Short Stories

Flash Fiction: Caught

/ Claire Fuller / 58 Comments

ted-t

I ran. Beside the stable-block I found the old privy. Ceiling slung with cobwebs and a stink of stagnant water, still I squeezed in there, behind the open door, holding my breath, worrying she would hear my heart pumping, the thump of blood in my ears. A movement of shade and brightness across the crack in the door, that’s all she was. The crunch of her shoes on the debris scattered across the stable yard. My hand over my own mouth.

And then the sun found her knife, flicked a bead of light across the privy’s dark interior, and reflected back my staring eye.

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This is a 100-word or so Friday Fictioneers story. Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Anyone can join in by writing a 100-word story inspired by the picture above (this week supplied by Ted Strutz), or just come and read some pieces other writers have written.

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Absolutely delighted that my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days is a finalist in the ABA (American Booksellers Association) Book of Year Awards.

 

Flash Fiction: Crossing the river alone

/ Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

antiques-along-the-mohawk

Yesterday I asked the fat nurse to describe the view.

‘A river,’ she said, her big hands moving confidently as she changed my dressings. There was no disgust in her face, although even I can smell my decaying self, my rotting body.

‘And on the opposite bank,’ she said, ‘are two yellow chairs. What d’ya say we break out of here and go and have a nice sit down?’

Today it was a new nurse, thin. I imagined her fat colleague, weighing down one yellow chair, waiting. But I didn’t ask her to look. I don’t want to know that both chairs are empty.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) short story based on the picture provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and written about by writers all over the world.

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This week WordPress interviewed me about my writing, and included a big mention for the wonderful Friday Fictioneers. Read the piece here.

 

 

Flash Fiction: Rice would be Nice

/ Claire Fuller / 53 Comments

emmylgant

‘We’re out of potatoes,’ my mother said, in a voice I wanted to mend.

I dragged my father’s garden spade (he’d taken the fork) to the vegetable patch. It hadn’t rained for months; his brassicas had gone to seed and his onions were flowering.

I jabbed at the ground, remembering the pale, earthy potatoes my father had let me find, like golden treasure hidden in the dark. I knelt and scrabbled, stuck my hands in the soil, my fingers discovering only a wet, rotten mess.

‘Rice,’ I said to my mother. ‘Rice would be nice.’

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This is a 100-word story inspired by the picture above. This week, my mind decided to go in the opposite direction to the picture: gardens and heat, despite my best intentions. Thanks to Emmy L Gant for the picture, and to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for leading the Friday Fictioneers. Click here to join in, or here to read other people’s stories.

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It’s been a little over a year since my debut novel, Our Endless Numbered Days was published by Penguin. I wrote a blog post about the good and the not so good things that have happened since then.

Flash Fiction: Into the Sun

/ Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

crook

Cara goes by bicycle to the village shop. The sky is polished blue.
As I lie down with Peter in the grassy hollow I imagine Cara peddling home, into the sun.
Time slows: minutes become hours
Peter turns towards me.
Hours become days
I think of Cara squinting, stopping.
Days become weeks
Peter leans forward.
Weeks become months
I picture Cara pushing the bicycle, head bowed.
Months become years
One first kiss, and a shadow falls. We shade our eyes, look up. Cara, her face dark under her hat, frowns.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers story: a 100-word piece inspired by the picture (this week provided by Sandra Crook). Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s stories, or here to join in.

I’d love to know what you think – constructive criticism gratefully received – leave a comment below.

 

Flash Fiction: Third Person

/ Claire Fuller / 65 Comments

leary2

In books there’s always the drunk one. And the hesitant one. And the sober, sensible one – the person warning about the lake’s depth, the submerged dangers and the weeds to get tangled in. I should have been that person when we went down to the water in the dark, but instead we three were all the first kind. Giggling, we pulled off our clothes, plunged in, screaming at the cold.

A full five minutes of laughing and splashing went by before we missed him.

‘Peter!’ We tread water. ‘Stop messing around!’

In the blink of an eye we became the third person.

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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this weekly 100-word Friday Fictioneers writing event. Join in. Read other people’s. The picture this week is supplied by Erin Leary.

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Another competition to win BOOKS. But this time not only Our Endless Numbered Days, but also books by Kazuo Ishiguro, Yann Martel, Kate Atkinson, Danielle McLaughlin, Julian Barnes and others. Click to enter.

Flash fiction: The Sable Stole

/ Claire Fuller / 54 Comments

chateau-de-sable-ceayr

‘My Aunt – my mother’s sister – had a sable stole.’
‘Stole?’ Cara frowned.
‘A collar, a scarf, made from real fur,’ I said. ‘Once, I came home early and it was draped over the back of a kitchen chair. I was reaching out towards it when she came down the stairs, my father following her.’
Cara raised her eyebrows.
‘She said I could stroke it and touch the tiny paws if I said nothing to my mother.’
‘And did you?’ Cara asked.
‘Touch it, or say something?’ I sighed. ‘She left me the stole in her will. I watched it burn.’

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The name of this house took me in a less than obvious direction this week for my 100-word Friday Fictioneers story. Join in. Read other people’s. The picture this week is supplied by Ceayr.

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Author and book-blogger, Jen Campbell is doing a worldwide competition to win one of five copies of my book, Our Endless Numbered Days, or Sweet Home by Carys Bray. Click here to enter.

Flash Fiction: When They Were New

/ Claire Fuller / 62 Comments

hh-spinet

 

The harpsichord had woodworm, much of the ivory was gone and one broken leg was jacked up on bricks. Peter flicked out his coat tails, eaten into fine lace by moths, and sat.

Dressed in ragged petticoats and crinoline, Cara curtsied low and I took her hand, kissed it. As we danced I thought of those who’d played and danced before us; the people who’d worn these clothes when they were new. And as if from above I saw Peter sitting and us cavorting on the dusty floorboards, fading and turning, turning and fading until we too disappeared into time.

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A Friday Fictioneers 100-word flash fiction inspired by the picture above, provided this week by Jan W. Fields. Click here to join in and write your own, or here to read other people’s.

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If you live near Bath, England, you might like to know that Our Endless Numbered Days has been selected as The Big Bath read by the Bath Literature Festival. You can get a free copy of the book, read it and come along to open book clubs, and a couple of events I’m speaking at. More information.

 

Flash fiction: The pump room steps

/ Claire Fuller / 55 Comments

amy-reese

I lay at the bottom of the steps. It was dark and warm, and no one else ever had reason to come that way. I thought my nose might be broken, some teeth lost. I smelled blood and heard the sound of roots squeezing through stone, the tiny creaks and groans of something splitting, of new life forcing its way through. It was simple to keep still while the tendrils inched over me, wormed their way through my buttonholes, across my skin; easy to let the ants and the insects come.

I closed my eyes as the earth took me back.

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I really struggled with this story this week – started half a dozen and discarded them, and still not very happy with what I produced. A 100-word or so story for Friday Fictioneers. Picture by Amy Reese. Join in. Or read others.

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Writer and blogger Natasha Orme is hosting a competition to win one of two copies of my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days. Enter here. (Only open to UK residents – sorry!)

Flash fiction: Leaving on a Jet Plane

/ Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

melanie-greenwood

Simon was whistling a tune, an old song I couldn’t place. I heard Cara huff. We’d taken a picnic up to the roof – cold salmon, cheese and bread, olives, too much wine – and we lay on the rug amongst the empty bottles and chimney stacks. When I opened my eyes an aeroplane trail had cut the blue sky in two.

‘What is that song?’ I said, turning onto my side.

Simon’s lips were stained red.

Cara staggered angrily to her feet. ‘Simon thinks I’m going to leave him,’ she said to me.

‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’ Simon said.

She swayed; whispered. ‘You’d never let me.’

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This is a 100-word (or so) flash fiction piece inspired by the picture above. You do need to know that old Peter, Paul and Mary song to know what’s going on. This week the picture was provided by Melanie Greenwood, and the whole Friday Fictioneers thing is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Join in. Read others.

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The paperback of my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days, has just been published in the UK, and I’m delighted that it’s been chosen as a Richard & Judy Book Club book (the closest we have to Oprah), and also the Waterstones Book Club. Read more here.

Flash fiction: Valentino

/ Claire Fuller / 27 Comments

copyright-scott-l-vannatter

Cara leaned back on the warm stone. A cat, the feral one who lived under the old brewhouse, came to sit between us.

‘Careful,’ I said.

‘I had a cat when we lived in Italy.’ Cara reached out her hand. ‘Valentino.’

‘I wouldn’t…’

The cat raised its scrawny neck in pleasure as Cara scratched at its matted fur. ‘He would sleep in the bed between me and Peter, stretched out like a little furry man.’ The cat purred. ‘Peter never liked it, of course.’

I put my hand out towards Cara’s, still stroking. The cat opened its mouth and hissed.

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This is a 100-word Friday Fictioneers flash fiction piece, prompted by the picture above. This week provided by Scott L Vannatter. Friday Fictioneers is brought to us by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to join in, or here to read some more stories.

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This week, my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days was picked as one of the top reads of 2015 by Foyles – a wonderful chain of bookshops in the UK. Click here to read more.