Category Archives: twist endings

A Natural End

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I sat opposite her, an uncomfortable silence hung in the air between us; like we were strangers unsure of what to talk about. I didn’t feel the need or urge to tell her anything. Everything we’d usually talk about just didn’t seem of importance – we didn’t want to talk anymore.

We fiddled with our phones, looked at our watches – not taking in the time at all – and looked around at the other people. We used to come to this bar all of the time, but now we didn’t recognise anybody. They were all strangers now, just like she was to me.

Several years and I didn’t feel anything for her anymore. All of the memories felt dull and repetitive. I didn’t want to be with her now, and I could tell she felt the same way. There’s no point holding onto a relationship that doesn’t bring you joy right? No point clinging to somebody who makes things feel like a chore rather than a pleasure. This relationship only survived out of a sense of duty to each other I guess; to somebody who has been in my life for so long.

It’s not like we hate each other; no argument, no bad feelings. We’ve just… run our course.

It happens to everyone. You just grow apart, develop different interests, evolve as a person. No matter how big of a part they play in your life, you can’t always be the same, or change in the same way. That’s just the way it is I thought.

I needed to end the silence that hung between us.

“I know we’ve known each other since school; been through a lot together… but do you think it’s time to admit that our friendship is over now?”

 

[292 words]

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Buttons

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It was when a button popped off, straining under the pressure of holding his blue shirt closed, that he realised something needed to be done. That shirt was the largest one he could find in the shop when he’d brought it, only a few months ago.

The thought of going to a specialist clothes shop, always called something ridiculous like ‘Big & Mighty’, to buy even larger sizes scared him into action. He needed to lose the weight, and fast.

He decided to be smart about it, to go to a doctor first and get the right advice. Crash diets just never worked.

At the doctors though, rather than taking his vitals and discussing the best exercises and healthy meal options, or telling him off for being so glutinous, the doctor simply asked about his life and how things were.

Unsure of what this had to do with anything, he thought for a second before attempting to answer.

He hadn’t really thought about himself lately, figured he was kinda stuck on automatic mode so to speak, going through the motions of daily life without really reflecting on it.

“Well”, he spoke hesitantly, “erm, I’ve just been working really. My mom died last year and I haven’t really wanted to do anything else. Just getting on with it.”

“And how do you feel about your mother’s death?” the doctor asked

He stopped to consider this question before bursting into tears. At first they simply streaked down his cheeks but the more he spoke the more they flowed, harder and harder, his face turning the colour of sweet red cherries.

Through heaving sobs he explained how much he missed her, how he was an only child who never knew his father and with no other family to speak of.

He spent the best part of an hour crying his heart out, talking about his feelings of loneliness, emptiness and uncertainty for his future. He shook with emotion.

Eventually he began to settle and calm down, and as the tears started to ease and subside, the doctor asked him to stand in front of the mirror. A little repulsed at the idea of looking at his fat, puffy, tear-stained face, he slowly got up and stepped over to the other side of the room where a full length mirror hung on the wall. He lifted his gaze unwillingly.

However, rather than the red plum of a face he was expecting, he was surprised to see a much slimmer man staring back.

“All of your “fat” was in fact emotional baggage you’ve been harbouring since your mother passed. You’ve been bottling it all up and with no other release, it simply has to go somewhere. Your fat was the physical manifestation of what you were feeling inside.”

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Her Favourite Pastime

She looked rather shy and nervous as she stepped into the café and looked around for a table. She waited patiently in the doorway for a little while and as a group got up to leave, she timidly sat in their now vacant seats.

Gently dropping her bag to the floor, she spotted a plastic shopping bag left underneath the table. She looked around to see if anyone was watching her before discreetly reaching for it. Taking a peek inside, she saw a dismembered human hand.

Interesting she thought, wrapping it back up and stuffing it into her own bag. She ordered herself a large latte and slice of carrot cake – eating them in peace as she watched people come and go around her. She didn’t feel so nervous anymore and was actually feeling rather content.

¨¨¨

 “Let’s have a look at you” she said to herself when she arrived back home a few hours later. She set her bag on the kitchen table and pulled out the plastic bag that contained the hand. The contents felt weird to touch and peering inside she saw jellified blood surrounding the dismembered extremity; just as weird to see. She went to put on a pair of vinyl gloves before unsheathing the hand from its bag.

It was most definitely the hand of a male, 30 to 35 years old she thought. A left hand; his dominate one it seemed. No fingerprints. these had been cut off with a blunt knife. The stump of his wrist had a neater edge to it, a sharper instrument used here, slicing right through the bone, veins and muscle tissue.

She admired the form and shape of it. Long artistic fingers, strong, soft skin. She didn’t have time to admire though. The skin would soon begin to turn black and decay if she didn’t carry out her usual procedures quickly.

She prepared the formaldehyde and a clear jar, cleaning the hand as best she could for display. When she had finished sometime later, she carefully lifted the jar and carried it to the top storey of her house. She placed it down gently in a space on her shelves that had been waiting to be filled.

Taking a step back she admired the collection of human hands that had been slowly developing over time. A tinge of sadness muddied her feelings of content completeness as she looked down at her own. One real, and one not.

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Trying to get home

“Can anyone spare one pound please?”

Silence fell. A small percentage of the passengers on the bus looked up whilst the majority were on their phones, reading books and magazines, or simply pretending not to hear anything.

“Please – I’m trying to get home. I just need one pound coin.”

A few more people stirred from their minds to witness the dishevelled man before them begging for change; the bus driver sighing with impatience.

“Just one pound. Please?” the man’s voice began to break; desperation seeping out of his being.

He looked at every single passenger as they sat before him, some of them looking around to see if anyone else was going to answer his pleas.

More passengers stepped onto the bus, skirting around him to get a seat.

“I’m just trying to get home. I don’t have enough to get home to my wife.” His voice broke again.

A woman sitting towards the back finally broke the tension and walked toward him whilst digging around in her bag for her purse.

“Here” she said gently, placing a shiny pound coin into his cold shaky hand.

The man thanked her profusely, almost weeping with joy at the prospect of being able to get the bus home.

The lady returned to her seat at the back of the bus feeling satisfied with her good deed, as the man went forward toward the driver to pay his bus fare. He looked at the driver and smiled. It was a smile that had just a hint of an evil in it.

He skipped off the bus happily, not going home at all. He ran to the next bus that had pulled up behind, his smile fading now…

“Can anyone spare one pound please?”

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Filed under based on real life, flash fiction, twist endings

In Hiding

The sound of my heavy breathing filled the air around me; moving my position slightly, the rustle of leaves and twigs added to my ears.

Feeling frustrated I tried to be as still, and as silent as possible. In the darkness of the cold December night, they cannot see me; the only thing that could draw attention to me would be the reverberation of my movements. They can’t get me if I make no sound at all.

Crouching down, I rested my head and back against the shed wall, I listened for the sound of encroaching footsteps, which would let me know of their eminent arrival. Voices could be heard getting further away, and I slowly began to lose my sense of entrapment.

I waited and listened, wanting to make sure that I was completely free to make my get away but soon the voices began to grow again. The crackling of dead leaves and twigs made their way slowly toward me.

In my crouched down position my knees began to ache tremendously. I couldn’t move without drawing attention to my location. I winced at the pain, now making it-self felt in the length of my legs.

Becoming more aware of my body, I noticed my palms felt damp with a cold sweat, and I felt the urge to itch my nose. I remained steadfast though. Perfectly statue-like in my hiding place.

The crunching of footsteps and the volume of voices grew louder now. Imminent capture was inevitable. My heart beat louder and stronger. Between a garden shed and a bush, I had no place to go. Why did they have to come back this way?

I closed my eyes on the darkness of the world, wishing myself invisible, distracted by the agony caused by my awkward placement. Trying to remain as still as possible a shrill voice broke through my thoughts…

“Found you! Our turn to hide!”

 

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The Girl in the Green Tshirt

The idea for this story came about whilst thinking about break-ups and how people dread running into their exes. I thought it was a decent idea and makes for a really good piece of flash fiction. I hope you enjoy it too.
SK …

The memory of her haunts me. I always regretted what I did to her; she didn’t deserve it. I was a selfish coward and it caused her pain. Friends tell me she has moved on, that she forgives me, but I don’t think I can forgive myself. I know deep down it still hurts her to think of me; I know her better than they do.

My soul becomes heavy whenever I think of her; my heart always stops whenever I think I see her; sometimes it’s just someone who looks similar, but occasionally, I swear it is her. The guys think I am going mad but it is definitely her. I only ever see her for a brief moment and always in a pale green t-shirt and skin tight jeans; a ghost haunting me. I have to keep reminding myself that she’s not dead, she can’t be a ghost.

Maybe my mind is just playing tricks on itself, a sign of my guilty conscience wishing it could turn back the hands of time. It’s true what they say, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. And I made her go; a single moment of weakness that completely changed our lives. I broke her, and I can’t forgive myself.

I picture her everywhere I go, tormented by what I did. I can forget sometimes, allowing myself to relax and enjoy myself a little but then I think I see her, pale green t-shirt and skin tight jeans, shimmying across the pub, or across the street and out of sight, breaking the calm that had briefly settled over me. Sometimes it’s like this phantom of my imagination is mocking me, looking over her shoulder and smirking at me, a glint of evil in her hazel eyes.

I’ve heard that she has moved on with her life, that I need to move on too; but how can I? Everywhere I go I’m reminded of her, even think I see her. Maybe I am going mad. Maybe I am destined to be tormented for the rest of my life as punishment for what I did.

~~/~~
  
It was just a coincidence that the first few times I saw him after our awful break up I was wearing pretty much the same outfit. Whilst part of me had wanted him to see me in something sexier to make him realise what he was missing, I did find it humorous that I was wearing the same outfit like ghosts seem to do in the movies. This gave me the idea of pretending to haunt him. I knew where he lived, where he worked, and where he went out with his buddies. All I had to do was walk on by.

It wasn’t much of a plan but I wanted to mess with his head a little, have some fun of my own after what he did to me.

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Runaway

The idea for this 125 word piece of flash fiction came to me when I was wondering round the Eden Project in Cornwall. It is more a snapshot of a life than a complete story in terms of a beginning, a middle and an end, but I like it and wanted to share it. SK…

I saw my chance and I took it. No stalling, no second guessing; I just went. I ran away.

I didn’t bother to look back; I had no care for those I had left behind. All I could see was the open road that lay before me. Brand new adventures, brand new discoveries waiting just for me. Freedom.

One foot in front of the other; step by step I went my own way. I instantly felt happier, enjoying my first real taste of freedom, when out of nowhere, I saw these hands appear at my sides. They grabbed at me, lifting me off my feet. That feeling of complete freedom vanished as I was pulled into my daddy’s arms:

“We’re not going that way Sweetie.”

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