Tag Archives: flash fiction writer

I needed her like I needed gas in my lungs.

I needed her like I needed gas in my lungs.

I saw her at that party and I knew all about her.

The way she jumps around from boy to boy, breaking hearts with her big eyes and long brown hair.

She looked at me and I looked at her.

She was smiling.

At me.

I smiled back. Let her think I’m falling for her, I thought.

She stood up from the couch in the corner of the room and made her way over to me.

“Hi,” She whispered in my ear. “I haven’t seen you before. What a shame.”

I moved away. “I’m new here. From LA.”

She seemed shocked by my wanting to distance myself from her, so she moved closer to me.

“Want to go somewhere where we talk… alone?” She looked at me and smiled, her eyes shining with power.

I smiled back. “Sure. I need you.” I replied to her.

Her eyes widened but her sleazy smile stayed.

“Oh really?” She inquired, her arm slithering around my back.

“Oh yeah.” I whispered in her ear.

“I need you like I need gas in my lungs.”



Leave a comment

Filed under Short Stories.

He kissed her like her lips were air and he couldn’t breathe.

He kissed her like her lips were air and he couldn’t breathe.

He knew that this was it, and that everything was going to be okay.

Until she broke the kiss, and her eyes welled up with tears.

I’m sorry, was all she said.

And she left.

So he left.

No longer with oxygen in his lungs, until he would find another pair of lips to kiss.



Filed under Short Stories.

Read this the way it should be read, then backwards.

Inspired by 300 stories post a long time ago, he created a story that could be read both ways. Here is my attempt. Hope you enjoy.

Ice clinking.

Teary eyes.

Loud voices;

Clear cool liquid.

Vodka wins.

Every time.

Every night. 


Leave a comment

Filed under Short Stories.

I indulged in his sadness

I indulged in his sadness. 

His salty tears and his red eyes – I couldn’t get enough of it. 

His face replicated mine ten years ago, when he was indulging in my sadness. 

Now it was my turn.

“Why are you doing this to me, Violet?” he looked up at me, a dripping bloodied nose and a bleeding mouth.

“Because,” I replied calmly. “All you ever did to me was hurt me with your words. So I’m hurting you with my fists.”

I kicked him in his stomach and he groaned and rolled onto the rocky ground.

“Violet, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I did to you, okay? I was stupid and I-“

“No you weren’t. You knew what you were doing.” I bent down and looked him in the eyes.

“You indulged in my sadness.” I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face, making him cough.

“I- what?! Violet, you are insane! I never was happy to see you sa-” 

I kicked his stomach again.

“You indulged in my sadness. Now let me indulge in yours.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Snip, Snip.

“Put the scissors down. Now.”

I threw the scissors into the sink.

“I hate you.” I whispered into the mirror, staring at my older sister in the glass.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed the scissors from the sink and hid them behind her back.

“I wasn’t doing anything, but I was about to. Until you stopped me.” I started walking out of the bathroom until she grabbed my arm and spun me round.

“Don’t you ever, ever, think about cutting your hair again. Okay?” Her blue eyes stared into mine, full of threat, yet also sadness.

“Is that a threat, Jane?” I said smiling.

Jane swallowed.

“Yes. Yes it is, Rita.”

I pulled my arm out of her grasp and walked out of the bathroom and into my room. I slammed the door, and it took everything in me to try and not punch it. I grabbed my teddy bear on my bed and threw it at the door.

I hate this. I hate this.

One problem I’ve noticed over the years when you realise that you don’t feel comfortable being a girl is that when your family realises, they tend to think you’re going through a “phase”.

Hm, I’m sure you’ve heard that one before, right?

A “phase”. My mother would say: “Oh Rita, it’s your hormones running wild. Don’t be so silly. You’re a girl. It’s just a phase.”

But then I started buying men’s clothes and I went to the gym almost everyday. I started getting mistaken for being a male at department stores, as I’d tie my hair up instead of having it all loose and… girly.

My family started to worry as people at school started avoiding me, even my friends. So, now I’m homeschooled.




Depressing right?

Then, I remembered that I had hidden the kitchen scissors under my nightstand. I lay down on the dusty grey bedroom carpet and stuck my hand underneath the table, until I felt the sharp metal.

Found it.

I grabbed them and stood up, walking towards the mirror next to my window.

I placed a chunk of hair in between the sharp blades.

Snip, snip.

Leave a comment

Filed under Short Stories.

The Sad Saxophone

I always heard the neighbour upstairs play their Saxophone at exactly 11 am, every Sunday.

Never 11.01, or 11:03.

Always 11.

The songs always started with jazz, and upbeat melodies that made you want to tap your feet and kid yourself that everything was okay.

But at exactly 11:30, the joyful cheery music would stop and there would be a pause for exactly 10 seconds.

I counted every time.

Then, low, long soulful notes would break the silence, and I swear the whole of New York City would stop just to hear the melancholic melodies from this one person in their apartment.

The world would stop for the Sad Saxophone.

At least, that’s what I called it.

My room mates told me that no one ever knew which neighbour it was who played the Saxophone, as everyone on that floor never really left their apartment, so it was hard to play the guessing game and rule out each neighbour.

For a while we thought it was the neighbour directly above us, so one day me and my roommate Tracy knocked on the door after the music had stopped playing.

We knocked.

No answer.

We waited.

And knocked again.

No answer.

We eventually got the idea that no one was coming to the door, so we left and never went back.

So the Sad Saxophone continued to play, and I started waking up earlier so I could make myself a coffee, and lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, the music from the Saxophone became the background music to my thoughts.

The melodies were very similar, and it was only after a month of hearing the Saxophone that I could really differentiate the difference between each melody.

It’s Sunday now, and it’s 11.01.


And I hear nothing.



Filed under Short Stories.

“Even my friends aren’t my friends”

Gina sat in the cafeteria surrounded by her friends, quietly munching on her apple.

“Oh my God, it was AMAZING.” Gushed Lucy.

“Yeah, I can’t believe how many cute dresses we found for Prom, such a good day – we should do it again.”

Gina stopped munching. “Wait, what? You guys went shopping for prom?”

The rest of the table fell silent.

Sally’s cheeks went bright red. “Erm, yeah. On Saturday.”

Gina frowned. “Oh. I thought there were no plans for this weekend. That’s what you guys told me.”

“I’m going to go to the bathroom. Anyone want to join?” Lucy grabbed her lunch tray and left the table. Sally got up, then Grace, then Tracy.

Gina was all alone at the table.

“Bitches.” Gina whispered.


“Wait. They didn’t invite you to go prom dress shopping with them? I thought these were your friends?” Jake, Gina’s brother was sitting on the roof with Gina, smoking cigarettes and drinking stolen liquor from their parent’s cabinet.

“So did I.” Gina replied, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Even my friends aren’t my friends.”

Jake nodded and took a puff from his cigarette. “I know exactly what you mean.” He paused.

“Gina, when you leave high school and go to college, you’ll realise that you were only friends with people because you saw them 5 days a week.”

Gina coughed and put her cigarette down. “Why do we try so hard to be so nice to people who really don’t care about us?” Gina put her head in her hands. “I always do this, but why do I care so much? I shouldn’t.”

Jake sighed sadly. “We accept the love we think we deserve. That goes for kindness too. It’s the way we are, Gina.”

“Pass the bottle.” Gina replied.

Leave a comment

Filed under Short Stories.