95: [Sweet Dead Baby Doll]


I watch my baby sister from across the lawn. She has her back to me, soft breeze lilting the tips of her yellow hair. I want to creep closer, but I cannot. A shiver is tracing the contours of my spine as I worry my raw lower lip.

She sits so beautifully still.

My breath is held. My fingers tighten around the knife in my hand, blood silently trickling from where there is too much flesh pressed to the blade. It slides down into the grass causing an almost black splatter in the warm sunlight.

Mother and father are lying in the kitchen. Their throats are cut and their eyes wide with preserved screams. My hand is not shaking.

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Flash Fiction No. 91


Grey light buzzed in staccato overlay. I waited in the shadows of the car park. Eyes glinted in artificial luminescence. Petrol stench clanked in the air with cold sobriety, distinct and metallic.

I hunkered in the alcove. Glass littered the floor, splattered like crystals from the ceiling above. The useless filament hummed in the wrecked space.

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Occasionally, I create random YouTube videos about things. Usually it’s just me blathering on about my life, but somebody very close to me told me to do this one to help people see why they should have a go at #SatSunTails.

Basically me talking about my micro fiction competition that I hold on weekends on my blog. If you want to try it then please do. We could always use fresh blood

I’m hoping it’s achieved that. I’m also hoping everyone who watched enjoyed the video. I’ve had some good feedback so far, anyway.

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Flash Fiction No. 83

Staring. Pale skin and auburn hair. She breathes slow and unrushed. White sheets. White sheets, spaced all around her. I love her in white sheets. I love her.



Her hand clasps mine. A small smile on ginger lips, stained with broken vessels. I can feel the tear in the corner of my mouth. I embrace it with the tip of my tongue, testing the damage. Worth it.

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