spiders

Spaghetti Wednesday

/ Claire Fuller / 52 Comments

cropped-bugs

Nan plonked the bowls down on the table.

‘What is it?’ Flora asked.

Nan sighed like she did every Wednesday. ‘Spaghetti.’

‘Again?’

‘Again.’ She watched Flora push strips of Kraft cheese single into the sauce. Flaccid worms curled through a brown swamp, swirling with radioactive orange. She hated cooking.

‘What’s this?’ Flora held up a blob pierced by a fork tine.

‘Nothing,’ said Nan. ‘Just eat it.’

‘I think it’s an insect.’

‘It’s not an insect.’

Later, scraping the left-overs into the bin, Nan pretended not to see the pairs of tiny pincers, hooked legs and cooked eyes staring up at her.

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You can blame the picture this week on Doug MacIlroy and the choice of it on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read more Friday Fictioneers stories, and here to join in.

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This week, Our Endless Numbered Days has been picked as one of Isabel Costello’s thirteen Hot Fiction Picks 2015. If you visit her website you can enter a competition to win your choice of one the books listed. (UK postage only.)

Short story: Sunday afternoon

/ Claire Fuller / 26 Comments

“How does the spider make his web?” I asked, gazing at the threads above us, silky in the afternoon sunshine; Ruben was silent, his eyes closed. I prodded him.

“Hmm?”

“The spider. How does he start?” I looked at Ruben sleeping. “Does he spit the first thread, or jump, or what?”

“Or what,” he said dreamily, still not stirring.

I ran a stalk of grass down the bridge of his nose.

“Ok!” his eyes opened. “He lets the wind take it, and wherever it lands, that’s where he makes his home.”

“Like you,” I said. But Ruben just shut his eyes.

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This piece of writing was for the 100 word (or so) prompt for Madison Woods’ #Fridayfictioneers. I’d be very happy to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s.