Strangers Lost [Short Story]

You lost? She blinks once. How drunk did you have to be to hear the moon? You deaf too?, the moon asks – but it wasn’t the moon – a boy was sitting on the roof just outside the window. She sticks her head out for a better look. The moonlit boy shrugs and sinks back into his beanbag. Cool place you’ve got here. He scoffs, Ah, she speaks. She crawls onto the roof with him. The boy didn’t seem to mind, she thinks. The side of the house they were on was nowhere near the nauseating yard. Underoath played from a tiny speaker nearby. She winced at the fact that she knew the band, let alone the song. She sits where it wasn’t awkward – where she thought wasn’t awkward. She stared at him, staring at the moon, before staring back herself. Stare too long and you’ll get moon blinked. She saw the boy smirk, or maybe she imagined it. Now, if only your taste in literature was as good as your taste in company. She shrugs.

The moon continued to tell tales to the two still strangers under her light. It spoke as it trekked the sky, but the sun wasn’t far behind. Though La Lune’s tale was far from finished, the book was about to close. The moonlit boy stands to pick up the tiny speaker. Hey, I was listening to that. The boy nods then shrugs. He steps around the girl and slips back into the window. Hello, goodbye.

© coversonyourbed

Word count: 250
The probable sequel, maybe. Read part one?

Strangers Lost [Short Story]

She swirled the soda in her cup and listened to the clink-clink-clinking the ice made against the glass. The music was blaring, but she was deaf to everything. This wasn’t her scene and she shouldn’t have gone before she stepped into the door. Right now, it’s like she had forgotten what it is to have fun. She convinced herself this was better than being locked up in her room – like she has been for weeks now. She looks up from her drink and starts to count the number of unsmiling faces in the room. Her eyes stop at a mirror one, she counts.

She stands and pushes through the crowd of strangers to get somewhere more tolerable. The yard was just as nauseating as the living room; she bolts back inside. She tries to remember whose party this was or who invited her out in the first place – she thinks she’s forgotten, or maybe she had no clue at all. Upstairs, she let her ears enjoy the muted version of the noise blasting from downstairs. She takes her time through the hall of picture-perfect, framed families and muffled, moaning doors, until she comes across one slightly ajar. The cold, night air greeted her as she pushed it open; the flapping curtains let the moonlight dance around in the dark room. She watched the moon peek in and out from behind the folds of the drapes. Before she knew it, she was at the sill, meeting the moon’s call. You lost?

© coversonyourbed

Word count: 250
There’s a probable sequel, maybe.
Read part two?

Counting to Three [Flash Fiction]

He taps his fork fifteen times before picking it up – thrice on each prong, and thrice again on the handle. He stared at his napkin on the table. He was anxious; more than usual, he could feel. He looked at his watch, tapped it thrice and looked at it again. They were late by seven minutes and forty-seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three seconds. He turns to look at the entrance, the host looks back at him and he looks away.
     “I don’t think it’d be a great idea,” the mother of his child had said earlier that week, “Jenny’s never been to a fancy restaurant before and she might be a handful.”
     “But not a lot of fast food places really get it when I have to tap the thing I want three times before ordering, and it certainly doesn’t help when the menu’s way up on the wall.”
     He’d only seen his daughter a few times and it wasn’t until tonight that he’d been allowed to meet her. Giving her up wasn’t really his idea, but everyone thought it would be best. She’d been told stories of him, he was sure and almost too certain that they were all of his condition.
     He turned to look at his watch again and tapped it three times before looking up at the door. Right at that moment, he saw his daughter come in, her mom in tow. He stood up, then sat back down, then stood up, then sat back down, then stood back up to greet them.
     “Jenny, this is your dad,” Jenny’s mom said when they came up to him.
     Jenny stared at him; fourteen seconds, he counted.
     “Hello,” he said with a smile and a wave. “Hello, hello.” He said straight after.
     Jenny smiled. Her hair band was on crooked, he noticed. A curl of hair had fallen to her forehead. Her frilly, white dress had a stain at the side and her right sock was pulled up higher than the other one.
     She went up to him, in four, swift steps, he counted, and gave him a hug. Three seconds, he counted and wondered if he should let go. Three more seconds he counted and she wasn’t letting go. Three more seconds, he counted, but he didn’t mind.

© coversonyourbed

Word count: 385

Coffee Headache [Flash Fiction]

My eyelids were on their way down when the fairy called my name. I was gone: too far into my own head, I couldn’t ignore it.
     “Hello,” I say. She says nothing. “Hello,” I say again. Nothing. I pick the lid off a porcelain jar and put a pinch of sugar on my palm. I hold it up to her and she perches to rest.
     She looks at the sugar and politely declines. She thrust her tiny foot into the mound and kicked up a sugar-dust cloud.
     “Hello,” she says, finally. “Why did you wake?”
     “Shouldn’t have I?” I ask.
     “No human should see a fairy. No half-asleep human should see a fairy.” She says, sitting down at the edge of my palm.
     “But you called my name.” I say, confused.
     “I called a name, it just happened to be yours.”
     “So, you weren’t calling for me?”
     “I wasn’t calling for anyone, no.” She stands and shakes sugar off her small delicate wings.
     I wonder what she meant when she said no human should see a fairy. Was she not a fairy or had I become non-human? My eyelids were starting to drop again; the left from being pulled down by the not-fairy, and the right from lack of will.

I wake up – sugar in my palm, pain in my head. The clock doesn’t move. The fairy was gone. Fairy? What fairy? Sugar? Where’s my coffee?

© coversonyourbed

Word count: 238
Are you who you are by what you are capable of? I need sleep – you do too. Goodnight. I’m still trying to get my posting schedule back on track I swear.

Distractions and Surprises [Flash Fiction]

“So, you had fun?” I ask as we walk up to her front door.

     For the first time tonight, she pockets her phone. A smile lights up her face, reminding me why I was on this date.

     “Yes, thank you.” We stand at her porch, she hesitates for the knob.

     “Really,” I would’ve already melted if she had been looking at me like this all night, “you seemed, uhm, distracted.”

     She takes my hand and leans in. I was almost begging for it when my lips found hers.

     I hear the door open, she jumps back, “Mom?”

     “Sorry” she says, smiling again. She picks up the tiny sleepyhead at the door. “I had a great time. I’ll see you soon?”

© coversonyourbed

Word count: 120

I’m not sure if I successfully revealed that she wasn’t a great date or that he didn’t know she had a kid. I might write a sequel or a prequel for this one. Was listening to Birdy’s Keeping Your Head Up while writing this for some reason.

Daytime Nightmares [Flash Fiction]


I awoke at the sound of grinding stone.

     “Mum?” Molly cried as she struggled to push away the heavy lid of my sarcophagus. I looked at my watch; 9:30 AM. I watch her struggle a bit before sliding the lid off completely.

     I sit up. “Nightmare?” I ask, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

     She nods and picks up her stuffed werewolf from the floor before climbing in beside me.

     “I told you not to watch those Halloween Specials, they always give you nightmares.” I lay beside her and pull close the lid.

     “Sleep tight, Molly,” I say

     “Sweet dreams, mummy.”


Word count: 100
Happy Halloween!

Afternoon Sun [Short Story]

She put her fingers to the keys wondering if she had lost it. She lets a note ring; it was almost too loud for the deafening silence in the empty room.
     “See?” she thinks as she pushes down on a chord. “It’s just like riding a bike.”
     She wasn’t really surprised; she’s been playing for years and no day would go by without practice. She had just never played on this particular piano before, well, played like herself at least.

* * *

It was her first day in the senior high at a new school. She’s been used to moving around a lot, or at least that’s what she tells everyone. This time, however, she couldn’t help but feel completely out of place.
     She walks into an empty music room, that same afternoon, and slumps down behind the piano. She had just learned that the school didn’t have a school band or a music club she could join. She stared out the window and listened to the din out in the yard.
     The sound of a doorknob turning startled her. She turns to see a boy at the door.
     “Oh! E-excuse me. I didn’t think there would be anybody here.” He stammers, his face looking as surprised as hers. The boy walks toward the piano. “I’m usually the only one who hangs out here after school.”
     He sits beside the girl and turns the lid on the piano. He was smiling now. Without second thought, he starts to play Fiona Apple’s Pure Imagination.
     The boy seemed to have lost himself– forgetting that he wasn’t alone. The girl could’ve sworn it was the afternoon sun, but the boy’s face was brighter as he played. She wondered if she looked as happy as he does when she played.
     “That was wonderful,” she whispered almost accidentally as the boy finished.
     “I could teach you,” the boy offers. She stays silent but she nodds.
     And so, for the next three weeks, every day after school, she would come to the music room and “learn” piano from him.

* * *

Again, she plays a chord, and another, then intricate arpeggios and ostinatos.      Before she knew it, she was playing like she usually would. She keeps her finger on the last note. Then, silence.
     A clap almost made her jump off her seat. She turns to see the boy.
     “I-I thought you couldn’t make it today?” she asks, surprised.
     “I thought I couldn’t,” he says simply and walks to sit beside her.
     “You aren’t mad?” The girl asks guilty.
     “You want to know why I learned piano?” asks the boy instead. “On the last day of the middle school,” He didn’t wait for her response. “I had wondered into the music room and saw a girl at the piano. I watched as she played and thought that the only way I could talk to her was if I could play as well as she did; so I practiced all summer. Little did I know, however, that I had to move away before school started; before I could play for her.”
     “So you knew?” The girl asked, confused, “And I was that little girl?”
     “I had my doubts,” the boy answers, “until I saw you shining like the afternoon sun.”


Word count: 545

A friend noticed that I would usually write my first person narratives as a female character. So instead of indulging him and writing in a first person narrative with a male voice, I instead wrote a third person narrative, still with a female protagonist. Also, I did try to cut down the word count to at least 500 and I probably will in the future, but for now I can’t be bothered.

For some reason, while I was writing this, the song I imagined the girl playing Favorite Things from The Sound of Music.

Unseen and Unspoken [Flash Fiction]

I fill my lungs with the old car’s new smell. The seatbelt hugs me against some invisible danger. I’m lost as he drives recklessly through familiar roads. My half-closed eyes stare at his wide-eyed anticipation; lust seeps from his smile. I try to keep from vomiting – I tried. Alcohol pours from my mouth, profanities from his. The car veers hard to the right.

I crawl out of the car, pain in my head and vomit in my hair. I worm away as far as I can and look up to a sky as black as the asphalt I lay on.


Word count: 100
This piece was a lazy attempt at an exact 100 word count drabble. I may have gone overboard with my descriptions in an attempt to paint a picture and it may have backfired.