• 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…

  • Sound of Sirens (a five-minute #freewrite #wewrite with @dranuvar)

    Part One by @kaelci The streets were quiet –too quiet. People walked in pairs along the pathway, not a word spoken between them; cars were pulled to the side of the road, their engines silent and their chassis rusted; not a single tweet or screech emanated from the wildlife. If not for the people in formation, it would seem as though the world were dead. Rhys followed at their backs, unpaired, feeling self-conscious that no-one had been chosen to walk beside him, and curious as to where they were being guided. There had been no choice in the matter. The compelling force was strong; he could not resist, and neither…

  • It Began With a Bush (a #weekendfreewrite!)

    “It’s a conspiracy! Can’t you see it?” She walked away from the table, clenching her fists so tight it looked as though her nails would stab through her palms and emerge out the other side. Smirking, Hubert returned to his coffee, and quickly summoned a more serious disposition as Haley whipped around and glared. “Stop looking so smug,” she snapped. “If this new bush dies, the conspiracy has been confirmed. It’ll be the sixth bloody time! You won’t be able to deny it any longer.” Haley stalked out of the house, slamming the door behind her so hard the house trembled, and Hubert took a long, comforting slurp of his…

  • In a World of Fiction (a five-minute #freewrite)

    “It doesn’t have to be so realistic, you know,” Hugh rolled his eyes. “It’s your fiction, it’s your story, it’s your choice; it can be whatever you want. The damned zombies could smell like fruit loops if you wanted!” Jess wrinkled her brow and placed a protective hand over the thick pile of paper. “That may be so, but zombies would not smell like fruit loops in reality. They’re corpses! Dead, decaying, gross, wretched, and would curl your stomach with the slightest whiff of their nose-wrinkling odour.” Hugh threw his hands up into the air. “It’s not real! It doesn’t have to be realistic!” “You don’t understand, Hugh,” Jess sighed,…

  • 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…

  • Surprise! (a #weekendfreewrite)

    I left the house, feeling like a piano had been dropped on my head. The taxi stood waiting for me. Christ, I hate public transport. Rubbing at my aching temple, I sigh and fall into the seat, and wince at the stale scent of cigarette smoke that’s glued to the faux-wood fixtures, an odour that fights to find entry through my poor, aching nostrils and seeks to summon the entirety of last night’s booze out into the world within steel walls. “Where’ya headed?” The driver’s gruff voice stabs into my brain like a hot poker through ice-cream. “Uh, home,” I mutter. He turns and raises an eyebrow, and I avert…

  • 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…

  • “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…