Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Coconut Freeze

They make a man of white, so life-like that they swear he's alive, and angel silhouettes on the ground which get smudged by clumsy feet when they try to stand.

They burry each other under brilliantly white piles, their noses blushing red.

They slip and slide and giggle when one of them falls over completely, landing with a thump which is followed by a series of foul words.

They stop laughing when the white turns to red under his head and his eyes can no longer stay open.

They sob silently as they run back home, but the coconut continues to fall from the sky.

Monday, 30 January 2012

Ham Sandwich

She takes another bite of her ham sandwich before realising that it might seem inappropriate and could offend. Trying to swallow it discreetly a lump sticks to the side of her throat and makes her choke. There is a splutter of an apology as a soggy mass of bread and ham flies from her mouth and lands at the hosts feet.

They snort in disapproval, looking from the congealed sandwich remains to her blushing face, and then back again.

She moves forwards; attempting to pick it up before they realise the choice of filling, but it's too late and no amount of apology will make it right.

'How dare you?!' He squeals in a rage, 'Get out of my pen!' With that, the pig turns around and trots back into his sty.

Hanging her head in shame, she is left alone to realise that this means the loss of yet another friend.

Blackberry Thorn

You stand in a small clearing; birds chatter all around you but not a single one can be seen, as if they disappeared long ago and their songs are just an echo of what once was.

Tall, thin trees are rooted into the ground as far as the eye can see. They are as black as coal and wear not a single leaf on their long, spindly branches. Unlike the birds, the leaves can be seen; they now lay peacefully on the ground, blanketing it in a pattern of white and grey which makes your eyes spin.

You spot a single splash of red jumping out at you from the monochrome ground and slowly bend to pick it up. Turning the glossy business card over in your hands you briefly wonder how it ended up here and who it belonged to. Surely birds, even vanishing ones, dont carry business cards.

Squinting at the black text you read one simple sentence:

'You are all that remains.'

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you realise that the birdsong has stopped.

First steps

On the long, long road towards (hopefully) getting some of my work published, I thought that starting a blog might be a good idea.

I plan to fill this space with worlds and characters which I create.

At the moment I am writing a collection of flash fiction stories based around the names of ice cream flavours, which I also make up.

Sometimes they're also based on sandwiches.