Stories in Golddust Magazine, Literally Stories, Idle Ink, Writer's Egg, CafeLit, McStorytellers, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, Down in the Dirt, Close to the Bone, Shooter, Soft Cartel, Fiction Junkies, and Heavenly Flower Publishing
Bobbing, just down there to the left.
It’s the time of the day that I resent. I need to finish walking the dog in fifteen, leave the house in twenty-five, be at the train station for six-thirty, into the office and at my computer for eight.
That’s enough, Charon.
There will be questions, that’s the problem. People following procedure, people showing initiative-
Enough, I said.
Continue reading “Plausible Deniability | Short Story”
Happy New Year folks,
A couple of bracing haiku for early January…
Steadfast
Wind-worn coping stones,
Stacked batters, wedged pinnings and
Steadfast throughstones. Still.
Slate
Crisp, frosted fronds,
Pure amidst the rutted tracks,
Beneath the slate skies.
*Thanks for reading, folks. Images courtesy of Michael Manning and Creativity103.com. My recent short stories include ‘Night Out‘ and ‘PLANET 4662/1183J/983!/11C‘.
Matthew Richardson is a writer of short stories. His work has featured in Gold Dust magazine, Literally Stories, Close to the Bone, McStorytellers, Penny Shorts, Soft Cartel, Whatever Keeps the Lights On, Flashback Fiction, Cafelit, Best MicroFiction 2021, Writer’s Egg, Idle Ink, The Wild Word, and Shooter magazine. He is a doctoral student at the University of Dundee, a lucky husband, and a proud father. He blogs at www.matthewjrichardson.com.
Happy Christmas readers and friends. I hope you and those dear to you have a lovely festive period.
It’s grey skies and a chill wind in Scotland as we head towards the year’s end, so here are a couple of moody haiku…
Coal
A year’s fag-end gloams,
Underlit by coals, over-
hung by mauve smoke skeins.
Continue reading “Coal and Curl | Haiku”
Eight bells, and stepping out of taxis, the sharpeners, the cashpoint visits, nervous chittering and you look fabs, and backslaps, bouncing on the balls of their feet as they wait for some straggler.
Nine, and the rush of warm air from the pub, the I’ll get us a tables, and this one’s on mes, and at the table it’s coats on the backs of chairs and seat swapping and the tacky surfaces, the beer mats flipped and everyone finding their places in conversations.
By ten the latecomers have arrived with embarrassed excuses and never mind you’re here nows, the finding of extra chairs and sorry is anybody sitting here, the tray of shuddering shot glasses that someone’s ordered on the sly, the this is how it started last time, the bonhomie a little less forced.
Continue reading “Night Out | Short Story”
We’re in the middle of a cold snap in Scotland, as you might be able to tell…
Caster
Caster dusting on
Bin lid and bough, sill and stoop.
Open, winter skies.
Continue reading “Caster and Creak | Haiku”
RECONNAISANCE REPORT – URGENT STOP
PLANET 4662/1183J/983!/11C STOP
FOR IMMEDIATE ONWARDS TRANSMISSION TO TRANSGALACTIC ANALYSIS CENTRE STOP
FAO ADMIRAL PEATY STOP
MA’AM STOP
AT THE MEDIAN LARGE SENSOR ARRAY YESTERDAY 2526HRS A NOTABLE OBSERVATION WAS MADE STOP
AS PER PROTOCOL WE ARE NOTIFYING YOU AS THE OBSERVED OBJECT AND PHENOMENA MEET THE CRITERIA FOR IMMEDIATE FLAGGING MEMO 62 V.3 REFERS STOP
Continue reading “Planet 4662/1183J/983!/11C | Short Story”
We’re through the darkness and into the dawn with a couple of haiku today…
Sleeping
Night thrown long, over
Sleeping byre, over quiet moor,
Over windswept swell.
Soft
Soft shift of embers.
Fragile whites, glowing ruby,
Fading in the dawn.
Continue reading “Sleeping and Soft | Haiku”
Loch Ness Monster, stamped long
Across a once-round coin.
A penny,
Pressed into nothing,
Into something more than money.
What route to the heavy, glass-bound rollers?
Which grasping hands, dark pockets, upholstery crevices before
Arriving iron-smelling, earth-born, newly pressed again?
How many through my own fingers
From museums and galleries,
Raucous funfairs and till-chimed gift shops?
Lost, slipped behind dust-bound bookshelves
Or down churning gutters beneath rumbling, work-bound feet.
That fate perhaps,
But for now a clammy, toddler’s hand
An o-shaped mouth,
A treasure, gleaming gold.
Continue reading “Loch Ness Monster, Stamped Long | Poetry”
Cupboards first.
Tins, jars, those broken strands of pasta that seem to get everywhere, the boxes of cereal with not even a quarter bowl left in them, all out onto the sideboard. Then a sponge and hot soapy water right innnn-to the crevices, into the hinges, across the front of the doors. Malcolm always likes the place gleaming.
Drawers next, and the follies of years past – pasta measurers, spiralizers – are laid out in the sink for all to see. The evidence of poor decisions made, of a lifestyle sought but never obtained.
Continue reading “Cleanliness is Next… | Short Story”
Matthew Richardson 