Microfiction: Endless

Almost missed this one! For Charli Mills’ writing prompt inspired by the word ‘quarry’. A 99 word flash fiction.

Photo ©Oliver Dixon


“It has no bottom, you know.”

“Don’t be daft. It’s an in-filled quarry not something out of a fairy tale.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not going in anyway.”

It was her turn to shrug. She peeled off tee shirt and shorts, ran to the edge. Her hair glinted gold until a cloud passed before the sun. He frowned.

“Don’t. I mean it.”

She waved and dived, her red swimming costume flashed, bronze limbs sliced. The water closed over her heels without a ripple.

In the dark, the thing the quarry had disturbed heard and rose to meet the intruder.

Microfiction: Old lady

For Charli Mills’ writing prompt, a 99 word story about something you give a crap about. Vast subject. This is a true story, as are the things we care about most.


Every day it’s the same route to the same shop to buy the same things that won’t empty her purse completely. Until the day I find her wandering, her bag empty and her eyes full of hurt.

“Been burgled,” she said, her blue eyes wide and watery. “Two kids, pushed past when I opened the door. Went straight to the drawer with the money in it.”

All I can do is give her my arm, guide her distracted steps home. I can’t give what I would—more time, strength, and a safer world to live her last years in.

Microfiction: Followed

This piece of microfiction, inspired by the previous piece for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, is for Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch—a story of exactly 99 words about a rattling sound.


It was bitterly cold, and the heater in the old van was barely keeping her feet unfrozen. The narrow country lane that wound in a picturesque way in daylight was simply dangerous at night, and trees leaned overhead blocking out even the feeble light of the stars. Two pinpoints of light glittered in the darkness—the headlights of the car she was convinced had been tailing her since she left the main road. She was still miles from anywhere when the sound she dreaded broke through the rattling of the chassis—the knock knock knock of a dying engine.

Microfiction: Warmth

The theme for Charli’s Carrot Ranch 99 word flash fiction is hygge. Here’s a version of hygge.

He dodged round the corner to get out of the sleet. In the car park entrance was an air vent. Warm. His face fell. The spot was taken. Two lads raised their heads. He shrank back.

“Room for another,” one of the lads said and elbowed a big black dog. “Shove over, Prince, Bounty, getoutofit.”

He sank gratefully between the two dogs.

“Bounty just had pups so she’s a bit snarly.”

Bounty raised questioning eyes and the boy smiled at her. Bounty smiled back.

He sank into the friendly warmth and Bounty laid her head gently in his lap.

Microfiction: Mistaken identity

This 99 word story was prompted by Lisa, helping out at the ranch while Charli is otherwise occupied.

Photo ©Pedro Ribeiro Simões


She was standing unsteadily on the kerb, waving her stick in the air, but the cars weren’t stopping. They never did. With a glare at the motorists, I took the old dear’s arm and strode out into the traffic. She shuffled and I had to pull her to get her across. Safely on the other side, she wrenched her arm out of my grip, her eyes glittering furiously.

“I was saving that space for Miguel! Now that cojón has grabbed it!”

I muttered my apologies as she hurled invectives in Spanish at the driver slipping into the parking space.

Microfiction: Behemoth

It’s Charli Mills’ Carrot Ranch prompt time, in 99 words, to write a story about monsters of any kind whatsoever. This is a condensed version  of a very long short story I wrote a while back.

Geoff Le Pard supplied the photo.


It was coming. He felt it through the soles of his feet, the heavy tread of millennia-old feet. Would it have claws, he wondered, or toes like an elephant? As it plodded up from the ocean, the river roared, waves swelling higher and higher. The screaming was audible now. It must have reached the city limits. His brain was frozen, like his limbs. Try to reach Kate at work or cross town to the school…the kids? He did neither. The roaring wasn’t the swollen river. It was the beast. Its ancient hate-filled voice told him there was no point.