Category: Microfiction

He was known as a fixer, and his daughter idolised him for it. Doll heads reattached, loose wires fixed and cracks glued. He wished he’d never started on the Slinky. It had been hanging from the wardrobe for two weeks, mocking him in a mass of garbled metal. He had tried everything to untangle it.…

She wore a mask every day. Not a face mask to protect her from viruses. Not makeup that masked her natural skin. It was the mask of a shattered doll. If you were to ask her why she started wearing it, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. As the years had gone on, the…

They were all staring at her. She looked at them looking down at her and swallowed a brittle nothingness. She didn’t know if they were expecting her to speak, but if they were, all of the words had run away from her tongue. She stood up and looked at the bag that had tripped her,…

The vase had never held flowers. For a while it had held chopsticks from when she had ordered takeaway every night for a week. She always had to use a fork to eat it. Another time it had held her paintbrushes, but that passion had died as quickly as it started. Most recently it had…

The day of the fire was the worst day of her life. Not because anyone was hurt. The fairground had been abandoned for years, left to rust and rot at the hands of the elements. Sometimes she would walk past on a windy day and briefly think that the rain had turned red before she…

If anyone asked her why she had followed the footprints, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them. They wouldn’t have believed that she had heard the footprints speak, that they had told her her future lay at the end of their path. They wouldn’t have believed that she had been gone for two months,…

“I know you can do it.” “I did, and it’s no big deal. Really.” “What are you so afraid of?” She hated that question. Everything scared her, and she was even afraid of the people who were afraid of nothing. Because that made them impossible to understand. Strangers. She scrunched her toes against the rough…

It had rolled in overnight and now it was everywhere. She turned out her pockets and it fell to the floor. It came in on the cat’s paws. It would lick them forlornly whilst throwing an accusatory glance her way. This is somehow your fault. It had filled the plant pots and the flowers were…

I’m sorry that I somehow managed to burn the peas, a job you were so sure I couldn’t possibly mess up. You know I like a challenge. I’m sorry I was adamant that it wouldn’t rain and dragged you out for a walk until it began to hit the side of our faces like splinters…

Her head was filled with voices from the past. The teacher who told her she was bossy. The boy who called her frigid. The men who said “come ‘ere little cutie, we won’t hurt you.” The boss who told her he thought she would have more of a sense of humour. They would turn up…