Tag Archives: Short Story

Prism Dreams

I long to roll down the river called Prism Dreams; to feel the night sky percolate the open pores of my skin. But I heard that the riverboat overturned last winter; had kicked all of the stars out of kilter, had halted the flicker of dragonfly wings under a wearisome moon. I heard that life had become receptive to the fear that had flourished in the eyes of the submerged.

@alittlebirdtweets2016

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Torn

The roses in the garden were wilting, as though they were nodding their approval of your ignorance towards me. So I tugged them from the earth, removed their mocking heads, and threw them into the sad September breeze. The stalks they cried. The thorns they hailed. And the embers of petals floated back to me, and melded to my sweating body like greedy leeches. The embers still remain there, burning into my soul, like a wild and sorry tattoo.

@alittlebirdtweets2015

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Blink

A medley of Bach was the only thing that could silence her mind, in this racing city. She pressed the volume up on her Ipod. The iconic chords managed to dumb-out the sound of her heavy stilettos upon the pavement; a sound that seemed to mimic the screech of a pneumatic drill in concrete. She longed to hear the pigeons coo; but even they failed to take a breath amongst the madness. They bobbed past her feet aimlessly, in their search for mangled morsels. She watched one blink, and she winked right back.

@alittlebirdtweets2015

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Rootless

Hello Readers,

This month I was given the wonderful opportunity to write an exclusive flash fiction called ‘Rootless’, for Paula Lawes, who owns and runs an online magazine called ‘Tips for Growers’ at thedailygrow.com.

The theme of the magazine this month, and the theme with which I had to create a story, was ‘Love Yourself First’. This proved to be both exciting and challenging, and it certainly brought me out of my comfort zone of the thriller and horror genres, in which I write.

“Rootless leads us on a light and dark thematic journey. It highlights how, if we open our eyes and use our minds, we can transform ourselves and the world around us.”

To buy a copy of Paula’s 46 page magazine, please visit thedailygrow.com. The magazine not only contains my exclusive flash fiction ‘Rootless’, but it also contains some inspiring articles by guest bloggers, original photos and inspirational quotes.

Thank you!

©2014.alittlebirdtweets

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The Forage

An apricot sunrise seethed through the misty moors. She wandered grasslands; pulled lady’s smock by their roots, by the heaps. Her necklet loosened; it fell, unbeknownst to her.

In the sky, Parakeets danced; they sang an ancient proverb. Thou shalt not steal from nature in abundance; for nature shalt steal from thou.

Her heart repented.

©2014.alittlebirdtweets

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Faded

FotoSketcher - tea2

(Piano Instrumental ‘Dream of Flying’ by Brian Crane plays)

I had watched her lips dance upon the rim of her teacup; her bitter breath had fused with steam, had formed fumes of rejection.

“Just leave it Frank!”

I had posed her a floret of my affection, worlds of pipe dreams; but to her it had meant disintegration in love.

(Piano Instrumental ‘Dream of Flying’ by Brian Crane fades to silence)

©2014.alittlebirdtweets

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Scarlett

rose

She handpicked the last rose of summer; watched the petals wilt into a ballet of depression. The ghost of his apology of deceit had bred in her mind for days. She knew that walking unafraid in a world devoid of him could never equal the burning desire of a restored heart. She crushed the rose in her hand. Someday she would visit his office and attempt to rekindle the love of her lover; a man whom she would always believe to be a raw diamond in the earth.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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New York

Crimson rays from the setting sun had stirred life in to the lank, concrete buildings. The glower of taxi headlights had greeted me with their vitality; and had sculpted hopes and dreams inside my heart. I had watched a man limp up Lexington Avenue. He’d asked the world what their dreams were; or had been. I had tried to offer him an answer; but his silhouette had vanished within the towering steam that had emanated from the street’s drains. And, I had known then, that that flash had been my New York minute.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Distraction

Danger had loitered on a street corner that day. It had awaited the collapse of slate clouds, hard rain, and the thump of half-past five. It had awaited her arrival, stiletto-heeled. She’d stepped in the road, whilst struggling to open her umbrella; oblivious to the car approaching the corner at high speed. Metal had struck her legs, forced her body to collapse, and her head to hit concrete. She had laid in a grey sea, as ambulance crew, police, and strangers watched her; like she had been a newly erected sculpture. Voices had asked her questions, prompted answers; but she’d been too stunned to reply. She’d only been capable of crossing her fingers; of praying with her trembling heart, for the chance to see long corridors, fluorescent lights and fresh grapes.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Fragility

Petals, a million shades of rose, lay frozen-in-time, upon the cemetery’s frost-laden grounds. Tomorrow, heartless feet will crush them; turn them into russet particles. Their dying breath will emit rancid vapours into the air, as they succumb to the earth. And, beyond the borders of the cemetery, people will look to the skies; sing the lyrics of summers’ song. Smiling faces, embracing sunlight; unaware that decay is a fraction away.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Elm Lake

Elm Lake ©2013.alittlebirdtweets

Whenever there were grey curls in the skies, the lake would awaken. Sinister waves would ripple on its surface, and rekindle a whispered voice that spoke of a past happening. The voice would travel through trees and into nearby cottages, where it was eager to be heard. But, no one would listen. No one wanted to believe that it was the voice of the girl, who had drowned in the lake half a century ago.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Immortal Love

She narrates a passage from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet; and her heart simmers as he watches her lips, with his ancient eyes.

‘A tragic story, my love,’ he says, brushing his fingers over the calligraphic text.

He bends to kiss her. She gasps, and feels blood trail down her neck. She watches it drip onto the page and expand like large ink spots.

‘You’re now immortal; and my death will shortly follow,’ he says.

He falls to the floor; and she watches his face turn pastel.

And on this day, every thousand years, she lights a candle in his memory.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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Whitechapel

‘Whitechapel in winter does make me quiver.’ She said, pulling her shawl around her shoulders.

Fog curled lavishly around streetlamps; like smoke from coal-fires had done, in the Victorian era.

‘It’s been said that the ghost of Jack the Ripper prowls these streets.’ He teased.

‘Oh, stop it!’ She grinned, thrusting her elbow into his side.

They walked along cobbled Commercial Road; which was once a market where the rich and poor intermingled and traded.

‘Hey, what’s that?’ She shrieked, pointing ahead into a doorway.

Their mouths fell, as they watched the grim shadow of a knife magnify over them.

©2013.alittlebirdtweets

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‘a little bird tweets’ First Birthday!

Well it is a year today since my flash fiction blog ‘a little bird tweets’ began! Where has the time gone?! It seems like only yesterday I was busy experimenting with template designs, customizing; and trying to get that final website design that I thought would visualize and sum up the genre and theme of my future flash-fictions.

The last year has been a wonderfully inspiring journey. I have met some truly gifted people here in the WordPress community; gifted writers, poets and bloggers with so many different styles and ‘ways with words’. It really is a pleasure to be surrounded by a community that not only enlightens me with their reads, but also inspires me to push forward with my own writing. Without WordPress and its community, my writing would feel very empty. So I truly thank you all for having taken the time to visit, read and provide feedback on my work.

This week I have been reading the latest issue of ‘Writers Forum’; and inside was an article on ‘how to publish your own e-book’. My eyes lit up like candles when I first glimpsed the header, as I had never even given this a thought before. Thoughts such as ‘produce a collection of flash-fiction, a short story, a cover design’ started whirling around my head; and they have now found a comfortable dwelling in my mind; and I doubt they are going to be re-possessed anytime soon! So now I am pondering over the idea of creating a collection of flashes; or may be even developing one of my already published WordPress flashes and turning it into a longer ‘short story’. What do you think?

  • Shall I create an e-book collection of flash fiction. or one short story?
  • If I were to develop one of my flash fictions into a short story, then which one would you like to know more about? Are there any characters that grabbed or intrigued you that you’d like to see ‘come back to life’?
  • Shall I create an entirely new story?

I look forward to being inspired by you. With Thanks!

A link to 23 flash fictions that I have created in the past year.

https://alittlebirdtweets.com/flash-fiction-4/

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