flash fiction, flashfiction, microfiction, short story, Uncategorized

‘King Creosote’


I couldn’t get the splinter out, even with tweezers.

“You realise that if I DO pull this out,” I said, “it’ll be like pulling the pin out a grenade and you might explode any second after?”

“That’s not true!” he protested.  “I only just got this splinter and I didn’t explode before that!”

Oh from the mouths of babes.  How are you supposed to reason with reason?

His pinkie, meanwhile, was looking more and more like a bloodwurst.  Before I could decide on the wisdom or otherwise of an unmarried man sticking his neighbour’s child’s fingers in his mouth, his dirty digits were between my teeth.  They tasted of sweat and creosote. He stood, I knelt.   He quietly broke wind in his shorts, which I could have done without.  I kept sucking but the splinter wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t touch the fence, Mum!” the boy suddenly cried out.  “It’s still wet!”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s