Category Archives: Short story

What if Mata Hari lived?

So you know I’m totally psyched about a new project, it’s a buzz!

But tonight I have a new Flash Fiction. Last week the fabulous Chuck Wendig posted his customary Friday Flash Fiction challenge and a link to a random title generator – I got one I liked, and then forgot it. And got busy. So this week I tried the generator again. One of the options was actually Little man’s name – Little Man’s boys. It might be held for the future…. But this time round I did get Mata Hari in the Silence. Whoa.

<<side note – feel free to participate, Chuck dictates 1000 words max, this story is shy of 700, I leave it up to you>>

So I Googled. As you do. Did you know Mata Hari, the Dutch exotic dancer in the early 1900s, ultimately executed as a spy, never had her body claimed by a relative. Her body was donated to science and her head (for a courtesan and one of the world’s foremost exotic dancers, possibly the least interesting bit about her) kept in the Museum of Anatomy in Paris, but in 2000, archivists discovered that the head had disappeared, possibly as early as 1954, when the museum had been relocated. Again, whoa.

the picture is from here: how great is she? This pic is from 1910!! Visit the site.

the picture is from here:
how great is she? This pic is from 1910!! Visit the site.

What if she didn’t die? What if she was relocated to Argentina as many WW2 Nazi’s were many years later?

So I give you ‘Mata Hari in Silence’.

The delicate wind chime tinkles, no that’s not right, its more melodic than that. It, well it chimes, I’m far too worn out to come up with something witty.

The breeze bumps the crystals against each other, shards of light scatter every which way, falling across my hand, darting across chest. I’m transported back to a time when my life was exotic and exceptional, when diamonds adorned my body, music followed me, underscoring my every waking moment.

I mesmerised, I hypnotised and I entranced. My dancing cost people their lives, thousands of lives. It changed the world. Honestly.

You wouldn’t think it now, no one would. Most days I don’t even bother to think about it.  

Read the rest here – you know you want to!

Cimarron Session – flash fiction 2

Rioting butterflies

Tonight’s flash fiction challenge wrote itself really really quickly, which will be great for blog reader Rebecca as she wanted to read it before bed – you ask I deliver Bec!

So Chuck Wendig who really puts out the best flash fiction challenges I can find provided a link to a site that generates names for American military operations, we were to choose one and use the title for the story. So please enjoy

Rioting butterflies

The teacher stood at the front of the class. As she did every day.

She had loved school, that’s why she had become a teacher in the first place. Sure, like every kid even she’d had days where she didn’t want to go. Days when she’d faked nausea to get her nanna to come in her pale blue Holden and collect her, and they’d go back to her place where the clock ticked loudly and play checkers and eat honey toast and sip on luke warm sweet tea. Who wouldn’t want to skip school to do that.

But overall she’d loved school.

She looked over her class. The most flattering description she could summon was they were a motley bunch. These kids sure as hell did not love school.

As a group they were surly, disinterested, rebellious, disengaged, unreachable. Good god she didn’t even know how she dragged herself out of bed to come here each morning. Thank everything that was holy she wouldn’t have to do it ever again after Friday.

In the back corner, always the back corner, did students think there was some sort of forcefield that protected them from a teachers’ gaze, really. In the back corner two girls were tattooing themselves with a compass point, one had a ring through her nose, the other had one side of her head shaved, the remainder sticking in the air like a cockatoo.

Read the rest here

Flash fiction success

Here’s my response to the challenge thrown down by Chuck Wendig over on the Terrible Minds blog. My short story is Ne me quitte pas it means don’t leave me. 

Ne me quitte pas

Once upon a time.

Yes, you read it right. I’m starting this story with once upon a time. I have to. I have no choice. If I wrote this as it happened, if I remember it happening, make it real again, I’ll stop breathing. I imagine I’ll fold up like when you make one of those paper crane things, random folds, the paper disappearing, waiting to see what shape will emerge, only I’ll keep on folding and folding until I’ve disappeared completely.


Once upon a time there was a flying chariot. The standard kind of thing, seats too close together, not enough space for your luggage, people that recline their seats while you have your tray table down, attendants with the thickest reddest lips you’ve ever seen. You’re basic fairytale nightmare.

But there was one person on that chariot that was fit to burst with excitement.

The faded, stained chairs, the frayed seatbelts, the magazines that had been thumbed by a thousand other fingers, they were magical.

Cocooned in her seat the diminutive Rebecca. No, something more fairytale, Gretel, no Rapunzel, no. What is it with fairytale names for crying out loud, none of these are going to work. Heidi! Yes.

The full story can be found on the page in the menu at the top of the page or click the link. Hope you enjoy, would love to hear what you think..