100-Word Fiction: ‘Down the Lonning’

– What are the white flowers in the grass?
– Cow parsley, said John.
– No, no, Alex starkly corrected him: it’s Queen Anne’s Lace. She held his stare. He turned around and started down the lonning.
– Maybe May flower, something, he said.
– What was that?
– Nothing. Nothing.
Jack ran up to his heels:
– Does the cow eat the parstley?
– I don’t think so.
– Why did mummy say it was Queen’s Laces.
– She… well, it’s called that too. It has different names.
– Why?
– It depends.
Alex had caught up and took Jack’s hand:
– You’ll tell him it’s about class.
– Maybe.
– Don’t dislike me.

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100-Word Fiction: ‘A Cold Spring: Part 1’

There is a queue spilling from a greengrocer’s door into a gentrified street. The customers are affluent and wrapped up in tweed and heavy knits. In a pub round the corner the rugby has just finished. The landlord kills the screen and the afternoon’s drinkers begin to disperse. Everyone goes home to cook or order something in. Drink.

Oh this spring has been cold. My neighbour says that if they don’t feel the warmth of the sun, narcissi grow up blind. They rise, look strong, but never flower. I think of this sometimes when I watch the wealthy at play.