Category: Microfiction

He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. This had the ability to end careers. To make relationships implode. To turn nearly every head on earth. Hell, it could stop the earth. He walked around, wondering what on earth he should do. The world would judge regardless. Some people would love him so much they…

“Absolutely not. Nope. You cannot wear that.” “Why not?” “Are you serious? You’re wearing an entirely white outfit. To a wedding.” “And?” “Have you never been to a wedding before? It’s like the biggest no-no of wedding guest etiquette! The bride wears white, which means guests should wear anything but. Cream is also bad form,…

When the swollen clouds finally spilled over, the first drop of water broke the surface of the pond, startling the young frog who leapt straight into the jaws of the waiting cat. The cat ran home with triumph between its teeth, bursting through the cat flap and unleashing its still hopping prize onto the floor,…

It had been three years to the day since he last heard her voice. Not the tinny version on her voicemail, the one that sounded increasingly robotic each time he listened to it. (Because he still called her number multiple times a week. But it used to be every day. He supposed that was a…

If she heard the song about the pink ponies one more time she was going to scream. At first she had liked it. After the tenth listen it started to grate. By the twentieth she was ready to rip her ears from her head just so that she had something to throw. The summer heat…

“How on earth did that get there?” “Whose is it?” “Can I go on it?” As a village they were so proud of their village pond. It was more of a lake really, and led to them getting occasional bus trips to the village that overwhelmed the bordering-on-poky tearoom. And now it had a ship…

Her song was woven through with silken threads and jasmine petals, complex in its beauty. She stopped people in their tracks, their working day interrupted with a cocked ear and a rich smile. She had compelled more poets to unwind the words formed in their minds and commit them to the page in her honour…

He always walked with his head down and his hands in his empty pockets. Eye contact was something other people did, and he was more familiar with the different styles of shoes people wore than the different features they could have. If you were to ask him why he decided to look up that day…

“Open the box.” “I can’t. It hasn’t got my name on it. That’s illegal.” “To be fair, it hasn’t got anyone’s name on it.” They continued to stare at it. It looked so out of place tucked into the long grass, its bright red ribbon an attractive warning. “But the tag literally says ‘don’t open…

“Do birds cry?” She loved these conversations with her daughter. When she was pregnant she had researched why the sky was blue and why grass was green. But she continued to be wholly unprepared for the depth of her young questions. “I”m not sure sweetpea. What do you think?” “I think they cry with their…