Flash Fiction: Soul Recycle

Oops, neglected the blog again. This is what happens when one follows the philosophy “why do it today when it can be done tomorrow”.

wpid-2015-02-2214-30-25-2015-04-21-20-20.jpgwpid-2015-02-2214-31-48-2015-04-21-20-20.jpgwpid-2015-02-2214-31-33-2015-04-21-20-20.jpgwpid-2015-02-2214-31-04-2015-04-21-20-20.jpg Please note, while I took these dodgy pics these images don’t belong to me. I have no idea who owns them.

Soul Recycle

She came as life after death. Impregnating women with the souls of their loved ones. Her cosmic bag was running on a low. Two life forces scraped the bottom lining waiting to get out. But did she dare? These souls should have gone to the fire pit, where their essence pulled apart, melted and moulded into something new.


Posted by on April 21, 2015 in Fiction Writing


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Flash Fiction: Break

It’s been a while. The novel has been calling. It feels counter productive to stop the flow to work on flash fiction. In truth I have tried that before and ended up writing flash fiction on my novel. Not obsessive at all. Speaking of obsessive, many times I have heard a “real” writer writes every day. Well this “pretend” writer has tried that and failed every single time. Recently, I read a nifty little article about spending 15 minutes a day on writing, even if it’s just to stare at your computer screen. Unless I have had a huge day (re been drinking) this method works a charm. Very little pressure and nine times out of ten I end up working for hours. If I am stuck it makes me think outside of the box because doing something for 15 minutes is better than nothing.


The Wisdom of Avalon Oracle Cards

WARNING THIS STORY CONTAINS LANGUAGE (then again, what do people expect?)


She needed a holiday. Why was it so bloody hard to get a break? Shit. Even Santa sat on his fat arse and sucked on candy canes from time to time. It’s not that the fairy didn’t like helping people, she did, but she was burnt out and like a human woman with PMS – watch out. Her guardian, The Horse, spoke to the elders.
“She’s starting to scare small children with the evil eye and turns into a banshee whenever she sees men. And look, look at my hair!”
The poor horse had his mane put through a blender. Reluctantly, the elders granted the fairy a holiday. The other disgruntled hard working fairies swore like sailors as she left the meeting circle.
So the fairy left for her vacation; a lovely watering hole should do the trick. A time to rest, a time to relax. The fairy sighed as she leaned back and dangled her legs in water. Mermaids swum at her feet.
“Kind fairy, can you -”
“Fuck off.”


Posted by on March 8, 2015 in Fiction Writing


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Flash Fiction: Enslaved

After taking some time off from writing I am back. Over the festive season I decided to do something I have never done before and cease writing. In theory this should limit the procrastination during the year.

Write a fiction story inspire by a news article.


She had a name once. She had a family once. She had happy times once. Before. Now she was a blank. Captured as she watched her father and brothers beheaded, refusing to submit. Her sister brutally raped on the kitchen table and passed around like bread. Her fate was to be the same except the leader looked into her green eyes and declared she would fetch a high price as a virgin. This was the moment she was torn away from her sister, her last anchor to sanity. Afraid and on her own, her mind turned numb. The cow was sold, her master a vile and depraved jihadist, enslaved by his religion. So this is what their God drives to do? Blood stain the land and command. “Don’t tell my wife or I’ll kill you” he threatened with every penetration. In the quiet of the night she looked out at the stars and remembered what she had stolen. Her father’s voice whispered in the breeze. Nothing mattered. Robotically, she grabbed her master’s weapon of choice and steel met his throat. His eyes, shocked with the realisation that he won’t be reaching God’s heaven, a woman killed him. Every jihadist has to sleep sometime.
There is some present tense, that was done deliberately.


Posted by on January 28, 2015 in Fiction Writing


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Flash Fiction: All Wrapped Up (a Christmas tale for grown ups)

A non-biographic Christmas story I found in my archives (Nomes, this one is for you). Although, if I remember correctly the neighbours really were giving me the shits that summer… hahaha.

Write a story and include the following;
Wrapping paper
Plastic Christmas tree
Cards I never wrote

All Wrapped Up

That time of year again. Those fake smiles and cute carols. Simply sickening. And if you don’t let your brain buy in the good will BS, you my dear are a Grinch. So what if I want to smoother my colleagues with wrapping paper? And that plastic Christmas tree in the office, well you know where my boss can firmly stick it. What’s up with Christmas cards, they are sooo yester year – so many trees, so much hate mail I never wrote.

Dear so and so,
        Merry Christmas. I saw your photo – my hasn’t your arse grown! Is your husband still a sod and shagging the secretary and tormenting bunnies?

And all those blinding Christmas lights. My neighbour is a classic – enough electricity to supply a third world country for an entire year. Yet, they think my holiday spirit is bad. Apparently the kids like the lights, should I caution them not to touch? Nah, bugger it, where would the fun be in that. Give the kids something to really scream about. Learning not to play wolf is my gift them.

The season to be kind, Merry Christmas to me.


Posted by on December 21, 2014 in Fiction Writing


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Flash Fiction: The Magic Sleigh (A Christmas Tale for Grown Ups)

Disclaimer: This story is not intended for small children. It’s just a bit of fun for older people who enjoy humour during the jolly season (I’ve been hearing about people getting their knickers in a knot over Christmas themed horror films and other Christmas mockery, and now feel paranoid haha).


StoryWorld Card from the Christmas Tales pack: Magic Sleigh

The Magic Sleigh

Santa was sick, one too many choc balls had his head down the toilet. His wife had warned him and slapped his fingers away, but the elves were under his command. Well some of them. Actually none of them were. Rudolph was the only one who wasn’t afraid of the Mrs. He was easily lead by chocolate.
Mrs Clause shrieked as she discovered a trail of diarrhoea leading through the house. The poor creature was ordered outside in the frost, skid marks staining the virgin snow. Nope, he wouldn’t be delivering presents tonight.
“What the fuck were you thinking? Who do you think you are? Jesus Christ? All you had to do was wait ’til Christmas morning.”
It may be icy outside but that was nothing compared to the blizzard raging inside.
“She’ll be right.”
Santa grabbed a near by elf’s cap and puked. Without thought he returned the cap to the elf’s head.
“We’ll do it,” the elves chorused wanting to leave.
“You’ll be riding in the dark, Rudolph’s fucked.”
“We’ll be fine,” said the head elf knowing they would be safer risking the black, the Mrs was a real bitch when irate.
And that is how Santa trashed Christmas.


Posted by on December 11, 2014 in Fiction Writing


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Flash Fiction: Leather



Tarot of the Vampyre by Ian Daniels.


Lay out 6 cards from your deck(s) of choice and see where the story takes you. You may decide to disregard some cards or use only a symbol/element. Be creative.


It wasn’t his fault, nothing ever was, Mummy said so. If other people weren’t so annoying he wouldn’t need to bitch slap them senseless. So what if he had a hammer in his hand? Other people should keep their months shut. He was a nice man, really he was. Just don’t make judgement on his long hair or his name, Bruce. Parents can be so cruel. Those leather pants looked Rock-starish and he pulled them off better than Jim Morrison. He could write better poetry too. The producer disagreed, and look where he is now, a hammer to the skull. If those police didn’t let him out soon he was going to real pissed. He walked around the cell, a panther stalking, working the leather. Wrapped up tightly in himself, contemplating how unfair life was, Bruce didn’t notice the burly man in the corner watching him like a person on the Atkins diet in a bakery. In his mind, he decided, he would wait for a female cop to be on duty. He could turn even the most butch of lesbos. Lost in thought, he didn’t sense his personal space being invaded until he was cornered.
        ”Bend over,” said the large man breathing heavily.
        Bruce felt his pants pop; he was right, he was irresistible in leather.         


Posted by on November 30, 2014 in Fiction Writing


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Flash Fiction: Bricks

Here’s a departure from my usual some what amusing flash fiction. It’s more in line with a lot of my short stories (just to prove I can be versatile). Typically flash fiction brings out my inner smart arse, hope you enjoy this rare creation (if not, I’ll go back to being a smart arse next week).

Prompt / Inspiration


StoryWorld Cards: The Magical Toy Box by John & Caitlyn Mathews
Tarot Illuminati by E Dunn

Building Bricks + KC, QW, 3P, TEMPERANCE, 8W, 6S

Pulled a StoryWorld card to set a theme, then pulled tarot cards until a story took shape.


The bricks that held their family came tumbling down. In the mist of rubble the man sulked. How could that bitch leave him in the dead of the night. Steal the children, poison their little minds. The mole would pay dearly. She was free to leave, but the kids were his. No restraining order would change that. His bank account emptied and car gone, he had zilch. Mocking him, his wife’s beloved cat smooched around his feet. The creature had won many titles for his mommy; a prized possession. Yes, yes the bitch would pay.


Posted by on November 13, 2014 in Fiction Writing, Tarot Cards


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