Rabbit Stew – Gargleblaster #171

Rabbit Stew

“Go on Ken, how often?”

“Telling you mate, me and Maureen Cassidy are like rabbits. We never stop.”

“What about her old man. He’s a vicious bastard.”

“That silly old fart, he’ll never know.”

Mr. Cassidy cocked his shotgun, he’d heard enough.



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Just Grab The Box – A 100 Word Story

A 100 word story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.

Just Grab The Box

“Hurry up Jimmy! Just grab the box marked invoices and let’s get out of here before anyone finds us.”

“Can’t do it Billy.”

“What do you mean. It’s simple enough. It’s the box right in front of you. Now get a move on.”

“But Billy, it’s looking at me. I’m scared.”

“Bloody hell Jimmy, don’t be so stupid! It’s dead, stuffed. Get out of the way you idiot, I’ll get it.”

As Billy stooped to pick up the box the head moved, the mouth opened, everything went black. Jimmy turned to run but couldn’t, something had a hold of him.


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Anybody Seen The Kids? – Gargleblaster #170 Summer Series

Anybody Seen The Kids?

They were an odd family, particularly the dad, nasty piece of work. The kids seemed OK, Daisy and Marigold.

Nobody noticed they were missing, not at first.

Then yesterday the police arrived, took the parents away and started digging up the garden.


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‘The Rain Was alive’ – A 100 Word Story

Another 100 word story. This one came about following a prompt to write Twitter Fiction from #ThePush.  It made me want to write something a little longer than 140 characters. The prompt was ‘The rain was alive.’

The Rain Was Alive

The rain was alive. I could feel droplets trickling into my ears, invading my mind with their sweet talk. The rest soaked through my clothes, slowly, seductively. Cold, wet fingers reached out, wrapping themselves around every part of my body.

The pleasure was intoxicating, overwhelming, until the excruciating pain started. The raindrops tiny teeth began slowly to eat me alive. The water in my mouth drowned out my final, agonizing screams.

The sun watched on patiently. In a short while the rain would soak away and she would begin to dry out those fleshless bones ready for a crunchy feast.



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‘Arriving Home’ – A 100 Word Story

A 100 word story for this weekend’s ‘Light & Shade’ challenge.

Image Lyssa Medana

Image Lyssa Medana

Arriving Home

James picked up his phone.

“Ah, Mr. Jones, nice to speak to you again. Just letting you know, everything has been taken care of, exactly as we agreed. Your wife is dead. When you get home you’ll see her keys in the door. You’ll find her on the kitchen floor. It will look like a heart attack. They’ll say it probably happened as she was bringing in the weekly shopping. We’ve left groceries scattered on the floor just to complete the picture. We suggest you phone the police straight away. Oh and Mr. Jones, do your best to look upset.”


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‘It’s Time’ – 100 Word Story For Friday Fictioneers

A story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.

It’s Time

You’re not going to believe this but I’m telling you, it really happened. One day we found three small alien creatures, in a box, outside our back door. Mum was all for calling the police but we persuaded her to let us keep them.

Anyway, that was three months ago now. They’ve settled in OK but said nothing, that was until last night, when, out of the blue, one of them said,

“Look at your sky. Our friends are coming.”

Just like that, nothing else. So I looked. It was weird and the noise…

Then they came. Millions of them.




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Christmas Envy


Christmas Envy

The bloke, at number 43, has another Christmas decoration on his front lawn, a six-foot inflatable Mermaid.  Looks great. I want one.

The bastard guessed what I was planning. The mermaid’s now on his roof.

Wonder where I put my  ladder?


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A Bargain

A short story for this week’s ‘Light & Shade’ challenge. The prompt is -‘You pays your money and you takes your choice.’

A Bargain

“You pays your money and you takes your choice.”

“ I know Mr. Fletcher, you keep telling me but I’ve been all over your site and I can’t see anywhere where I can choose from.”

“You pays your money and you takes your choice.”

“As you know Mr. Fletcher, I’ve done the first bit. The £25,000 has been paid. I’ve checked, it’s left my account and gone into yours. Now all I need from you is some information about how I go about choosing. As I’ve said, a few times now, your website is a bit vague in that department.”

“You pays your money and you takes your choice.”

“Thank you for that Mr. Fletcher. I’m now wondering how we might move this conversation on. I do appreciate what it is that you keep telling me, a simple enough message I agree but, if you don’t mind me saying, it is a little unhelpful. Maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, you could describe in more detail, this ‘choice’ that you talk about?”

“You pays your money and you takes your choice.”

“Quite so Mr. Fletcher but if you say it again I’m going to kill you. I don’t wish to sound angry Mr. Fletcher, I’m not an aggressive person but I am finding this situation a little infuriating. You see, I had to take the money, the £25,000, from our joint account and the wife doesn’t know about it. If she finds out before I’ve made my choice … well, I hate to think what she might do!”

“You pays your money and you takes your choice.”

“I bloody well know that! I’m sorry Mr. Fletcher. Do accept my sincere apologies. It is most unlike me to use such foul and abusive language. I don’t know what came over me. I think it must be the stress. It’s just I can’t stand being with her any longer, the wife that is. I know it’s none of your concern but the woman is a nightmare and this is my only way out. Please, just give me a choice.”

“You pays your …”

“Mr. Fletcher! Mr. Fletcher! For God’s sake man, what are you doing? Please don’t hang up on me. You promised. Your advert said I could choose a new wife for a knockdown price of £25,000. Please Mr. Fletcher, I beg you, let me choose a new wife. Anyone will do, I’m not fussy. Mr. Fletcher?


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The SPaG Test – The Speakeasy #167

The SPaG Test

“You’re new ain’t you? What you in for?”

“Failed the spelling, punctuation and grammar test at Year 6. Never could get my head round where them apostrophes were supposed to go and as for an ellipsis, the less said the better. What about you?”

“Same, only for me it was the spelling. I put all the answers down as text speak but it seems like the examiner had no sense of humour. So I ended up with a six month sentence in this place.”

“What’s it like in here? I’m guessing it can’t be as bad as all the rumours you hear. Can it?”

“It’s worse mate! This is my second stint. I did a two month stretch at the end of Year 5 for getting my full stops, commas and exclamation marks in the wrong place. They reckoned I was doing it on purpose, had me marked down as a trouble maker, so I ended up here. The guards in this place are right bastards and as for the instructors … well. let’s just say you don’t want to get on the wrong side of them. Which Wing you on?”

“Wing J.”

“Well you’ve dropped lucky there. The chief screw over on that section is a Mr. Baldwin, not a bad bloke. Story is he used to be a teacher but got kicked out. Apparently he was one of those progressive types, you know, ‘learning for learnings sake’ and ‘testing ruins a child’s education’. Of course with this new breed of Ofsted Inspectors he didn’t stand a chance, so he ended up here. Poor bugger.”

“So what exactly happens here?”

“It’s a simple routine really. Try and get the hang of it early on and you shouldn’t have too many problems. They open our cells at 6.00am and we slop out, then go for breakfast. Then it’s straight to the instruction rooms. Depending who you’re instructor is, you might get time for lunch and a spell in the exercise yard, you might not. Then it’s back to your wing for an evening meal at 8.00pm. You’ll be back in your cell for 9.00pm, two hours homework and lights out at 11.00pm.”

“Bloody hell! I’m not sure if I’ll cope with that. Does anybody try to get out? Is there some sort of escape committee I could join?”

“Watch what you’re saying mate! Anybody hears you talking like that and we’ll all be in for it.”

“Sorry, but has anyone ever got out?”

“There was one lad, a friend of mine, we went to the same school, his name was Sam Chase. He was in here for poor spelling, punctuation and grammar and on top of that, he’d failed his mental arithmetic test. The poor bastard was being squeezed all ways by those sadistic instructors. He didn’t actually ‘escape’ but started acting really weird. Used to scream all night and then started banging his head on the desk during instruction.”

“So, what happened?”

“They let him out early. Last I heard he’d been sent to one of them special schools. He might have got out of here but Sam was never the same again.”



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Grandma’s Funeral – Gargleblaster #166

Grandma’s Funeral

The vicar stopped in mid-sentence. There was a noise coming from inside Grandma’s coffin.

People shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“Oh Shit!” I cried.

All eyes in the church turned and stared.

I’d suddenly worked out where my lost iPod was.


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