Fortnightly Fiction

The Things in Between by David O'Neill His hair is too short. It is harsh like thousands of tiny needles and paired with a balding suit that flaps helplessly on the shoulder, he looks somewhere between nearly beaten and very…

It is not possible for anything good to come from polystyrene cups.  It is also not possible for anything good to come from the people holding the polystyrene cups. They feel unnatural, cheap, fake and flimsy. Cups and people can be…

The caretaker Jock looked round his five cleaners as they had a quick cup of tea in their closet amid the smell of old mop-heads before school finished for the day and they went off to clean their classrooms. His gaze lingered on David, who…

There’s something highly disconcerting I think (though I won’t go so far as to say disturbing) about entering the home of a close neighbour for the first time. One night, early on, just after teatime, circumstances required that I visit…

Slump  Mister Bayliss, of Bristol, businessman, makes his way steadily down O’Connell Street, squinting into the low sun, eager for breakfast, the essential ingredient of any successful day. The portly gentleman could have taken a taxi…

Ribs Shannen Malone They would not speak of it tomorrow. Lucy thought this as she walked to work in the morning, the shiny sound of her tights rubbing together at the thighs finding her ears. She picked at a loose flap of skin at the…

Harley got out of bed and shone the torch into the car park. V sat up straight, switched on her lamp, then waited, like a hospital patient. ‘Can you see anything?’ Harley moved the light over to the trees, seeing the man moving like…

Dear Richard, Remember that pact we made? Signed and sealed with spit-slicked hands. Time’s up. I’ve decided to keep it. It’s weird of me to write a letter, I know. Why not just text, or even an email? I’m writing you a letter the…

Before her there were others.  After, there will be more.  Right now there are plenty.  Plenty.  Causing his head pain.  ‘She won’t shut up, man.’  Gunner’s voice down the phone is like a knife stabbing his head.  He feels the hotness…

Perhaps the knock at the door reveals a stranger, desperate and pleading, a smear of blood on his face and a nose gone crooked after it smashed against the steering wheel of the car that’s currently lodged in a tree at the end of your…