TEmperature

Stout - Trout

Sheer - Reset

CErtain

ERmine

Steam - Taste

Smash - Masts

ICemen

ETched

Lager - Rages

You wipe your paintbrush with the silk panties I bought on the way home from visiting his tiny grave. It was the day we met, in that Pigalle dive bar, where you danced close causing thin milk to stain my blouse, and much later, reeling towards dawn, fingered my slit, as we stumbled up to the attic room with its surprising view of the sky. "I really don't see the point of going on," I...

Added 15 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 81 | 6 Comments

Tony Marconi's driver took a different route each morning. Today, they'd hit the garment district first, then back along the boulevard. Cocooned in the rear seat he raked his brindled crew cut trying to locate the source of a slight, but persistent, headache. At barely fifty, he was one of the most successful beasts alive in this jungle of steel and glass; the booze and girls and junk...

Added 03 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 4 | Avg Score 5 | Views 133 | 5 Comments

"I'm so fed up of being single." Jill and Sara were eating lunch. "What about Mike," suggested Sara, indicating a young man who'd just entered the canteen. "Mmm, he's cute, but I think he might be a little weird." "Oh really, how so?" "He always wears odd socks." Just then Mike passed their table. "Hey Mike," called Sara, causing him to stop. "How come you always wear odd socks?" ...

Added 22 Oct 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 115 | 4 Comments

Each weekday, after her husband has left for his office, Claudia retires to her rooftop studio, where for three hours she covers canvas with solid colour. Mid-morning, she walks twice around the tree lined square, with a small dog. On Monday she meets a friend for lunch. Other days, weather permitting, she eats and smokes at a pavement cafe. On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons she sees a...

Added 16 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 122 | 6 Comments

Bound in red, hand tooled Moroccan leather, the worn notebook had been a Christmas present from his wife. Brad dutifully records in it the small victory of each alcohol free day. Tonight, in the minutes before midnight, he prepares to make an entry. It has been four days since his last one; two years since he last saw his wife. For all he knows she might be in Tangier....

Added 13 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 4 | Avg Score 5 | Views 354 | 5 Comments

"Why is the rain still falling when the storm passed an hour back?" I had taken my daughter for a walk through the woods. It had been a week since the funeral and she had barely uttered a word since. "The raindrops get stuck in the trees and when the wind blows it shakes them free." "Like when you cry long after something sad happens?" "Yes," I whispered. "Like that."...

Added 11 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 177 | 5 Comments

In a clearing we danced; an undulating tapestry of diverse shapes and shades. As if entranced, we moved as one under the blistering eye of our arcane god. Whilst hidden from view, the butterfly collector stiffened and reached for his cell, intending to secretly capture our antic revels. But as his redundant seed splashed the earth, he let out a sharp cough like a fox. Alerted, we split...

Added 09 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 179 | 7 Comments

When it all started, 'we the people' objected. We called them an infringement on our liberty, a thief of identity. They were uncomfortable, unfriendly, and altogether alien in this land of the free. Then as time passed, we started to choose ones that reflected our mood, matched our outfits, made a statement. They became part of our identity. So much so, that when the danger passed,...

Added 24 Sep 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 5 | Avg Score 5 | Views 184 | 5 Comments

A likeness only, though my love be real  Since first I gazed upon her flawless face, This country maid who bids my heart to feel   Though time may pass, no blemish can conceal The perfect object of my life's desire, A likeness only, though my love be real   To share some space with her is my ideal And watch her breasts so gently rise and fall, This country maid who bids my heart...

Added 17 Sep 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 194 | 6 Comments

Upholstered against the elements in scarf and overcoat and with a battered trilby perched on his head, Richard sets off on his afternoon walk. He crosses carefully at the zebra and walks up onto the promenade, where the café in the ornamental gardens is open but untroubled by customers. Seated by the window, he stares out over the windswept veranda. Many years ago he'd spent his honeymoon...

Added 14 Sep 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 7 | Avg Score 5 | Views 223 | 7 Comments