Flash Fiction: Be Careful What You Wish For

Summary: When Joris discovers a genie in a lamp he begins making wishes, but without fully thinking through the consequences.

gold teapot on black and white tray
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Joris had been given the battered cardboard box by a friend, who’d filled it with things found in a shed he was cleaning out for his elderly neighbour.

“Load of old junk,” his friend said, “but I know who much junk you sell on Ebay.”

It was true that Joris ran a successful side business by finding and selling collectables and unusual items and he’d accepted the box. So he opened the box and began to catalogue the contents.

Continue reading Flash Fiction: Be Careful What You Wish For

Fic: Piqued

Flashback writingwednesday from February 2018, dialogue only ficlet.

L M Dee


Originally written for the 2013 writerverse prompt dialogue only fiction, “What’s in the Bag?”

One character is being nosy and the other tries to stop them being inquisitive, while correcting their grammar.

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Fic: Resolution

two women sitting on white bench
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She’s tired of the usual New Year’s resolutions. They’re so predictable and boring, uninspiring and leaning towards self-denial (give up this, cut out that) or self-torture (get up at 5am and run 5 miles every morning, go to the gym 6 days a week).

January, cold and wet, with still more hours of dark than daylight – all the more obvious when the Christmas decorations are carefully packed away until next year – is a bad time for these things. Late spring is the time that a fruit smoothie and a walk by the river might win over a bar of chocolate eaten while huddled inside in an oversized jumper and fuzzy slippers.

Breaking these over enthusiastic resolutions just seems to make people more miserable.

So this year she’s choosing happiness. What that means she hasn’t fully decided. Sometimes it might mean staying home instead of going to a party she doesn’t want to attend, sometimes it will mean going to a party because seeing her friends and sharing a bottle of wine sounds fun. Sometimes it will mean drawing, however badly, because she enjoys sketching for the pleasure of it rather than as a means to any monetary end. Sometimes it will mean doing housework and then a long hot bath she feels she’s earned.

Choosing happiness is a goal she can happily work towards, not something she’ll be miserable over three weeks into January, and that’s a good start.


Fic: A Lot Lot Rain

selective focus photography of a baby looking through the window
Photo by Juan Pablo Arenas on Pexels.com

George knelt on the sofa, staring out of the window, his toy train forgotten about at the first splash of raindrops.

“Lot lot rain,” he announced.

Fiona nodded, ruffling her nephew’s hair. “Yes. Lots of rain.”

There was a rumble of thunder. George’s eyes grew wide. “What that noise?”

“Thunder.” Fiona got his attention and made the sign for thunder. Their family had been using Baby Sign alongside verbal language for almost as long as it had been invented, a simplified version of sign language with a small core vocabulary and some signs modified to make it easier for children’s hands to copy. “You remember thunder.”

George nodded. “Storm.”

They watched the rain for a while until it began to ease.

“Mama wet?” George asked. His mother had taken his older brother to a birthday party and so Fiona shook her head.

“They’ll be inside now, with the birthday boy.”

“When my birthday?”

Fiona smiled. “Not until April.”

“I have birthday party,” George said in a tone suggested this was inevitable.

“If mum and dad say you can.” Fiona was not about to take the blame for agreeing to a party for a bunch of under-fours and the associated cost and chaos. “I think the rain’s stopping.”

George nodded and slid off the sofa. He ran out to the hallway and came back with his Wellington boots. “Feefee, I want play in puddles!”

Fiona nodded, having expected this the moment the sky had darkened. “We need to put our coats on but yes, we can go outside.”

“Hoo-ray,” George cheered, the way he always did, two distinct syllables. “Puddles!” He jumped up and down as if he was already splashing about in the wet.

As she watched George jump all around the garden, laughing and playing, Fiona almost wished she’d bought her own boots so she could join in. She settled for the vicarious pleasure of enjoying George being carefree, revelling in the aftermath of the rain. 

Flash Fiction: Foul Weather

Double drabble (200 words). On a wet night a man approaches the meeting point. For this month’s prompt ‘rain’.

black and white man weather rainy
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The rain hammered against his black umbrella as he walked toward the streetlight, the collar of his jacket pulled up, his footfalls splashing rainwater onto his polished oxford shoes.

He slowed his pace; it wouldn’t do to hang about too long on a night like this, far from a pub or café, taxi rank or bus stop. It would draw suspicion. Thankfully he spotted his contact approaching, a tall man in blue baseball cap with a green puffer jacket left unzipped, and they reached the designated meeting point together.

The handover was smooth, the small brown envelope passed into his free hand without either man breaking stride. He tucked the envelope into his pocket and continued on his way, taking a convoluted route back to his car, parked half a mile away.

There was a low rumble of thunder and he thought of his half-brother’s cosy suburban home and mundane but well-paid office job. Not the life he’d chosen nor would want for himself but sometimes the waiting, the cold or the heat, the snow or the rain, made the idea of such domesticity desirable and he pondered the wisdom of his profession.

Espionage was not a fair weather job.

Double Drabble:Gratitude

A double drabble (200 words) on the theme of giving thanks.

person showing white mug in focus photography
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To attract more good into your life, first give gratitude for what you have. She’s taken this to heart and spends a few minutes each night and each morning giving thanks.

Today she stands in the garden, giving thanks for that private green space. She’s thankful for her hot coffee. The mug clasped in her hands was a birthday gift from her friend and she’s thankful for friendship.

She’s thankful for the warm sun on her face. Thankful that it will dry her laundry, and thankful for her favourite t-shirt which is blowing in the breeze.

A blackbird hops across the lawn, pecking at the scattered birdseed, and she gives thanks for the wildlife that visits her each day. She always enjoys watching the birds, butterflies, and bees.

Soon she’ll go indoors and check her phone, and she’s thankful for how easily she can keep in touch with family and friends. Then reply to any work emails – and she’s thankful for her job. Later she’ll get milk from the local store and she’s grateful for having the money to buy what she needs.

She finishes her drink, gives one more heartfelt thank you for all her blessings, and goes inside.

Double Drabble: The Journey

woman standing on seashore
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The Journey; 200 words exactly

A five minute walk to the bus stop where she waits seven minutes. An hour’s ride to the station where there’s a slight delay to her first train.

That train takes her out of the city but not all the way. She changes trains in Devon, the rail journey taking over six hours before she arrives at Hayle.

She’s travelling alone out of necessity, and she’s anxious every minute but she needs this, this place, this restorative experience.

She shoulders her backpack and begins to walk the rest of the way, following the South West Coast Path. It’s one more mile to the beach; after the distance she’s come that’s nothing and yet she cannot wait to reach the shore.

Her heart lifts as she sees the waves glistening in the sun, hears the seagulls cry as they soar across the blue sky. She smells the seaweed and her steps become lighter as she heads for the water.

She drops her backpack into the soft sand, pulls off her shoes and socks.

One step, two step, sea!

She gives a deep sigh as the saltwater washes over her bare feet. She feels at peace for the first time in forever.


Fic: When Fans Collide

black and white photo of a costumed fan at a comic or anime convention with the title text When Fans Collide written on top

Mira loved going to conventions and meeting other fans, buying merchandise, attending the celebrity panels, and joining in with the amazing cosplay; those who liked to dress up as a favourite character could get very inventive with their costumes.

Mira had chosen to dress as Domino from “Deadpool 2” this year, having previously cosplayed as characters including Wonder Woman, Zoë from “Firefly” and, last year, Valkyrie from “Thor: Ragnarok”. She hadn’t gone so far as to add a contact lens as another Dominio cosplayer she’d met at the registration desk had, but she’d carefully applied the white makeup around one eye and fluffed up her hair.

She’d hoped to meet her online friend of three years, and fellow fan, Erica, but at the last minute Erica had said she wouldn’t be able to make it this time, adding a sad emoji to her instant message. Erica hadn’t been to a fan convention before and was anxious about it, so Mira wondered if it was nerves that led her to back out.

“I’ll take lots of photos for you,” Mira had promised. She already had several of the building and a couple with some fans, including the other Dominio, who had gushed over Mira’s elbow-length fingerless leather gloves as more authentic than her own.

Mira browsed some of the stalls full of comics, signed photos, Funko Pops and other figurines, Blu-Ray box sets, and more. She’d got some money saved up especially to splurge on merchandise.

“Sorry,” someone said as they bumped into her. Mira looked up at the woman who was wearing a “Burr shot first” T-shirt and a beautiful dragon necklace.

“No problem. I love the shirt,” Mira said. “Both “Hamilton” and “Star Wars”, what’s not to love? My friend Erica has the same one.” Erica had proudly photographed the shirt laid out on her bed being admired by a plush Pikachu.

Continue reading Fic: When Fans Collide

Fic: A Little Spill

For the allbingo meet-ugly prompt “spill” – Johnny meets a mysterious woman by spilling beer on her.


Johnny thanked the bartender and took a step back, holding his pint glass aloft to move past the man seated at the bar, and as he turned bumped into someone.

They were also holding a glass. Beer sloshed over the top of both glasses, wetting Johnny’s sleeve and the woman’s purple-clad shoulder.

“Sorry!” Johnny glanced ruefully at his shirt. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh, no, it was my fault,” she said. “I wasn’t looking either. Just a little spill. No harm done?”

“Nothing a turn in the washing machine won’t fix,” Johnny said and flashed her a smile. She was close to his age, thirty-ish, with pale skin and deep brown eyes to contrast with his olive complexion and blue eyes.

She laughed. “It’ll dry out for the moment. I’ll go and sit in the sun.”

Johnny watched her move toward the outdoor seating. He sipped at his beer, savoured the cool taste. No-one joined the woman at the table she chose and she didn’t take out a book or e-reader from her handbag, not even her phone. It wouldn’t be interrupting if he asked to join her, would it?

He’d promised himself he’d take more risks this year.

“Hey,” he said, gesturing as he approached the table. “Can I join you? If you’d rather be alone I get it though.”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“Sure I can sit or sure I should go away?” He smiled again.

“Sit,” she said, nodding to the bench opposite her. “You can dry your shirt out too.”

He took a seat. “Thanks. I’m Johnny.”


Johnny tried to stifle a laugh. “Really?”

She giggled. “No.” She lifted her glass. “Cheers.”

Johnny clinked his glass against the mysterious woman’s. Despite the initial circumstances he had a good feeling about meeting her.


Flash Fiction: Outsider

Abigail is out of her depth at a party for the rich and famous until she meets someone else who seems to be an outsider.
For the allbingo “meet-ugly” prompt “accidental insult”


“Enjoying the party?”

Abigail shrugged. She’d come out onto the balcony for some air. Even in her short red dress she was hot, the atmosphere inside stifling both from the heat and the company. She was an outsider here, and while Claire could find a way feel at home amongst these people, Abigail could not.

“It’s not really my thing,” she said, lifting one tan hand to sip from the glass of wine.

“Parties?” he asked, before taking a sip from his whisky glass.

She turned her to the speaker. He was tall, broad shouldered, with blonde hair a little longer than was fashionable with this crowd. His suit looked the part but the inexpensive watch didn’t. Abigail had worked in a jewellery store for six months and had learnt more than she’d ever wanted to about watch brands and necklace clasps. He was probably as much out of his league here as she was.

“Not this kind of party. A few people I actually know, some snacks that I like, some music from this century. That’s a party.”

He laughed, came to lean on the railing alongside her. “You don’t appreciate classical music?”

“Sometimes. But it just makes this whole thing seem more formal. I don’t really do formal.”

He glanced around, leaned a little closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Abigail frowned, unnerved. “I guess.”

“I don’t really do formal either. You know what?” He tugged off his tie and tossed it over the balcony.

Continue reading Flash Fiction: Outsider