Two more stories done!

Hecuba was finished last night and today I knocked out another flash fiction story, based on the myth of Dryope. And here it is, as a taster.

This is very rough, please remember that!



Amy had been going to the woods since she was a child. They backed onto the back of her house and, growing up, she had seen them as an extension of her parent’s neatly tended garden. It was an ancient wood, vast and silent, home to monsters and faeries, and Amy roamed them freely. The woods were hers and she knew every corner of them. She took treats to the faeries that lived in the clearing, and talked to them for hours, even though they never talked back. She fought dragons and ogres with swords made from branches, snapped from trees. And when she was ten she built a den, with leaves and branches woven together around the frame her father had built from her. The sound of her laughter and chattering voice always carried easily in the quiet.

When Amy was fourteen she started taking boys to the woods. Sometimes they carved her names into the rough bark of ancient trees, other times they would chase her around, and she would shriek and laugh, as she ran. And when they caught her, they would fall together to the ground and roll around on a blanket of crunching leaves.

Amy got married when she was twenty, to a young man called John, and when she was twenty-two they had a child. She took John and their baby to the woods one crisp autumn day and showed him her old den and all the places where boys had carved her name into the trunks of the ancient trees. But when she broke off a twig, to show him how to slay a dragon with a sword, she found her feet stuck fast.

She laughed, at first, supporting herself on her husband’s arm, as she tried to pull her feet out, but the more she pulled, the more stuck she found herself. She reached down to try and free her feet that way and found that they had, somehow, become tangled in some roots. Amy yanked at them until she managed to snap one off, sending a sharp ribbon of pain, shooting up her leg. She cried out, swore and rolled up her jeans to rub her leg.

Rough brown bark covered her calves like some sort of vast scab. Amy picked at it with her fingernails and managed to peel away a small chunk, which stung painfully, as though she’d peeled away a small piece of her own skin. She swore again, more from the surprise of it, and tried again, peeling away a larger bit of bark. It came free with a painful tug, but already the scabby growth had spread its way up to her knees.

John knelt down in front of her and, reaching around their baby strapped to his chest, he tried to help, peeling and ripping chunks of bark from her skin. But it carried on growing, spreading, creeping up her body, faster than either of them could tear it away.

It reached her arms, fixing them in place, as it continued to spread along the length of her fingers, turning them from flesh to wood, from fingers to twigs. Tears streamed down Amy’s face, becoming knots of wood as the bark moved up her throat, across her jaw, along her nose, covering her eyes, until, finally, a tree stood where Amy had been a moment before.

And once John had stopped screaming, and swearing, and crying, and had finally left, clutching his baby tightly to his chest, the silence returned.

A short story taster

Well, I tried to write a flash fiction, which can be anything under 1000 words, depending on who you talk to. I wanted to keep it under 500, but it’s 569, so, close but no banana. Here it is, all the same. A rough flash fiction (my first) part of my Greek myth rewrite collection. This is based on the story of Circe.


She was singing in the kitchen downstairs. Tony could hear her from the bathroom above, as he worked to fix the broken boiler. It was a sweet sounding song, with a catchy tune, but no matter how hard he tried to make it out, the words would just slip out of his mind. But he found himself humming along, all the same, as he changed the pump and slurped the hot, sweet tea she’d brought him.

Then he dropped the pump. It just fell out of his fingers, disappearing beneath the sink. He swore and dropped to his knees, reaching out to get it, but his fingers were thick and clumsy and he couldn’t seem to get a grip. He swore again and stretched a little further, until a painful spasm forced him to snatch his arm back. He rubbed at it until another spasm seized his calves and then his stomach, causing him to cry out and bend double.

It was the last thing he remembered. After that there was just pain, burning cramps in every single muscle in his body, spasms as those same muscles twitched and contracted, a pounding in his skull and the taste of blood on his lips. He couldn’t see. His vision was all blurred shapes and bright, dazzling stars. But he knew that his eyes were open. Somewhere, in all the pain, he knew that at least.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped, his vision cleared and everything was still.
Except . . . except he couldn’t feel anything. His whole body had gone numb, as though it had fallen asleep. Desperately he struggled to move, to wake his body, but to no avail. He was stuck.

Footsteps and then a pair of sandals and the hem of a pink dress appeared in front of him. Tony tried to open his mouth, to say something, to beg for help, to make a sound, anything! But he couldn’t. Nothing would come. Tears burned his eyes.

“Oh,” a voice said, the woman’s voice, sounding delighted. “You’re a pig! I don’t have any pigs.” Hands gripped him and, incredibly, he felt himself being lifted, held, carried, gently out of the bathroom and down the stairs. “You never know what people will become. I thought that it reflected their inner self, at first, but then I ended up with a two-headed snail and who is a two-headed snail on the inside?” She laughed, as she opened a door, and Tony was hit by the smell of fresh air and the brightness of the sun, before the ground rushed towards him, so fast it left him dizzy, as she set him down. “There! You look great and I’m sure you’ll be very happy here in your new home and you won’t be lonely. Here’s Mr Frog and Mr Badger to keep you company.” She moved backwards so that he could see the frog and badger garden ornaments, hidden behind her skirt.

A foot high, the two creatures were painted in ugly colours, reds and blues and greens, like cartoon characters in a circus. But their eyes were normal, a brown and a blue pair, both looking at him, both shimmering with tears.

And then the brown pair blinked and Tony knew what she had meant by them keeping him company.
Inside, he started to scream.

Hope people like it! :)