Friday Flash Fiction: Trust

24 07 2009

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A bit of fun this week, qualifying for my new criteria for Friday Flash on the grounds it’s damn near impossible to sell this type of story due to the over-used nature of the sub-genre. Candy floss fiction. Black, naturally.

By Neil Beynon

As long as he lived he could never forget the smell of the street that night, the stench of piss wrapping itself around the diesel of the passing cars as they zipped past. He gripped the knife in his hand tight, his gut twisting like a caged cat and glanced around for a more substantial weapon. In the mouth of the alley Ceridwen stood unmoving. She blocked the path to the street.

“Why do you raise your knife?”

…Continue reading here:

Friday Flash Fiction: Endings

3 07 2009

This post has now moved. You can view it here: The precis follows:

There’s flash this week largely because I wanted to write something new but I wanted a warm up before I started. It is likely that F3 posting will continue to be a bit irregular as I need to start trying to write stuff that I have a chance of getting published elsewhere and so I’m planning to focus F3 more on story forms that only really work on the internet

This will by its nature mean that I have to be more selective about ideas and that will, in turn, take longer.

I’ll experiment to see what a likely frequency is and then let you know. For now here’s this weeks:

By Neil Beynon

I can tell their story just as easy as looking at them. Always can.

There is the woman leaning against the wall as if listening for something, only she isn’t listening. Not any more. Her purse has spilled open on the paving stones, a big chunky black Mercedes key, a mobile phone, and a note – a shopping list – flapping between her fingers in the breeze. A time written in biro on the back of her hand bearing the legend KIDS…

You can read the rest of the post here:

Friday Flash Fiction: Between the Breakers

29 05 2009

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Between the breakers
By Neil Beynon

He wobbles across the uneven rocks, scattered like broken teeth across the beach, until he reaches the smooth compressed sand beyond. He pauses for a moment, turns to look back at the cliffs behind him. If he is looking for something he does not find it on those rocky peaks looming large.

The tide is out and it takes him a little while to reach the edge of the ocean. He walks between the twin rows of breakers that line either side of his path like watery sentinels. He does not pause as he steps into the water, heedless of the cold saltwater on his shoes and trousers: it is not the first time he has done this. He wades out further into the water, ignoring the persistent slapping of the waves that almost push him back and his breath coming in short sharp breaths…

Read the rest of the post here:

Friday Flash Fiction: Move On

24 04 2009

This post has moved on (see what I did there?!). You can read it here: The precis follows:

Move on
By Neil Beynon

See the worn stones, uneven and scattered like die cast by the giants.
Let your feet find the path, they do not forget.

Feel your skin raise as you draw closer.
But do not worry: the magic will not hurt you.

…You can read the rest of this post here:

Friday Flash Fiction: Buck

10 04 2009

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This week’s flash fiction. Feedback, as ever, is welcome.

By Neil Beynon

It feels like I’ve been on the run forever. In reality it’s only been a few days and already I’m tired of it. The city is almost disserted, many of the shops are boarded up and construction works lie abandoned as if someone started operating on the city, trying to save it, and then gave up. The wind carries dust on it and whips round the corners of buildings that don’t look like they’ve been cleaned since they were built in the nineteen hundreds. This city bites. I raise my collar and start out across the square towards the hotel.

I can still taste the sugar from that too sweet soda. One more than I should have had and so thick with syrup that I could practically chew it, my heart is racing a little from the E numbers, my mouth covered in a light moss of acidity. Perhaps that is why I feel like the few people I encounter are staring at me, that they know what I am and why I am running. But how could they?…

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Friday Flash Fiction: Still Rising

27 03 2009

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Due to Internet fail I am posting this using the equivalent of smoke signals. It may look a mess.

Still Rising
By Neil Beynon

“Where are you going?”

Fahl stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning to the speaker with the creak of age as old as the tower he intended to walk up. It was Lumin staring defiantly back at him, his robes freshly pressed and his bright blue eyes gleaming in the torch light. Fahl sighed and leant on the rail that lined the stairs, in his other hand a long stone knife gleamed.

“Where are you going?” repeated Lumin.

“To do what must be done.”

“The city is no longer under siege Fahl.”

…You can read the full story here:

Friday Flash Fiction: Tongue

20 02 2009

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By Neil Beynon

“What is it?” you ask.

I say nothing.

You look up from your knees where you’ve dropped down to check why I have not moved. Your hair falls across your face, you push it back behind your ear with two fingers whose ghosts I feel on my neck and the brief glimpse of the sun through your window points out freckles I never noticed before. The room is musty still with the scent of the night before and I wish you’d opened the window while I was gone. You seem made of glass as the growing quiet between us knocks you on your arse.

…You can read all of tongue here:

Friday Flash Fiction: Thirteen

13 02 2009

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Bit of a scheduling error this week and so this is a little later than planned. Also, constant readers will recall Arches by Gareth L Powell was one of my favourite short stories of last year and GLP has an excerpt up on his site – check it out here.

Here’s my offering:

By Neil Beynon

There are tears in my eyes as we reach the summit and I can barely see.

Your hand slips into mine to pull me up. Your skin is soft and I feel light as air. I wouldn’t know you were holding me if it weren’t for the coldness of your flesh against mine. You do not linger against me. There is something you want to show me as you move across the flat plateau.

You look back at me from the cliff edge. The grey before the dawn makes you look like you walked off the silverscreen of some ancient movie and my heart is contemplating exploding from the ascent. It feels like we’ve climbed to the top of the world although, in reality, it’s only been a thirteen-minute climb; the feeling of height has more to do with the gradient of the hill and the flatness of the plain around us. If it were daylight we would be able to see across to the Crystal ranges where you were born.

…You can read the rest of this post here:

Friday Flash Fiction: A short story about nothing

30 01 2009

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A  short story about nothing
By Neil Beynon


It begins on a street.


I do not know why.


Indeed I have no idea where this is going except that the street is wet from the rain and cold from the wind and in front of me someone lies bleeding. The whole thing has an air of not being real until their hand grabs my ankle then I can feel their stickiness seeping through my sock. There is someone bleeding at my feet, dying perhaps and all I am doing is standing here. My brain slips into gear…

You can read the full post here:


Friday Flash Fiction: Full Meta Jacket

23 01 2009

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This week is themed on idea suggested by Gareth D Jones (altered film titles), please take time to check out excellent pieces from Shaun C Green and Gareth D Jones. No doubt there will be a full round up on Futurismic later. I hope you enjoy:


Full Meta Jacket

By Neil Beynon


I’m sitting in the small airless meeting room we use for interviews. It is stark white with no exterior window and a small pinewood table that almost fills the room. The chairs are stained with the echoes of hundreds of meetings and the blinds looking out at the reception area are closed. I do not want people to look in – it’s lunchtime and I’m writing.


Or at least I am meant to be writing. What I am actually doing is chewing my pen and wondering if this is the day it happens. If this is the day the words dry up. I write a line – “There was a man with only one eye.”

…Read the full post here: