'Taste of Revenge' by Caroline Kelly

By -
It might have been nearly 10 years but she had recognised him instantly. That sly little smirk, those narrow, evil eyes - there were a few wrinkles, a few grey hairs, but it was him.
He'd mugged her in broad daylight and left her trapped in her home for a year, afraid to go out, unable to sleep, terrified of every sound.
And now here he was, in her shop, drinking her wine.
'This is a crisp, dry white wine from California,' she smiled, handing him the last glass on the tray. 'Gargle properly to get all the flavours. And spit - or not!' She winked at him.
He chose not to spit, just as she hoped. He might never know but revenge really was a piece of piss.

Comments

  1. So many details in a few sentences, carries it further.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The waters are rising - Get to your posts!

By -
Yes, it's that time again. We're back and we're getting ready to flood the internet with flash-fictions to celebrate National Flash-Fiction Day on Saturday 16th June 2018.

The rules are the same as ever, we are open for submissions for just one week. Stories should be no more than 500 words (not including the title) and should be on whatever theme you fancy. You can submit up to three entries, and there is no cost.

7 editors (one each day) will read your work, and make their decisions, and then the deluge begins at midnight on the 16th.

Full submission guidelines can be found at http://flashfloodjournal.blogspot.com/p/submission-guidelines.html.

So far, this journal has had over 409,000 views, and we want to hit the half a million mark if we can. So, get writing, and send us your very best.

We can't wait to read them!


The Editors
FlashFlood


Read more

'Fall for Me' by Rhoda Greaves

By -
I’m going to ask her tonight, definitely. Dad said, you’re not even twelve son, what’s next – extra pocket money for johnnies? Mum told him not to be vulgar, then smiled at me; that smile that makes me want to yank her to the knees by the hair: shout, I’m not a baby, Mum.

It’s in the sports hall like always, but this year they’ve got a proper DJ, not just one of the dads. There she is, all curled hair and sprayed-on glitter. I go to tap her shoulder, but James and Jeremy, in the opposite corner, look at me all, why are you going up to a girl? So, before she turns around, I jump on her back: mime a lasso at them one-handed. Dig my knees into her skinny hips and breathe in marshmallows. Then I’m falling forwards. I put out my hands but my landing is broken. I roll off. And her blood’s on my knees. More of it trapped in the grooves of my trainers.

What happened? says Mr Miller, with a face like a father’s instead of a Head’s.

And she looks at me through the bloodied fingers at her nose. …
Read more

'Are We Nearly There?' by Jude Higgins

By -
You’re off to the seaside because you don’t know what else to do since he left. Alice knows she shouldn’t ride in the boot with her beach ball but you won’t stop her. You’re glad she blew up the ball herself. You refuse to take over that role as well.

All three kids looked happy enough in the photograph your mother just took before you set off but it will be different when you get out of the city. These days, they’re quiet in the car – even Finn, who used to sing all the time.You’ll keep checking the mirror and see him sucking his thumb, hear the girls playing Angry Birds on their iPads.

You’ll drive on and on through the mountains, past fields of lambs, past that stream where you had the picnic last year. Back then, he helped Finn catch a minnow, and pointed out the red kite gliding on a thermal. You’ll see a hawk yourself, but you won’t know its name. When you switch the radio on to blur your thoughts, Amy Winehouse will be singing Rehab. It always makes you think of him.

Because th…
Read more