Category Archives: smoke-long stories

Fiction that can be read
in the time it takes
to smoke a fag.

all that remains is the smell of orange 

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by geoff mcfetridge She counts the chairs in our dining room, one, two, three, four, five, six. She points to each chair as if unconvinced, her brow furrowed in concern. She circles the dining table…

all that remains is the smell of orange 

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by geoff mcfetridge She counts the chairs in our dining room, one, two, three, four, five, six. She points to each chair as if unconvinced, her brow furrowed in concern. She circles the dining table…

what did the maid think when she found broken glass in the rubbish?

I wrote this story yesterday, before sunrise, before I had to wake the kid up and drive him to school, before my customary breakfast of fruit and granola bowl at a cafe where they play soppy 80s music and let

what did the maid think when she found broken glass in the rubbish?

I wrote this story yesterday, before sunrise, before I had to wake the kid up and drive him to school, before my customary breakfast of fruit and granola bowl at a cafe where they play soppy 80s music and let

the butterfly collector

Here’s the link to my latest flash fiction on Hijacked Amygdala.  It’s about infidelity, the least original of sins. Also have a look at brilliant art and poetry from Anna Spoon. It blows the mind.   the butterfly collector It

the butterfly collector

Here’s the link to my latest flash fiction on Hijacked Amygdala.  It’s about infidelity, the least original of sins. Also have a look at brilliant art and poetry from Anna Spoon. It blows the mind.   the butterfly collector It

ernesto

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by deger bakir You wore a skirt, it was purple, a favourite, its lace fringe limp against your brown thighs. And a pink translucent blouse, the top buttons undone from which a crucified Jesus…

ernesto

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by deger bakir You wore a skirt, it was purple, a favourite, its lace fringe limp against your brown thighs. And a pink translucent blouse, the top buttons undone from which a crucified Jesus…

it takes half an hour to get home

She slides her feet forward so her scarred limbs stretch between the legs of standing passengers.

it takes half an hour to get home

She slides her feet forward so her scarred limbs stretch between the legs of standing passengers.

dead things

Dead Things: My flash fiction piece for the week on Hijacked Amygdala. Proceed with caution.

dead things

Dead Things: My flash fiction piece for the week on Hijacked Amygdala. Proceed with caution.

elastic phantasm

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
collage by Deger Bakir Kate and I were the only ones on the beach. The rains were over but the sky was still gray and people were afraid to come out. Even the seagulls stayed…

elastic phantasm

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
collage by Deger Bakir Kate and I were the only ones on the beach. The rains were over but the sky was still gray and people were afraid to come out. Even the seagulls stayed…

this ends badly

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by monika kozak I met her at a party, it was someone’s birthday, someone introduced us and I fell in love with her thick eyelashes and the dark shadows under her eyes. ‘I don’t…

this ends badly

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by monika kozak I met her at a party, it was someone’s birthday, someone introduced us and I fell in love with her thick eyelashes and the dark shadows under her eyes. ‘I don’t…

something about merry

1. Alexander spelt her name Merry but he pronounced it right, so his mother didn’t bother correcting him. Besides it suited her, thought Sophie– Mary was a cheerful little soul. 2. Mary cleaned their house, took care of Alexander, now

something about merry

1. Alexander spelt her name Merry but he pronounced it right, so his mother didn’t bother correcting him. Besides it suited her, thought Sophie– Mary was a cheerful little soul. 2. Mary cleaned their house, took care of Alexander, now

nina’s not a virgin

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by emma vakarelova They made love with the air conditioning turned off even when it hit 40 degrees celsius, the warmest summer on record. The smell of their sex hung in the air with…

nina’s not a virgin

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by emma vakarelova They made love with the air conditioning turned off even when it hit 40 degrees celsius, the warmest summer on record. The smell of their sex hung in the air with…

notes of a voyeur

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by poo reun i have fallen into the habit of waiting for her in the mornings. i like to watch her struggle with the cafe’s heavy glass doors, yellow bike helmet in one hand,…

notes of a voyeur

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
art by poo reun i have fallen into the habit of waiting for her in the mornings. i like to watch her struggle with the cafe’s heavy glass doors, yellow bike helmet in one hand,…

slumming 

I have new flash fiction up on Hijacked Amygdala:   When you tell them your name, they laugh, they say, what a wonderful name, like the fault was yours. In your head, you tap dance to Nabokov: Lolita, light of

slumming 

I have new flash fiction up on Hijacked Amygdala:   When you tell them your name, they laugh, they say, what a wonderful name, like the fault was yours. In your head, you tap dance to Nabokov: Lolita, light of

you don’t believe in fukú but fukú believes in you

I’ve just posted my first piece of fiction on hijackedamygdala.com: ‘you don’t believe in fukú but fukú believes in you’

you don’t believe in fukú but fukú believes in you

I’ve just posted my first piece of fiction on hijackedamygdala.com: ‘you don’t believe in fukú but fukú believes in you’

bitch riding on my coattails

I flagged down a cab with your dead weight on my arm. It had started to rain and you looked up, opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. Rain ran down your face, dragging your mascara. You looked like a painting.

bitch riding on my coattails

I flagged down a cab with your dead weight on my arm. It had started to rain and you looked up, opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. Rain ran down your face, dragging your mascara. You looked like a painting.

lola’s mobile

He entered her with her bottom on the sink and legs wrapped around his waist. He grabbed her hair and thrust his tongue deep in her mouth. She responded with equal ferocity and bit his lip. Fuck me hard, I don’t break.

lola’s mobile

He entered her with her bottom on the sink and legs wrapped around his waist. He grabbed her hair and thrust his tongue deep in her mouth. She responded with equal ferocity and bit his lip. Fuck me hard, I don’t break.

drinking and other acts with Charles Bukowski

‘How much would it cost me to feel like a man again,’ he asks the tallest of the three, the one whose eyes slant upward, her eyeliner is thick and precise, and Charles is lured by its edge. But she’s not a she, though that no longer matters. Not to Charles, not tonight.

drinking and other acts with Charles Bukowski

‘How much would it cost me to feel like a man again,’ he asks the tallest of the three, the one whose eyes slant upward, her eyeliner is thick and precise, and Charles is lured by its edge. But she’s not a she, though that no longer matters. Not to Charles, not tonight.