Flash fiction: Songs of Beuren

April 20, 2016April 20, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 58 Comments

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They were docile and doe-eyed. They gathered silently in herds under the street lamps at night. No one knew where they’d come from but we all agreed they were beautiful. We named them Beuren and didn’t wonder what they wanted.
They were easy to catch and to pen.
As we slaughtered the first, some of the others made a low musical sound. More joined in, their voices coming together, urgent and louder. Words, I thought, Latin even. Some of the skinners dropped their knives, ran away, but me with blood on my hands, cried, ‘What Have I Done?’

Songs of Beuren is the English translation of Carmina Burana. If you don’t know the
O Fortuna section of this piece of music you might like to listen here.

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I can’t believe Rochelle has been hosting Friday Fictioneers for four years today. Happy anniversary, Rochelle! This is a 100-word Friday Fictioneers flash fiction piece inspired by the photograph (this week from Madison Woods). Click here to read others and join in.

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This spring Our Endless Numbered Days was picked as a Richard & Judy book club book, along with seven others. For those in the USA this is the closest we in the UK come to Opra’s book club. Now that the season is over readers can vote for their favourite, and of course it would be lovely if you would like to vote for me. Click here.

Flash fiction: Life sentence

April 13, 2016April 14, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 79 Comments

kent-b

‘They’re similar to the Nazca Lines, m’lord,’ I said, flapping the photographs. ‘The ones in southern Peru? That you can only see from the air?’
‘That’s as may be,’ the judge said, ‘but this was criminal trespass and destruction of private property.’
‘For god’s sake, I didn’t draw them!’ I said. ‘You must listen. They’re coming.’
‘And you must listen to me, Professor Shaw.’
‘They’re landing strips, instructions, directions…’
‘That’s enough.’ His gavel came down.

Now all is quiet outside my cell. I know they’ve arrived because everyone’s gone. And the keys with them.

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This is a 100-word Friday Fictioneers flash fiction piece inspired by the photograph (this week from Kent Bonham. Click here to read others and join in.

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Flash Fiction: Decree 770

April 6, 2016April 9, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 59 Comments

jhardy

Around the back, saplings have sprouted, some growing up through the floor and out through the shutters. She isn’t sure if they are trying to break in or to escape.
‘Better the place is bulldozed, forgotten,’ Vişinel says.
‘We grew up here,’ she says.
‘And spent the whole time trying to get out.’ He kicks some litter. ‘I don’t know why we’ve come back.’
She remembers the rows of iron cots, the thin blankets, the years she could only speak Romanian.
‘I’ve bought it,’ she says. ‘The building. I’m going to make it whole again.’
They both know she means us, not it.

This is a 100-word or so Friday Fictioneer story, inspired by the picture. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields hosts the Friday Fictioneers, posting a picture each week (this week supplied by J Hardy Carroll). Click here to read other people’s and click here to join in.

My story this week might require some explanation. Decree 770 was a 1966 Romanian law which restricted abortion and contraception, which led ultimately to many children being placed in state orphanages where they were forced to live under terrible conditions.

Flash Fiction: Caught

March 23, 2016 / 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

March 16, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

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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

March 10, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 53 Comments

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‘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

February 17, 2016February 17, 2016 / 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

February 3, 2016February 3, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 65 Comments

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

January 27, 2016 / 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

January 20, 2016January 20, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 62 Comments

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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.