The sunlight is coming. Horrible, cruel sunlight. Better the dark. Better for hunting. Better for eating.

But where to hide now that molten, baleful eye returns to the sky?

It skitters this way and that. Twitching. Searching.

Then a dark hole. Cool. Quiet. Inviting.

The scorpion scuttles into the shoe.


Life, in a word, has kept me away. I have been writing, but on other longer form things that may or may not find there way here. For now I will continue with a flurry of shorts…



It followed her around the whole day.

It got a few raised eyebrows on the train but it was good at embarrassing people into silence. It was almost like its special skill actually.

It waited patiently at her desk for the big meeting. And then it surprised everyone!

The stain.

‘Just a Minute’

He tells himself it’s only for a minute.

Just a minute. A minute’s not long. That’s not breaking any rules.

Just one delicious minute.

To savour.

To chew over and enjoy and feel deep down in the hot, dark places he keeps secret.

Just a minute.


Creeped myself out a little writing this one – random word prompt was ‘minute’.


The crater was like the shell. The ground torn open to expose her amongst the misery, death and suffering. He found her there, a survivor some how against all the odds. Wrapped in white, innocent and ignorant of all the terrible crimes around her, like the pearl at its heart.


I asked my partner to suggest the word at random, she chose ‘pearl’ and I wrote this.

‘Flamenco’ and ‘Like a Bomb’

Two for the price of one today as it’s been a while.

By way of explanation: my priorities at the moment are pregnant fiancé, already existing child, preparing for the arrival of the second, finding a new job, cat (he’s very persistent) AND THEN writing.

I have been writing (honest) but its been on a couple of (as yet) private longer form projects and with such limited time to write the blog side of things has been downgraded in priority.

Anyway I’m still here, alive and kicking (and writing and reading).

Until the next time.

(Both stories written from random word prompts).



She just dances. The guitar is staccato, her skirts undulate and flick, fingers snap. He tries to lose himself in the motions but for him each click is that of a clock bringing him closer to oblivion. There is no profit in this course of action. Yet he is stuck.


‘Like a Bomb’

Like a bomb. Incandescent with rage. Wrenching, tearing fury that twists and skitters away, uncontrollably, like the hot innards of a ruined machine, destroying all it touches, spreading flame and discord in its wake.


(A note on the above – I’m normally quite strict in 50 word shorts, in that it must be 50 words exactly, but I really liked this one as is and felt it said exactly what I wanted, so I left it.)