flash fiction
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The others leave, one by one, and it ends up being just me and Ginger at the steps by the river, sipping from the bottle in lukewarm turns and staring out to the monstrous city lights that seem close but are worlds away. ‘Let’s get some chips,’ he says. ‘You go,’ I say, resigned. I…
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I’m waiting for the tram, at the junction. Waiting where the streets cross, and the lights change, and the cars stop and go in regular patterns, repeating over and over. Passengers stare and I stare back, like we’re sizing each other up. My tram’s late, so I have to keep waiting. And all the time…
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It’s the usual cafe, every Saturday. Today, Aaron asks for a banana milkshake, and his brother says he’ll have one too. “He always has the same as me,” says Aaron. And it’s true, the brother always has exactly the same, whatever it is. “Why do you have to copy me?” says Aaron, riled by his brother’s…
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When he’s nostalgic, it’s pale blue, like seaside houses. Distant seagulls in morning harbours, old-fashioned cream cakes, and the damp wood of rickety beach-huts. Relaxation is liquid green, like late-summer afternoons. He hears the lazy buzz of insects in the settled heat, and tastes the sweet anticipation of the evening to come. When he’s anxious,…
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Each morning for breakfast Flick orders a cup of black coffee with a piece of sweet egg-toast. Today, for the first time, the two sisters in the cafe were friendly. Their eyes crinkled with joy, and they asked him if he was enjoying his morning. ‘What’s wrong with you two?’ he said. ‘Every day I…
Barry Lee Thompson 