Flash fiction series: Why?


As a writer I love to dabble in different genres. It seems strange that in a calling so vitally linked to imagination, we might limit said imagination to just one path. However, I most certainly understand the difficulties in juggling projects – that’s why I love flash fiction so much. It’s a format that offers the chance to visit fantastic new worlds in passing, dancing between genres without the need to pause for breath. It’s imagination at high velocity, and it’s glorious.

Over the years I’ve written various pieces that have never seen the light of day. So what better place than my blog to let them free. My first piece is a short and sweet microfiction piece originally written for an Apex magazine competition. Welcome to microfiction horror, with Why?


When it grabs me with its fourth arm, I start to scream.

“Unlock the chamber!” I yell.

My desperate cry is smothered by the sound of sirens.  The room is lit in bursts of red and orange as the alarms wail, casting a bloody shadow over the tortured eyes staring up from the table.


The clinical team are yelling, mouths opening and closing in confusion.  They crowd around the glass that silences their words, pointing at the door.

“It’s sealed,” John mouths, the steam of his breath clouding the glass.

The thing slowly tightens the four handed grip that holds me.  There is a crack, a burst of electricity runs up my right arm.  I groan, then scream as the full force of the pain hits me.

“My arm!”

Slowly it drags me down towards the patchwork scars of its face.

It moans, a soft, wet gurgle. A stench of decay forces itself up my nose.

“Please just let me go,” I sob.

A dull thudding starts behind me.  I crane my neck.  John is desperately smashing a fire extinguisher against the hardened glass.

It makes another bubbling sound, blacked tongue waving just below me.

“Please, I don’t understand,” I sob.  A tear falls from my face to roll over the stitches below.

“Whhhyyy,” it finally groans.

“Just let me go,” I cry.

It grabs my neck with one hand, yanking me against its ruined face.

“WHYYYYY!” it roars.

“To see if we could!” I scream.

The hand around my neck begins to tighten. There’s a sickening crack. Thank God, I think to myself, they’re finally though the glass.

The darkness claims me before God does.


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Posted in Amwriting, Short Stories, Writing

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