And now, for your edification and entertainment:

It's very early in the morning, 'cause I had an epic nap today. Yesterday. Whatever. Anyway. It's very early, like I said, and since I don't feel like doing anything else, and I've been pretty awful with the posting thing lately, here's some more flash fiction - another 300 word adventure for you all.

My goal with these pieces is not to write earth-shattering literature, but to present what I think of as 'relationship set-pieces' in a child's voice. Let me know how I'm doing, please!

*ahem*



There was a mouse in the trap when I got up today. I let it out.

Nanna uses a crust of bread with peanutbutter on in the traps. They’re the kind that catch the mouse in a box, not the kind with the arm that slams down. Nanna says they’re more humane, but I don’t know why she thinks that. The mouse dies anyway.

She’d be pretty angry if she knew I let the mice out. I don’t like that she catches them; we keep all the food in containers anyway, so I don’t think she needs to set the traps, really. Nanna says it’s not healthy to have mice living inside, but we have a pet mouse at school, and she says it’s ok if I play with him, as long as I wash my hands after. Nobody touches the mice at home, so I don’t see how they hurt anyone.

I got in trouble at school when I told Beth that grownups catch mice to kill them. Her Daddy told her that they got sent to pet stores. She cried when I told her that mostly people drown them. Missus Armstrong said I shouldn’t ever talk about things being dead, ‘cause it might upset people. But our science project was to make a bug-catcher, and then use it to catch all kinds of bugs. We kept the really interesting ones, and a man from the museum showed us how to put them in jars so we could keep them. They’re on a shelf in the hallway outside our classroom, and we showed them in Assembly last week. Nobody gets upset about them being dead, not even Beth. I asked Missus Armstrong, but she said not to talk about dead things, ever, and that it was time for lunch.

In the absence of rant, stories!

I'm trying my hand at some flash fiction - 300 word snapshots of story. Haven't decided yet if they'll be self contained, ongoing, both... we'll see.

When my dad comes home, I go to bed. Our driveway’s long – the headlights give me enough time to brush my teeth. When I was little, I’d be waiting for him, and I’d ask and ask for an ‘aeroplane ride’ to bed. Sometimes I got one, and he’d swing me up into the air between his hands and fly me around the house, and when he put me into bed he’d kiss me, and his beard tickled and smelt of books and coffee. Sometimes he’d buy a packet of jam tart biscuits at the servo on the way home, and mum’d make some tea and a little mug of warm milk for me, and I was allowed to stay up a bit longer for a biscuit, but I had to brush my teeth again before I went to bed.

I don’t wait for dad to come home any more. He doesn’t like me to be up when he gets home. Mum told Nanna once that he works late so everyone’s asleep when he gets home, but she didn’t know I heard. Mum doesn’t mind if I roller-skate in the hallway, ‘cause I cook tea when I get home from school, and the floorboards aren’t polished anyway. Dad doesn’t like the noise while he’s watching TV. Sometimes he checks where the roller-skates are, to see if I’ve been using them in the hallway. He says they damage the boards, but I don’t think they do. I hide them under the old shoes at the bottom of my wardrobe so he thinks I haven’t been skating on the floorboards. He hasn’t noticed yet.

When dad comes home, I pretend to be asleep. He looks in when he walks past my room, but he hardly ever checks to see if I’m still awake.