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.

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 place to write

January 22, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 24 Comments

“But you’ve the whole house to write in,” Rex said, loading a tray with wine and olives. “Better than a shed at the end of the garden.” His hand was already on the back door, pushing it open.

“A shed with a view of the sea and a bed,” Ingrid said, but he was already gone.
She heard a wail start across the hall. “Mum, Flora pinched me!” A door slammed. “Mum. Tell her.” The children’s argument spilled into the kitchen where Ingrid stood at the window watching Rex’s retreating back.
“A quiet shed,” she whispered, and turned to her girls.

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Björn Rudberg) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

Short story: Night swim

January 8, 2014January 8, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 47 Comments

No one had looked up when Margaret had said she was off out. However, instead of going to book group, she undressed on the beach and stood, naked, under the vast arc of an inky sky studded with stars. At her feet was the sea, lapping the concrete steps with its cold, black tongue.

Margaret lifted her arms above her head and dived. She swam underwater as far as her breath would take her, then when she surfaced, Margaret turned and trod water, looking back at the string of town lights behind the dunes. She had never felt so alive.

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Dawn Landau) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

Crossing time: 4 minutes

November 27, 2013 / Claire Fuller / 37 Comments

“Why did you let her bring the jigsaw? We’ll be across before she even gets the lid off.” The passengers lurched as the ferry’s chain engaged.

“It keeps her occupied.”

Margaret up-ended the box so that scraps of leaves and sky and dogs fell under the table. Her father huffed and stared out of the window at the advancing shoreline while she and her mother laughed. There was another jolt so that the standing passengers clung onto each and beer and tea sloshed onto the stained carpet.

“Unfortunately,” announced a disembodied voice “mechanical problems are causing a delay to this crossing.”

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture, supplied this week by Ted Strutz is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

Short story: A good dinner (part II)

November 20, 2013November 20, 2013 / Claire Fuller / 51 Comments

Normally I start with my story first, but this week I thought I should start with a short explanation. Last week I wrote about Ingrid and her partner who goes out to dinner without her and then goes with a prostitute.

The cad! The rotter! Everyone wrote in the comments. And they were right – I created an absolute shit. But I wondered whether this week I could change readers’ mind about the man (Rex), to find out whether when they had more facts they could forgive him.

So, if you’re interested in my experiment you can read last week’s story here (if you haven’t already). And then read this week’s below. There are a lot of stories to read each week so if you don’t have time or can’t be bothered, then hopefully this week’s story should still stand alone.

Enough, on with the story:

When Ingrid’s vomiting had passed and Rex had left for dinner (best suit, aftershave – he would return smelling of sex and she was grateful), she used the pregnancy test. She knew the result before the small red cross knew itself.

In front of the hotel mirror Ingrid practiced: “Rex, I’m pregnant,” and “We both know it isn’t yours. I’m going to keep it. I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. Ingrid knew that whatever she said it would break him.

For the rest of the weekend, she waivered, until on the flight home Ingrid simply said “I’m having another man’s baby.”

***

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture, supplied this week by Sean Fallon is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

Short story: The flimflam

November 6, 2013 / Claire Fuller / 45 Comments

Agnes knocked on the door. We stood there for ages; I was hoping no one would answer but eventually we heard slow footsteps and the door opened a crack.

“Please mister,” said Agnes, “my friend isn’t feeling well. Could she have a glass of water?”

As the old man poked his head out I remembered to sag at the knees. He looked us both over. “What’s the problem here?” he said and opened the door wider. “Water d’ya say?” He cupped an ear with his hand.

Behind him silver picture frames and knickknacks glittered on a hall table.

“Jackpot,” whispered Agnes.

***

This picture, was supplied by Al Forbes for Friday Fictioneers, our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Rochelle posts a picture each week and writers from all over the world gather to write about 100 words using it as inspiration. Click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

Short story: Disassemble

October 23, 2013October 23, 2013 / Claire Fuller / 41 Comments

Flora’s parents were both authors; dealers in words: two dimensional, unless you let them into your brain where they might transform into images and emotions.

Flora had always preferred the three dimensional – things she could walk around, touch and take apart. At first her parents encouraged her, enchanted by a child who was the antithesis of them – buying her lego, meccano, a plastic tool set. They paraded her and her creations at dinner parties and at family gatherings. And then one day Flora found a real toolbox under the stairs, with real screwdrivers and spanners and hammers.

Then they weren’t so happy.

***

This picture, for Friday Fictioneers was supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who also hosts our group where writers from all over the world gather to write about 100 words using a photo as inspiration. Click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

Short story: Rain

October 17, 2013 / Claire Fuller / 21 Comments

The rain beats down on the roof of the Morris Minor. The old wipers can’t cut through the blur fast enough, and Flora leans forward where the headlights show the road disappearing beneath the car in black and white.

The first thump comes as she is passing the unlit supermarket. Then something hits the windscreen, swooshed away before she can even flinch. And then another. And another. There are things on the road – small, thrashing, distressed. Flora swerves, and the short beams of light the car throws out shows her hundreds more silvery creatures falling and flapping. Fish.

***

This picture, for Friday Fictioneers was supplied by the lovely Janet Webb. Writers from all over the world gather to write about 100 words using a photo as inspiration. Click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

And for all the American contributors to Friday Fictioneers, I also very excited to let you know that I’ve just heard that my debut novel, Our Endless Numbered Days will be published in the US by Tin House.

Short story: French Kiss

October 10, 2013October 10, 2013 / Claire Fuller / 24 Comments

Professor Rex Blackwell had a reputation. Ingrid knew it; everyone knew it. He was witty, erudite and charming, and when he focused his attention on a student – admittedly always the pretty ones – for a while they would bask in the full warm light of his regard. But Ingrid, who could have had her choice of any number of her fellow male undergrads, and probably female, didn’t want to wait for Rex Blackwell to come knocking.

Midnight on the final night of the French trip saw only Ingrid and Rex in the bar. And when all their talk of dead poets and writers had ended, she kissed him.

***

This picture, supplied by the very talented Sandra Crook for this week’s Friday Fictioneers writing group, provided instant inspiration. My problem was cutting down all I wanted to say. The last two lines are too short for my liking, but I’m already seven words over. Friday Fictioneers is where writers from all over the world write about 100 words using a photo as inspiration. Click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.