Flash Fiction: What can you hear?

July 2, 2014July 2, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 52 Comments

“Draw the curtains,” said a voice from the bed, papery with age and illness.

Viv rose from her chair and pulled aside the heavy cloth. Sunlight flooded into the room and for the first time she saw him properly: sheet-thin skin laid over bone, the surface mottled like a boulder which had tumbled from a mountain and lain for years in the wind and the weather.

“Window,” he whispered.

With an effort Viv lifted the sash.

“Shh, listen,” he said. “Can you hear it?” Viv caught the far-away slap of the sea. “The carpenter’s plane,” he said. “He’s making the coffin outside the window.”

Top marks for those who get my literary reference this week. Maybe it’s really obvious, especially for any American readers.I’ve had a few comments so far, none of which knew what I was going on about, so I’ve changed ‘Making the box’ to ‘He’s making the coffin’.

I’m delighted this week that Rochelle has chosen one of my pictures. It’s one of a series of statues in Stowe Landscape gardens – a wonderful place to wander around, owned by the National Trust and full of odd folies. More information here.

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Flash fiction: The squat

June 18, 2014June 18, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 42 Comments

Faded paper drooped from the walls like slouching down-and-outs, and a mattress curled up in a corner, ashamed of its stained nakedness. Flora held her breath – not from the stench – but from the idea that Ingrid might once have slept here, under the old newspapers; their corners flapping from the broken window’s breeze.

She kicked at a pile of dirty clothes, refusing to believe what the police had told her and the evidence in her pocket. The rags shifted, moaned. Flora jumped, put her hand to her mouth.

‘Ingrid?’ she said.

But the sunken-cheeked face that peered out at her was a man’s.

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Mary Shipman) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Flash Fiction: Light

June 4, 2014June 4, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 34 Comments

Kit pulled hard on the oars to get the boat over the breakers and kept rowing so the land behind Juliet diminished.
‘What if a ferry comes?’ she said.
‘No one will see,’ said Kit, laying down the oars, kneeling forward to kiss her.
‘I should have brought a blanket…’
Over her shoulder, under the water, he saw something flicker.
‘…or cushions…’
He moved away from her and looked over the side.
‘The bottom’s dirty…’
Far below, a light twinkled. A candle? Ridiculous, he thought.
‘…and wet.’
He stood. And drawn to the light, he dived.
‘Kit?’ said Juliet into the empty evening. ‘Kit?’

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Doug MacIlroy) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Short story: The University Tribunal

May 28, 2014May 31, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 46 Comments

‘Only Professor Coleman is allowed in, Miss,’ said the porter, his bulk blocking my entry to the panelled room.

Rex put his hand against my cheek. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ He smiled, a brave smile, but I was dismayed to feel tears welling. I cried so easily.

I let the porter lead me to a wooden bench along the corridor where I sat and imagined Rex standing in front of his peers, unapologetic, intransigent. After only ten minutes the door opened, and as Rex stood there looking at me, grim faced, my waters broke.

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Jennifer Pendergast) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Flash fiction: The Wolf’s Clothes

May 14, 2014May 14, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 19 Comments

‘Ingrid!’

I turned and there you were, leaning out of the car window, into the rain. ‘Get in, get in, you’re drenched.’ You had that smile on your face, the one you must have practiced, the one that always made me weak. I got in.

I stared at you as I dripped onto your leather passenger seat. ‘Suited and booted,’ you said, wiggling the knot of your silk tie in the rear view mirror. ‘Will I do?’ You already knew that you would. ‘A wedding. Come with me!’

‘Looking like this?’

‘You look good enough to eat,’ you said.

I started with a wolf in sheep’s clothing when I looked at this photo, but then I seemed to move onto a wolf in wolf’s clothing. Never mind, we could always just say it was ‘lamb to the slaughter’. And for those of you who missed him, the ‘you’ in this story is Rex.

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Sandra Crook) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Short story: Before we fall in love

May 7, 2014May 7, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 49 Comments

If I could, I would turn our love on its head: the disappointment, work-a-day and humdrum would be over and done with first.

At the river the tide would go out, and the stinking mud would make plain its dirty treasure; it would rain, you would catch a chill and I would be unsympathetic,

Before we fell in love.

I would try, and fail, to mend that hole in the roof and you would refuse to hold the ladder, because you had better things to do,

Before we fell in love

Before we fall in love.

***

Does this count as a poem? If so, it might be my first ever.

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by B.W. Beacham) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Short story: A candle to light you to bed

April 30, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 39 Comments

There was a power cut when Hedda brought Rex home from the hospital. Flora had been sitting in the dark on the verandah waiting for them, breathing in the sea’s tang mixed with honeysuckle on the warm evening air. She lit a candle and they helped their father into bed with barely ten words spoken between them.

Flora had thought it had been the candlelight hollowing out his eye sockets, gouging craters into his cheeks and throwing grotesque shadows upon the bedroom walls, but in the bright light of morning Rex’s face hadn’t changed. She knew it wouldn’t be long.

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Renee Heath) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Short story: The Older Man

April 23, 2014April 24, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 40 Comments

You drove us out to a country pub for our first date.

‘There’s some live music on that I think you’d like,’ you said, although now I realize it was so we wouldn’t be spotted together by anyone from the university, anyone who thought what you were doing was wrong.

The place was packed, everyone swaying and singing together. You pressed your body up close behind mine, your laughing breath in my hair.

In the break I pushed through to the bar. ‘Another white wine,’ I shouted over the crowd’s noise.

Nodding, the barman shouted back: ‘And what would your father like?’

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Bjorn Rudberg) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Short story: Home truths

April 16, 2014April 29, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 44 Comments

Flora remembered her mother, Ingrid, sitting on the edge of Hedda’s bed telling stories about Queen Cnut of Norway who succeeded in turning back the tide, and Wilhelmina Walker who spent six years – as long as Flora had been alive – putting concrete under the cathedral so it wouldn’t sink into a watery grave. Hedda, who was twice Flora’s age, rolled her eyes at the tales and then pretended to be asleep. Ingrid always finished by saying, ‘Women can do anything men can do’.

Years later, when Ingrid left them for a new life, Flora knew that what her mother had said was true.

***

The picture this week reminded me of William Walker, a deep-sea diver who did spend six years underwater, shoring up Winchester cathedral so that it didn’t collapse. You can read more about him here.

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Doug Macllroy) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

Short story: The Lion’s Mane

April 9, 2014April 25, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 47 Comments

The giant creature pulsed, once, twice, propelling itself forward through the water, blue tentacles trailing in the wake of its translucent body, like streamers wafting sadly on a filmy chandelier the morning after a party.

Flora and Richard stood naked at the edge of the sea, foam gathering around their ankles while they watched the horizon turn from a deep ultramarine to orange.

‘Ready?’ she said, nudging him.

‘Will it be cold?’

‘Bloody freezing.’

‘At least you’re honest.’

‘The only way is to do it quickly.’ She took his hand and they ran forward.

The creature turned.

***

A Lion’s Mane is one of the world’s largest jellyfish; the body can grow up to two metres wide, with metres of tentacles with powerful stings.

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by DLovering) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.