Tag Archives: Online Writing

Home Alone

A friend recently sent me a link to a cool little tumblr site called FlashFrights. Flash fiction? Horror? It’s the perfect combination, like garlic and bread. They only post stories that are two sentences long. I wrote one called ‘Home Alone’ and they posted it. It’s a two sentence version of ‘Responsibility’, a story I wrote a while ago for Naflafiwrimo (here).

Here’s the site and here’s my story.

Restriction breeds creativity and I like this restriction. I’m going to try to write some more!



Naflafiwrimo Day 19: All in Your Head

Rereading some stories from Half Minute Horrors, a flash fiction collection with stories by Neil Gaiman, RL Stine and Lemony Snicket and lots of other great writers, has inspired me to write a few creepy stories. Here’s one of them.

All in Your Head

‘Don’t be scared, honey. There are no monsters, it’s all in your head, that’s all.’

‘Alright… Night, mum.’

‘Good night.’

It’s all in my head, she thinks. There’s nothing under her bed and nothing hidden in her wardrobe. She closes her eyes to sleep and pulls the duvet up tight. She’s very tired. She yawns and stretches her mouth open wide, only to find that she can’t close it again. She sits up, her mouth frozen half way. She gurgles in the hope that her mum will hear her.

Her eyes and nose begin to run, streaming water down her face. She can feel something moving behind her eyes, something scaly crawling around and down into her throat.

As the thing slithers out of her mouth it seems to grow. She struggles to breathe and struggles to scream. When the thing is free at last it turns and fixes her with beady red eyes.

Then it opens its mouth wide and swallows her whole.

Naflafiwrimo Day 18: Sci-Fi

Just a short one today. Oh wait, all of them are short.


‘I think my favourite sci-fi novel is Dune.’

‘You know, as there are infinite different universes parallel to our own, all sci-fi is technically realism.’

‘Yeah, sure…’

‘Trust me; I’ve read a lot of realism.’

‘So you don’t have a favourite sci-fi novel?’

‘Oh I do. It’s probably Wuthering Heights.’


Naflafiwrimo Day 15: Chaos Theory

I ran a workshop on flash fiction for UEA’s Creative Writing Society a while ago and I used some comics to demonstrate how few elements you can use to make a story. I got everyone to write a story using one of the comics as a prompt. I had another look at some of these comics to try to find some ideas for stories for this month and, using this smbc strip, wrote this.

Chaos Theory


A butterfly takes flight, creating air currents, transferring kinetic energy, shifting atoms that, years later, brush against the head of a sleeping scientist.

‘I have it!’ The scientist runs into the lab the next day. ‘It’s called ‘Chaos Theory’!’

Outside the window a butterfly grins. Everything is falling into place.


Naflafiwrimo Day 1: Diplomacy

I was surprised the other day to discover that Camp Nano is running in April this year, they keep changing the months. A friend also introduced me to NaPoWriMo, also running this month, in which you write a poem every day. I’ve decided to try a similar thing; I’m going to write a flash fiction story every day this month. And you will get to see them all.

*Gasp* all of them?

Yes, all of them.

Even the really bad ones?

Er, yeah. Sorry about that.

This endeavour will be called NaFlaFiWriMo (obviously). I even have a mascot.


I wrote today’s story for a graphic design student’s project. She’s making a book of images of objects found in antique shops and each will be accompanied by a story. I got this image to work with:

silver salt and pepper

I thought they looked quite regimental in how they’re lined up, so I wrote this.








Two men sit opposite each other across the width of a table long enough to seat twenty more. They sit in silence and avoid each other’s gaze.

The table is set out with its owner’s most exquisite silverware. Plates are piled up with food prepared by the country’s greatest chefs; not the famous ones, but the best. Every national delicacy is on display. There is enough food to feast half a dozen people and most of it is untouched.

The larger of the two men tucks into the banquet as if settling a score. The other man eats little of the courses cooked at his command.

Both men wear different military uniforms made heavy by different medals.

Their conversation is over. The room is too large for echo with the tiny chink and scrape of cutlery.

The larger man looks up from his plate and searches the table around him. After a moment he spots what he is after. He regards the other man, who is brooding in silence.

He goes back to his meal but something still isn’t right. A few moments pass and he looks up again.

A polite cough. ‘Could you pass the salt?’ the larger man asks.

The other man looks up, startled, but doesn’t reply. He frowns and remains motionless for a full minute, staring at the salt shaker.

‘No. I tire of this game,’ he says at last. ‘If you will not sign, I will not keep up this pretence of good will. You will leave tomorrow morning.’ He stands up and walks the long distance from the room. His booted steps reverberate with finality.

The larger man is left alone. He stays there for some time. The salt is just out of his reach.

Blog Revival

Well, not exactly. Most bloggers tend to say ‘sorry I haven’t updated in ages but I’ve been busy with _ and I promise to be more regular from now on’ but I’d rather be honest. I might not update again for a while after this, depending on what I feel like.

But anyways, I’ve written a lot of flash fiction recently so here are a couple of 50-word stories.

Continuing the theme of choose-your-own-adventure…


256: Finally you see daylight in the distance. You knew you’d escape eventually.

To claim your freedom, turn to 400. To return to hell, turn to 163.

400: A hidden traps kills you. Better luck next time.

163: Are you sure?  If not, turn to 400. Otherwise, turn to 400.


This one got published on http://www.everywritersresource.com a while ago.

Complaint Procedure

Over the field the heavens are in turmoil. The man falls to his knees and tears off his shirt.

‘Why, God?’ he screams. ‘Why?’ The wind howls with his tormented soul. He takes out a sheet of paper. ‘I’d like to lodge a formal complaint.’

The only reply is thunder.


Thanks for reading, and happy New Year!