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.

Advertisements

100-Word Fiction: ‘Some Old Queen or Other’

And so what if they thought she had nothing to offer and nothing to say? If they thought she had no place in the modern world, then what? She would ride it out, keep going, fix herself on being there, again, always. What would they know about independent thought? They dieted on whatever fodder they were thrown, gorged themselves and got fat. And if it was said she was a figure of repression, then it was just a spiteful cry of envy, heard only from a miserable few. She thought of the flags that had lined the Mall, yawned, smiled.

100-Word Fiction: ‘How Will We See?’

In the future we will see
Everything in three dimensions.

What?

The robin whistling
The mud underfoot
The long journey home
Hands in gloves

The cheers at the bar
The chiming bells
The turning of a page
The plans being made

The mildness of the air
The perfume of a fir tree
The warmth of brandy
The kindling smoking in the grate

The heights of privilege
The yawning traditions
The swells of pride
The chasm between rich and poor

A mother’s slow decline
A father’s decrepitude
A child’s burden
The darkness and the light

Almost as if it were real.

100-Word Fiction: ‘Fashion’

Christ but there’s too many flags about, he said, sittin back down and slidin three pints across the table. Too much wavin from balconies, fly-pasts and old codgers grumblin bout the way they suffered. Christ, I mean. He sniffed.

Look at you man, the guy’s friend said, sweepin his fringe from his eyes. I mean your jeans, that shirt. Out of touch.

Oh don’t start.

I’m not startin. It’s just, you know, you’re old. Everyone’s lovin all that these days. Nostalgia. Fashion.

Fashion?

Yeah, why not? You’re suppin ale, everyone’s eatin cupcakes.

Tories.

Tory fuckin cupcakes?

Yeah.

They both laughed.