Category: Microfiction

The world was too loud for him. He wore his armour against it. Thick bobble hats for walking in the park to protect against the barking dogs and screaming children. Large headphones playing the Gladiator soundtrack on repeat whenever he caught the train or tube. A white noise machine playing the sound of rain at…

It was the twentieth anniversary. Over one thousand weeks. Over seven thousand days. She remembered the first time she found that her tiny but perfectly formed garden had transformed overnight. The grass had reached up to her mid thigh. Her dahlias were like a giant’s fist trying to punch the clouds from the sky. Her…

It was unmistakable this time. The walls were breathing. When they had first looked around the house it seemed to chatter at them, creaking in response to their footsteps, sighing with every door that opened. When they had finally moved in, it became a trickster, opening windows in pouring rain and exhaling occasional crows from…

“I’m going to be a fish when I grow up.” She looked at her daughter, all glitter eyes, pink cheeks and a gap-toothed smile. “Really sweetheart? Why’s that?” A thoughtful frown. “Well, I’d get to live in the sea, and blue is my favourite colour. Especially sparkly blue. And I’d get to be friends with…

They called her Maggie. Not because that was her name. She was called Rose. But because even as a child she had plucked her treasures from the ground, from the gaps in the pavement, from the mud in the garden, from beneath the sands of Devon. The human magpie. Fragments of china. Dulled pennies. Chipped…

Sitting on a small chair he selects one of three pairs of unremarkable smart black shoes and puts the right on first as always. He then stands and puts on his jacket, unsure of how weak the early autumn sun will be. The bang makes him jump, his heart racing in a way he has…

The falling leaves reminded him of her hair, dropping slowly at first before cascading down in great handfuls, both so vibrantly red before fading to a pale nothingness. They had both cried. The bare branches reminded him of her protruding bones, the way they would push at her translucent skin, her spine like crumbling cliffs…

I ran away.I ran away again.Then, again, I ran away. They found me when I hid in the shed, tucking myself behind the lawnmower amongst the spiders, cobwebs catching on my lashes. They locked me in, saying it would teach me a lesson. I was found by others hours later, curled up against the rusted…

They had been such needy children, small arms wrapped around adult knees, faces buried into necks when held, voices constantly calling her name. But adulthood had changed them, hardened their soft edges and built walls around them. She missed hearing the word mama, disliking the perfunctory sound of mum. She missed small bodies clambering into…

She had covered up all of the mirrors. She didn’t need daily reminders of the lines crossing her face, of the years of grief, sadness and stress that had etched themselves into her skin. Her papery hands told enough of a story, and short of wearing gloves she could hardly avoid them. She zipped up…