Beyond the picket fence

not quite as it seems…




I wake entwined in dampness and cocooned by a foreboding fear. I am curled foetal like on her rug, my blonde matted hair undistinguishable from the faded pearl sheepskin. My fingers work in a rigorous dance, plucking and tearing at the knots though there is no fruit to my labour; time has presented an impossible obstacle. Her scent still lingers, a heady mix of stale breast milk and the sweetness of a newborn. The nursery is dwarfed by its mahogany timber cot, regal and resplendent in rose cotton sheets. A lone teddy reclines on a heart shaped pillow as though awaiting the child it is to protect Continue reading “Malice”

Merriment Markers

I yearned to gaze at her fully and etch her plentiful lips and youthful features into my memory. A glimpse had provided enough detail to piece together the last twelve months. She and I were similar, except there were no creases by her eyes or grooves beside her mouth. Richard had affectionately referred to my wrinkles as merriment markers; yet I hadn’t laughed in years. I tried to relax, attempting to soften my appearance. There was nowhere to hide from my husband’s lover as we sat together at the mediation, separated by not only by a table but also twenty years.

100 word fiction.



Oscar Loves Kirsty

Kirsty traced a finger over the embroidered floral letters on her pillowcase. She caressed the familiar curves that she had spelled a thousand times. Oscar with an O. She had once sought comfort inside that O, cocooned within its seamless sphere.

Oscar loves Kirsty.

She picked at the L, plucking at its fuchsia thread, tugging until it unraveled. Just as she had. Her nimble fingers then tore at the S until she was satisfied with her handiwork.

Oscar over Kirsty.

To walk a straight line

images-22 As age and comfort bestow their wares upon her, she decides that a deviation is necessary. Her course so far has been marked by her history and her future, the combination of which had brought her to this point. It would be too easy for her to forge ahead unchallenged; to follow the straight line as expected, but it is time for her to turn off. Only then will she follow her true path. Original flash fiction by V. Wylie (copyright)

Black Gold

‘I’m gunna plant truffles. Honey we’re gunna be rich!’ That was two long years ago. Dan gave up his farming job to tend to his project. He loved the spores like the newborn I crave. Continue reading “Black Gold”


img_0818Hands entwined they stumbled through the foliage; pressing forward against the undergrowth which attempted to restrain them.

“Hurry!” the man urged.

Her brother’s tiny footprints were carved into the moss like an ancient bas-relief; they mapped their path. She wondered if he had escaped. Too scared to leave when he did, she hid.

Two night’s passed before the man found her; luring her from her hiding spot by saying he was there to help.

They reached a bridge at the river’s edge. The footprints vanished.

“Where’s my brother?”

“I only needed one,” his smile twisted as he tightened his grip.

This piece of 100 word flash fiction is inspired by a weekly photographic prompt kindly provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Blue – Friday Fictioneers


They planted their garden together. She wanted blue hydrangeas but he wanted purple. Only the soil would determine their colour. They would grow to be purple; he always got his way.

The garden grew rapidly, fertile and abundant. Towering hedges sentinel like protected them from the outside. He liked it this way. He kept her to himself. At first she was flattered.

As the years passed his interest waned. The garden became unruly and wild, suffocating her under its canopy.

Then one day he left.

She’s cleared the garden back. Only the hydrangeas remain. This year their flowers were blue.

This is a flash fiction piece of exactly 100 words

Fade to Grey

images-10 His letter is almost transparent and the indigo ink has faded to grey. Her crooked fingers clutch at the paper, stained with age spots like the ones on her bony hands. She can hear his voice and imagines how he would look now that they are old. Instead she sees a young man, resplendent in his soldier’s uniform.

‘I’m not going make it. I wish you love and happiness, please let me go my love… Goodbye.’ it read.

Her tears forge their well-tracked path, spilling, and she whispers.

‘I will never leave you, see you soon my love, I’m nearly there.’

This is a flash fiction piece of exactly 100 words 

An Interrupted View


I rocked back on my plastic chair, craning my neck to take in the view. A view interrupted by teens with big eighties hair. I could just make out his car. It had been there for the whole lesson.

The bell rang and students jumped like gazelles.  I tried to leave when I heard the teacher call my name. Was it because I had rocked on the chair?

She signalled for me to sit and excused the others. ‘Your father has come to say goodbye.’

I turned toward the window. The car was gone.

I never saw my father again.

This is a flash fiction piece of exactly 100 words.

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