• This is Not a Test (a five-minute #freewrite)

    “This is not a test. Please file out of the building in an organised manner. Do not shove one another. Please remain calm and collected. I repeat: this is not a test.” The loudspeaker repeated those words in an endless litany. Though obviously a recorded voice, it was deep, impactful, and held a distinct authority that demanded to be taken seriously. Marie swallowed and cast an uneasy eye over her workmates. None of them were listening to the recording. Women screamed, men threw tables out the windows, some bodies followed the tables and landed with a crunch that was audible even at this great height, and the recording kept on…

  • A Dish Best Served Vengefully (a five-minute #freewrite)

    Pineapple. Helen sniffed, raised an eyebrow, then cast a death glare towards the departing pizza man. She had specifically stated that she wanted a meat pizza –eight meats– with not the tiniest sliver of that heinous fruit tarnishing the delectable glory. The pizza man had failed. How hard was it to follow an order? She had paid for the damned thing and she wanted to enjoy it. There would be no enjoying it now… unless… Humming a soft tune beneath her breath, Helen stuffed the pizza back into the box and shut it tight, wrapping it over and over with thick, grey duct tape. In the cupboard beside the oven…

  • The Harvest (a five-minute #freewrite)

    “A pig’s ear, eye of a fly, snot from a toad, and tail of a crab…” “Uh, sir, crabs don’t have tails.” The Master Mage raised an eyebrow and smiled. There was an almost condescending glint embedded deep within his eyes as he stared directly into mine, the gleam almost piercing my brain with its sharpness. “Crabs have tails,” he flared his nostrils. “The ones down the coast aways anyway. Do be a good lad and collect them for me, and don’t even try to give me one of those inferior tail-less crabs from this region. It must have a tail. It must be from down the coast.” I stood…

  • Jam Today, Jam Tomorrow, Jam Forever…

    Jam today, jam tomorrow… jam forever. A swish of the knife into the jar; another layer of jam over the bread. Raspberry, of course. Strawberry was for children and I most certainly am not a child. Not any longer. And never will be again, unless time travel becomes possible in my lifetime… and even then I wouldn’t be a child, I would just be a creep watching my child-self being, well, a child. Creepy. I spread another layer over the top of the last, raising the jammy goodness by another half centimetre. This would be the thickest jam sandwich in the history of jam sandwiches. A pity it won’t be…

  • By the Book (a five-minute #freewrite)

    It had to be done by the book. By the book. Elizabeth fingered the tiny book in her pocket and peered over her shoulder, nibbling at her lip as she searched the shadows. There were eyes on her neck… *they* were watching her. There was nothing –no one– in the room, but that didn’t mean shit; *they* could be invisible, *they* could be watching from hidden cameras, and *they* could even morph into the damned furniture. A lonely armchair sat in the corner. She glared at it then turned back to the door, wrapping her fingers around the fine leather-bound book in her pocket. It was the size of her…

  • The Wild and Woolly West (a we-write with @blueeyes8960)

    Part One Jake stood up and dusted off the seat of his britches as he looked undereyed at the glossy black stallion tossing his head in agitation. Approaching slowly and carefully he reached for the dangling reins all the while crooning softly to the spooked horse. At that moment Fury rose up on his hindquarters and pawed the air, trumpeting out a shrill whinny. With stiffened forelocks Fury’s hooves pounded down inches from Jake’s feet. “What the hell??” Jake exclaimed as he jumped back. It was then Jake saw the pieces of rattlesnake that Fury had just stomped into the dusty hard packed ground. Now it made sense as to…

  • Slather Me in Honey and Call Me a Fruitcake (a five-minute #freewrite)

    “Well, slather me in honey and call me a fruitcake!” “I don’t need to slather you in honey to call you a fruitcake, Joey,” I smirked. “Your fruitiness was evident long ago.” “Well, just slather me in honey then.” “Why?” Joey wiggled his eyebrows and placed a hand on his hip, wiggling his butt back and forth almost as quick as his eyebrows sashayed across his forehead. “Why would you slather anyone in honey?” He winked and pranced away, leaving me and my mind boggled. There were plenty of reasons to slather someone in honey –most of them sexy– but with Joey, who the hell knew what was going on…

  • A Scream in the Night (#weekendfreewrite)

    I woke suddenly, a deep rumbling shaking the house. “Not again,” I moaned, huddling in my blanket. This was the fourth time this week and evidently, once again, I was the only one who could feel it. Barry slept beside me, his snores buried beneath the rumbling, creaking wood –snores that would prohibit me from going back to sleep once this cursed shaking stopped– and the dogs at the end of the bed were also fast asleep, undisturbed by the trembling tremors. It was only me. It was always me. Shivering, I grabbed my glasses and placed them over my nose, grimacing at the smear my clumsy fingers had left…

  • “Puppy Love” (a five-minute #freewrite)

    Raising the coffee to my lips, I drained the entire cup in one long, deep gulp. The hot liquid coursed down my throat and infused my veins with life and vigor, allowing me to at last respond to the insulting words Jess had laid down upon me. “Puppy love,” I shrieked, unaware that my voice could reach such a pitch. “You’re wrong! Richard loves me and I love him. We’re soulmates!” Jess shook her head and kept her eyes fixed above my head with a small, smug smile painted across her face. “Why is it called puppy love, anyway? I love puppies, but not like that. I’m not a goddamned…

  • Darkness Descends (a five-minute #freewrite)

    Lana lowered her eyes, refusing to meet the forlorn gaze of a cracked and mouldy statue. Why had she come here? She wasn’t a church lady. This wasn’t even a real church. It might have been back in the day, it may have even been a glorious one, but now it was an old crumbling ruin run over by green and purple vines, stringy strangly weeds she couldn’t make sense of, and she was fairly certain she had seen a giant bat in there before it whooshed away to hide. It was just her luck. The one moment of religious calling –an awakening, if you will– and she stumbled into…