#Flashfiction No. 92

Mercy’s Phone Call

The breathing on the phone is shallow, trembling in the static on the line. I wait before I repeat my words, hoping they will speak.


Nothing except a vague tinkling noise and the whoosh of a loosened sigh. I close my eyes, transported to years ago.

“Why are you calling?” My heart sinks at the thought of her mutilated tongue. “Just come over…”

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Flash Fiction No. 87



Charcoal bags. She flushed her face with ice cold water but they didn’t shift away. Not make up, then; just lack of sleep.

Silver gleamed in sawn-off light. She sluiced the blade in the icy torrent, destroying the evidence beneath the tap. The water ran red before paling as it circled the plug hole. It was important to keep your instruments clean.

Towel on metal rubbed away the damp markers until water stains were non-existent. A slip and her thumb wept crimson, lips surrounding the wound to stem the flow. She put the weapon away. Carefully concealed, it was more useful than any other ally.

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Flash Fiction No. 84


Shopping List

She stirred the heartache deeper into her coffee, mesmerised by the floating hopes that burst upon the blackened surface. Bags lay around her feet.

She’d bought clothes and pretty shoes and bangles that jingled a sweet tune when they wriggled on her wrists, but none of these things had served to soothe her.

The ache was still there and the ache would not go away.

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Flash Fiction No. 80


Fallen Dreamers

A myriad of words, tangled together like cotton. This was his poetry. The pages curled, feathering his nest.

I stepped across the white papers, bare feet rustling the remnants of his cut off wings.

Blood on my lips. His blood. I’d never tasted an angel before, but he certainly wasn’t an angel. Not now. Dark hair curved over my shoulder, slinking against naked flesh, as I cast him a gentle backwards glance.

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