location of said car?

It always seems like such a good idea until you finish shopping, only to return to the scene of the parking and find out that someone or something has moved the landmark or painted over the sign that says “MY CAR IS HERE!”

Well I’m like that with my little yellow bike.


Submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers in response the photo attached below. It’s a lot of fun trying to hit that 100 word mark. why not give it a go!


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Look both ways

I saw a sign today that read:


Beside it a man with feet in brogues and arms in a tired looking grey blazer stood staring at it. He had a toothy smile a foot wide; a great big cheesy grin that stretched from ear to ear. His eyes however, had the sadness of a hundred lost puppies.

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Polly put the kettle on

“Polly put the kettle on.

Polly put the kettle on.

Polly put the kettle on.

We’ll all have tea.”

Polly picked up the kettle and walked over to the sink. She turned the tap and began to fill the chrome kettle with fast, splashing water. The weight of the kettle increased as the water began to spill over the brim and sploshed away down the plug hole.

With two hands she heaved it up and out over the sink, past the stove and over to the long-backed chair where Lawrence was sitting. The top of his head was clearly visible and his right hand swished through the air as he continued to hum the merry tune he’d so cleverly created moments ago.

“I say,” he called, not knowing that Polly was standing mere inches behind him, “where’s my te…”


With both hands held tightly around the handle, Polly swung 360 degrees, her arms outstretched and brought the kettle crashing against the side of Lawrence’s head. Blood pumped through the gash in his temple, spilling over the once pristine doilies on each arm of the chair. His torso slumped forward, first his chin hitting his knees, before falling completely to the waxed oak floorboards in a folded mess of human.

Polly stood watching, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. The blood stained kettle pouring water from the spout to her feet as it dangled in her trembling hand.

“Bossy Dick”.

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Jimmy looked up from the brown leather sofa, out through the skylight and into the purple night sky. The thoughts and fears of the day escaped his mind, ghosting up through the glass pane and becoming nothing but stars themselves.

As he watched, hundreds of shimmering white specs appeared against the ever darkening void. Tiny wrinkles appeared at the sides of his eyes and across the bridge of his nose as he squinted – resulting in even more stars making themselves known.

The names of constellations darted into Jimmy’s head. The Plough, The Bear, the… er.. The belt one. The Big Dropper? The Big Dripper? The Big Dipper! Or was that just an Americanism of The Plough?

Jimmy closed his eyes and turned away from the sky as his relaxation began to turn its back on him.

His own mind, he concluded, was his worst enemy.

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