Here are seven 50-word stories I have written this week, first published on my Hive Blog

Don’t Go Into That Forest

Ignoring warnings, from Grandmother and numerous signs at the forest’s edge, she slips through the gap, snagging her red cloak on barbed wire.

Darkness swallows her whole.

Back home, the old woman finds a note.

Forgive me. I’m in love.

She sighs.

Her granddaughter always did gravitate towards bad boys.

…

Referee In The Game Of Life

Weighing up good and bad, making recommendations for promotion and demotion. wasn’t as much fun as she’d imagined.

No one else wants the position, one of the other angels told her. It sucks.

The worst bit: working with the miserable colleague from Hell. He reeked of sulfur, pain and suffering.

…

Paralysed

I wake, unable to move, breathing laboured and painful.

The black dog lies on my chest.

My old friend.

My nemesis.

I struggle with the covers, dragging them over my head.

A useless shield.

Nothing can protect against the anxious thoughts buzzing around my mind, like a million angry wasps.

…

The Landowner

I’m staring down the barrel of a rather large gun. The man holding it is telling me to get the fuck off his land. I tell him I was born here. I hear the click of the safety and guess he doesn’t give a crap. I run, he starts shooting.

…

Deal Or No Deal

I hate negotiating with this arsehole.

He fidgets constantly while talking at you. Fingers run through greasy hair, up his nose, then he’s rummaging in his pants, adjusting his balls.

Finally, offering a stinking smile of broken, rotten, teeth, and his hand to shake, he says, “Deal or no deal?”

…

Chips With Everything

Excepting the occupier of the corner table, Cafe Chips With Everything!, is empty.

Anything else? Brenda asks, eyeing the clock.

Coffee, and small bowl of chips, untouched, he shakes his head, eyes red and glistening.

Internally Brenda sighs.

She texts her friend, running late, pulls up a chair, and listens.

…

Gradient

Things are definitely going downhill, fast!

He grins, gipping the baking tray, he’s perched on, knuckles white.

Cold blasts his face, whipping away breath, stinging eyes.

He lets out a Whoop!

Then, a tree looms large.

The smile falls from his face, and he from the tray, into a snowdrift.