TubeFlash pairs London underground stations with brooches, and invites people to write a piece of flash fiction inspired by the combination.
My Monday morning brightened up when the TubeFlash e-newsletter popped up in my inbox, informing me that there was a sleek and joyful new website for TubeFlash as well as plans to re-open for submissions in September.
For those of you who haven’t encountered it yet, TubeFlash pairs London underground stations with brooches, and invites people to write a piece of flash fiction inspired by the combination. The stories are available to read online, and there are also audio versions.
You can browse by mood, genre, brooch, station or listen to an audio version of your commute. My piece, ‘Storms Ahead‘, was selected for King’s Cross, which I was particularly pleased by as an East coast commuter that’s the station that has taken me home to family, back to Uni, and welcomed me into London for many years.
Even the stains on the towel looked authentic. I didn’t know there would be so much of it. The small red bottle was a tardis. Continue reading “One Vial Act (flash fiction)”
Mildred passed Ernie the small silver jug of cream and he attempted to balance the blue cup and saucer on the thick ridges of his corduroy trousers.
extract from ‘Things We Do Not Talk About’
Continue reading “Flashing around: June 2014 round-up”
Falling off the wall had been the most exciting thing ever to happen to Jane. The doctor’s soft hands, the crisp white hospital sheets, the smoothness of the empty vase next to her bed. Continue reading “Birds may fly (flash fiction)”
As the bird flew away, Annie wondered if she would always be alone and hungry. Continue reading “The Beginning (flash fiction)”
‘Only ten minutes.’ I said. Then she apologised, and I said I forgave her, and we both pretended it didn’t matter any more and set off.
Halfway round the headline, I stopped to get a stone out my shoe and she kept walking. ‘Did I?’ she said and I said that she had got at least half a mile and how could she not have noticed. Then she apologised, and I said I forgave her, and we discussed how we had put it behind us and ate our sandwiches.
It wasn’t until we were well off track and she got out the map and I said I knew exactly where we were and she didn’t have to. ‘Don’t I?’ she said and I said that she was past contempt.
That silent walk home in the moonlight was the nicest bit of our wedding day.
*first published in the 2010 issue of The Binnacle
I don’t want any, thank you. Can’t abide hot drinks; they turn my stomach. Continue reading “The Wedding Guest (flash fiction)”
Lost: Twelve stone of useless weight that used to displace half the water in the bath and mock me, mock me, mock me for displacing more. Answers to the name ‘Mark’ reluctantly, preferring to watch old war movies or nail varnish drying on other women’s toenails. If found, please tell him to contact his mother and ask her to stop inviting me to Bridge classes.
Wanted: Pot of gold from end of rainbow. Any size of pot considered. No time wasters, no leprechauns.
Wanted: Sense of direction. Seller to deliver.
*first published in Classifieds by Equinox in 2012