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Monthly Archives: June 2014

Leonid_Pasternak_001

The writer sat at this desk. New Order serenading his creative process. In front his assembled troops. Trusty notebook, reliable pens, an espresso, chilled water.

He checked his twitter feed, nothing retweeted thus far. Dejected he scribbled onto a post-it note, adhering it onto the screen:

BE FUNNIER

His inner voice whispered. Twitter rejected. Scrivener booted. The black line pulsated, demanding to be driven across whiteness.

A sip of coffee, an intake of breath. His fingers hovered tentatively over keys.

He rearranged his troops once more.

Fingers hovered.

Maybe he should check his email?

Then he would start.

Definitely.

occult-magic-and-ritual-wookmark-254732

The scratching from under his bedsit floor awoke Max from his nap. The world bathed in orange from the streetlight outside.

Fuck they’re back!

Max moved swiftly, shoving the bed against the wall, barricading the door with the bookcase. He grabbed the glass jar. Splashing chicken blood over the threadbare carpet, drawing a circle in crimson.

The last drops, Max lit the candles, muttering incantations of protection as he worked.

The scratching was gathering intensity; they’d be through any moment.

Max settled in the circle, a whiskey and cigarette, mentally preparing himself.

It was time to save the world again.

‘Steve, fancy a cuppa?’

Steve waved away Liz’s offer. She paused, enjoying watching his lithe arms manhandle the paving slab. She had told him not too worry, yet Steve had decided that the patio needed relaying again.

Liz smiled to herself, whatever her mother thought, the one thing her husband couldn’t be accused of was settling for second best.

‘Actually, get us a beer’

Back in the kitchen, she noticed in the mirror that her hair was hanging down again. Liz tucked the rebellious lock behind her ear.

She had learnt early on that Steve liked everything in its place.

 

8

Grey Matter Press, providers of fiction that lurks in the darkest recesses of our imaginations, have launched Flash Masters a monthly flash fiction competition that will take place at the end of each month. As Grey Matter describe:

The Grey Matter Press FLASH MASTERS Flash Fiction Contest seeks to celebrate and award the exceptional creativity of both current and up-and-coming authors of dark fiction. FLASH MASTERS allows you to share your talent for short, concise storytelling with the horror-loving community. FLASH MASTERS will be held monthly during the last week of the month right here at the Grey Matter Press website, and winners will receive prizes from Grey Matter Press. Each month a FLASH MASTERS Flash Fiction prompt will be provided to inspire your creativity. While the prompts will change month-to-month, there will always be one consistent element in FLASH MASTERS. And that will be that at least one participant will win.

You can find the details for this month’s competition here.

Good luck

IR

the-smiths-the-queen-is-dead-1986

A mug of Earl Grey, The Smiths serenading through her headphones, Tabitha’s plan was finally reaching fruition. She flexed her fingers, the ache of holding the glue stick temporarily alleviated. Laid out on the table in front of her were rows of freshly bonded red hearts on white card.

A quick glance up: 05:12. Just a few more and she would be ready.

The clock read 5:32 when Tabitha finally stepped outside into the cold weakening darkness. She adjusted the bag strap on her shoulder, inside enough Valentines for every house on the street.

Time to go create some mystery.

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Peeling icons stare down as he writhes on his bed. The sheets transformed into pythons, ensnaring his body; whilst the monkey on his back demands sustenance.

Yet until they leave he daren’t move. He had made promises, assurances.

The front door slams, parents off to work. Seconds later and he’s descending the stairs, past a young boy posing on a beach, climbing a tree, riding a donkey.

Outside the car is gone. Hungry fingers claw at the base of the lamppost, retrieving his shooting kit, wrapped in a dirty plastic bag.

Hidden treasure.

He retreats back inside, the monkey giggling.

In the UK, right now, is National Flash Fiction Day. Later today, sometime between 3-4pm (GMT), my flash ‘Sunrise’ nestled amongst the work of 143 other writers. The day celebrates flash fiction by releasing over 24 hours every 10 minutes a new story.

Awesome No?

You can go here to have a peruse: http://flashfloodjournal.blogspot.co.uk/

Aside from that they are also hosting a live write-in, various prompts, 500 words and my flash ‘The Conversation’ is now live! Available here … http://thewrite-in.blogspot.com.au/2014/06/the-conversation-by-andrew-patch.html

Love flash fiction

best

IR