We are having a reading night at the writer’s group that I attend. The theme is flash fiction. Wikipedia – oh wise, trusty, yet unreliable writer’s tool – says that flash fiction is “work of extreme brevity, including the Six-Word Story, 140-character stories, the dribble (50 words), the drabble (100 words), and sudden fiction (750 words).”Continue reading “Dirty Old Sod”
Author Archives: Phillip Drown
To Breathe Again
1 In the exposed land halfway between the woods and the farm, I crouch, watching the figure of a man advance along the driveway. He is tall. Is he taller? At this distance I cannot be sure. To steady myself, my hand is on the basket of wood I was carrying; my stomach rests upon myContinue reading “To Breathe Again”
Tales From A Record Shop #8
F is for Fib.
Madame Colti
Standing outside the door, around the corner from Mornington Crescent tube station, Colin Babb checked the address on his phone once more. The map showed that he was in the right place, but there was only this door, wedged between a bicycle repair shop and fast food outlet. By the pictures on Madame Colti’s website,Continue reading “Madame Colti”
Tales From A Record Shop #7
Fathers & Daughters – Pimping out your progeny.
Tales From a Record Shop #6
M is for Muppet.
Kingdom
Everyone else had left. Augustus Drake stood at the top of the mossy bank and looked down on Kingdom. At the ruined remains in the swampland. Both his heart and mind were numb, not just because he was drunk. The elixirs of Kingdom’s medicine man had impaired nearly all of his bodily organs, as itContinue reading “Kingdom”
Tales From a Record Shop – The Christmas Special!
Ah, they all come out at Christmas. Time for a light-hearted festive diggle.
Christmas Lights
As soon as Jake Parker opened his eyes, his brain switched on. He was awake. He lifted his mobile phone from the bedside table and checked the time. 3:18 am. The backlight of the screen hurt his eyes, the afterglow screwing through right to the back of his head. He felt sick and in pain. WhyContinue reading “Christmas Lights”
The Contraband Compartment
‘No.’ He checked his pockets for a third time, pulling out his keys, phone, coins, fluff and a bag of pistachios, spilling them on to the deeply-scratched glass counter. His jaw was clicking. He checked his jacket pockets again, becoming more manic with each next pocket. Standing for a moment with his hands on hisContinue reading “The Contraband Compartment”
