Micro-Fiction

A short selection of my Twitter fiction

Prof. Smith was suspicious of the Mayan 2013 calendar, offered for sale at the online auction site. He still bought it, though.

A Viking longboat burns brightly through a cloudless April night. Local teens have spoilt a good Friday night out. Again.

Do you need a novel idea to write a story? Try Astro Physics. It’s not rocket science, is it!

It was a civilized war. Both sides agreed for the maiming and killing to take place during office hours only.

Developer Maury Harty was mystified why his Baker Street apartments didn’t sell. He tried, but would never be rid of ‘Sherlock Homes’.

The Spartans were noble in victory. They toasted their captives, before eating their livers with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Why are some nutritional books so hard to stomach? They’d be easier as a digest.

Ancient Celtic shamans granted protection to a stone circle. Savvy local councillors broke the spell, and gave permission for a quarry.

I love working in the banking sector. The hours are good. The pay is phenomenal! When on CCTV, I never repeat the disguises.

Thomas compared family albums with his new neighbours. After gaining their trust, he stole more photos to add to his collection.

The Queen was presented with a wooden bench. Instead of bestowing it to a Royal park, she secretly sold it on eBay, just for the craic.

The politician’s integrity was questioned when the press revealed him as “Mr Leather 1999”. He foolishly claimed to have won in 2000.

He sounded so like Elvis. The judges spun their chairs, to find they’d been listening to an i-Pod and a set of speakers. It was Elvis.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step – and often ends with a long wait at Heathrow.

Photo: Home Sweet Home by Donna McNeely

Maureen was fed up of still being a show-house ‘meet and greet’. She should have worked her way up the ladder by now. Maybe if she’d learned better social skills. Or smiled a bit more. Maybe not. But she could spot the time-wasters a mile off. And here was one of them. She could tell by the car he drove and the way he looked. He wasn’t one of those young professional types that could afford an executive five-bed. He looked like a deluded dreamer, with a head chock-full of “Positive Thinking”, and this “Law of Attraction” malarkey. Him! Making himself at home. Here? “You’ve got to register, young man. Name and address. And occupation, if you’ve got one.” There were two forms on the desk. Maureen threw him a pen. Dave smiled – he had his own, thanks. She didn’t bother looking up until he’d gone. Dave didn’t even go and look at the house. He hadn’t registered – just filled in the competition entry form for the executive house. He must’ve got the wrong form. The sad loser. A month later, Maureen handed competition winner Dave his house keys in front of the local press. She hated positive thinking!