Category: Microfiction

“What’s the most interesting fact you know?” He was laughing before he said it. “Wombats poop cubes.” He also laughed so hard his milk threatened to escape through his nose. “What about you? What’s the most interesting fact you know?” He swallowed the last of his milk, confident it would now stay put. “It took…

She had managed to avoid danger for so many years. Not intentionally of course. It just so happened that life wasn’t how it appeared in the comic books. Those with secrets rarely had cause to share them. But now she had a choice. As the man slipped from the construction site, his casually perched helmet…

Sun dappled earth. Hands sticky with ice cream. The scent of warmed stone mixed with barbecued meat and cut grass. Sweat pooling in her clavicles. Ankles scratched raw. The scent of humid skin mixed with chemical insect spray and melting tarmac. Wide awake days beneath cloudless skies. Freckles peppering smile-filled cheeks. Coastline adventures to find…

The painting was surrounded by silence. People stood before it in hushed wonder, putting away their phones in favour of absorbing brushstrokes. He went there often, but not so often that it aroused suspicion, sitting before a handful of paintings. He always lingered a little longer at this one. He could remember the day so…

He had followed the forecast and tracked the storms. Knew that tonight would be the best chance he had ever had. As the thunder rumbled in the distance, the air thick and heavy with the humidity that had been building for days, he ran out into the field, the sweat on his back both uncomfortable…

She had been born to be in the water. He marvelled at how quickly she took to her swimming lessons, pushing out of her teacher’s arms within twenty minutes, dark eyes determined. She threw tantrums when they drained her bath, loved rainy days for the puddles. Deep down he knew the day was coming. On…

The nightmare came every night. She had learned to expect it, knew that she would wake up with a cotton wool mouth and pin prick eyes. The hitchhiker with the eyepatch and the black dog was always waiting. She would beg her father not to stop but he always did. The man would get in…

“I can’t do it.” “Why not?” “I’m too little. Everyone is bigger than me.” She crouched down and looked her in the eye. “Do you know who else was little? Rosa Parks. Mother Teresa. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And what about the women you love? Ariana Grande. Simone Biles. Greta Thunberg.” She rolled up her sleeve…

The smell hit her first. Dust layered with stale wine and anticipation. She had loved that theatre. Had watched her parents treading the boards at more performances than she could remember, her heart swelling with pride at overheard whispers praising her mother’s voice and her father’s presence. When they announced they were knocking it down…

She set her alarm for four in the morning, and woke with the anticipation she remembered feeling as a child on Christmas morning. But now the gifts she expected to receive were different. The toys she had once loved were long since discarded, but these would nourish her every day if she let them. Closing…