Sweet Death from the Thoughts of Dying

Flash Fiction, poetry,

What a day I’ve had, earlier, I dream’t I was falling. Now that I’ve woken up, I really am! I’m sitting in the driving seat of my car, seat-belt on and plummeting over a ridiculously high cliff. I must of left the handbrake off you see. You’ve gotta laugh really – I intend to. I’m playing it over and over in my silly little mind, and yet nothing stops me from leaving that really useful handbrake off.  How clumsy of me, still, I’m going with a bang I suppose; even looks like I’m missing the tide that’s in. Not only am I gonna be smashed to bits bouncing off those rocks but burnt too; a true Hollywood explosion I can only imagine, just to be sure. Actually I’m quite lucky really cos I’ve always been terrified of the thought of drowning – and it’s funny, they say that it’s your life that flashes before y–

Psychedelic Leopard Spots

creative writing, Flash Fiction, , ,

The fact that I have just seen a minuscule leopard; no bigger than my thumb; nonchalantly roaming between the taller blades of grass in my front garden was not as surprising as I would’ve first imagined.

Then I notice a tiny family of three; lying down not so far away from the minuscule leopard; the baby is twice the size of its assumed parents and the Leopard. Somehow I overlook this irregularity in scale and look away, determined to see what else that I can find that defeats logic. Inevitably, they all vanish before I look back on my search for absolute confirmation.

Feeling aggrieved, I sense that I’m being watched — but still I scan the garden; my mannerisms acquire some semblance of pretense loss, as all I see now is scattered autumnal leaves. Within a matter of moments I disregard the miniature marvels; I smile, subtly, as I come to the conclusion that I’m very temporarily insane.

I continue to walk to the gate and plan my route to work as usual.

September Poem

poetry, ,

The seventh month

That’s actually the ninth

Those Romans still rule

But we can’t change it now

Why suddenly the embers

People start up the fires

And the burning I can smell

Quick close that bloody window

A signal to slow death of leaves

Look up and celebrate their beauty

Oops there drops another one

Somebody sweep that mess up!

August, the last noisy neighbour

September is the first peace in autumn

For winter is the drama-queen

So roll on next September

Wanted Alien

creative writing, Flash Fiction, Words,

                                                                                                                                                      2 Oct 1920

Wanted Alien for being Alien

 (Also for identity theft, human brainwashing and forgetting to kindly return home.)

By The Agency of Living Interplanetary Extra-Terrestrial Nuisances (A.L.I.E.N)

Ayu, as the alien is currently known (from source) is being sought for unwilling identification of being a living entity not of this earth. The Alien is 7ft tall, of turquoise complexion, walks with a clown-footed impersonation and has 2 dark marbles for its eyes; if only to suggest a face (no other facial characteristics have been verified).

Warning!  Our occasionally good people of Southend would be strongly advised not to panic. Please do not approach our vertically unchallenged rogue with its extraordinary appearance with hastened aggression. We at A.L.I.E.N cannot guarantee that Ayu is not a direct threat to you or to us but if provoked the wrath of his retribution may be unpleasant. If this is to be your act the likelihood of irreversible mental abrasion upon oneself is deemed to be of the highest proportion. As this situation stands, albeit bizarre and unwanted, Ayu has caused no obvious harm or damage to our violent world — as we know of.

Information has been amassed from our undercover agents and has confirmed our suspicion that Ayu is successfully masquerading as a postman, not only in our beloved Southend but previously in towns and cities in and around the UK. To this day its true business here upon Planet Earth is still unknown. You the reader can be a valued ally to our cause.

Ladies and gentlemen, another very important announcement, THIS IS NOT A HOAX! Anyone contacting us and treating it as such with pranks of a childish nature will be severely reprimanded. A Letter will be delivered by our personalised postal service with orders for your permanent vacation of your premises, on your kind acceptance of your ill-advised communication. This order can be triggered from Law 51 from the Blue Room Act and administered with force if necessary by our agents.

Final note, for your collection of most deserved rewards. The alien as previously described must be alive on our arrival in your confirmed location, all being correct and of its successful containment or last sighting. To everyone of Southend please be vigilant and most of all Good Luck! You’re gonna need it.

 

REWARDS

An unlimited supply of cash or the meaning of life.

The Park Bench and the Downpour

creative writing, Flash Fiction, poetry, ,

IMG_2976

As the day passes before you, you sit longer than you had planned

on the most servant park bench.

Then, subtly, a lost shadow whispers into your ear, It says, shame about the

cats and dogs. You haven’t the heart to tell it that it hasn’t rained for days.

Meanwhile, time must be folding inward; squeezing itself until a residue from

a meaningful downpour leaps from your chin.

You remain seated on the bench getting wet, and as you do, you’re

unknowingly and repeatedly shapeshifting; into every person who has ever sat

there for exactly the same reason you do.