Road trip

Lysanne let her left hand dangle outside as the car sped along the highway. The window was all the way down, fresh, salty beach air tousling her hair and filling her lungs. 

They’d always wanted to go to the beach and finally here they were; sea on one side, LA on the other, rock and roll blasting from her beat up caddy’s tinny radio.

Lysanne took a long drag on her joint, “I told you we’d get here one day, baby.”

Robbie didn’t answer. He might have been asleep; it was hard to tell behind his dark shades. 

“Well if you’re sleeping that’s all the more for me,” she sucked in the sweet, herby smoke and slowly exhaled. 

She could have done without the marijuana, it would only make her sleepy. But she needed something to mask the stench of days on the road under the unforgiving California sun. 

“Gee, we’re stopping and taking a shower at the first motel we find,” she told him. 

His head lolled a little as she hit a bump on the road but he didn’t stir. 

“Lazy ass,” she muttered. 

Lysanne kept driving, until she was past the packed touristy beaches and even past the smaller, quieter beaches favoured by the locals. She and Robbie needed total privacy: you weren’t a runaway with nothing to run from. 

She was thinking about lying with him in the sun, watching it set, making out as the gentle waves lapped at their feet when the sudden blare of sirens and a flash of blue light jerked her out of her daydreams. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered, pulling over and hastening to put out the joint and throwing it down by the pedals. 

The officers walked quickly towards her and signalled for her to get out of her vehicle. Nervously she complied. 

“Is this your vehicle ma’am?” asked the shorter of the pair, who was wearing mirrored sunglasses and a thick, droopy mustache. 

“Yes, officer,” Lysanne replied, voice as sweet as she could make it. 

“ID? Says here it’s not insured,” said the taller of the officers, brandishing a long list of registration plate numbers at her. 

“Oh,” Lysanne stammered, handing over her license, “that must be a mistake.”

The short, moustachioed officer had noticed Robbie in the passenger seat, “that your boyfriend?”

“Yes, he’s just sleeping. Please don’t wake him.”

The officer began walking around the car, tapped Robbie on the shoulder through the open window, then straightened quickly, gaze snapping back to Lysanne.

He knew.

She hesitated only a second as she debated whether to run but it was enough for the tall officer to grab her by the wrists and twist them roughly behind her back. The other officer was talking hurriedly down his radio. 

Lysanne chanced feigning innocence, “is he alright?”

“Ma’am, are you aware that the man in your passenger seat is deceased?” 

She felt fear drop into her stomach like a stone. 

“I don’t – he… he…” no excuse was forthcoming. She felt the tears start thick and fast. 

They were reading her rights but all she could see was Robbie. And all she could hear was that girl giggling and moaning. And all she could feel was the same red-hot rage she’d felt before. 

“This is your fault!” She screamed at him as the officers dragged her toward their car. “It’s all your fault! You promised! You promised we’d be together forever! If you’d have just kept that promise I’d never have had to do this!”

For today’s Flash Fiction Challenge the prompt was ‘write a road trip story’. I hope you enjoyed my twist on it: a taste of the 70s with a dash of murder. 

If I made a TV show…

That’s today’s Flash Fiction Challenge prompt: if you could make a a TV show what would it be? 

I thought about it and there’s already a story I’d love to see as some weird buddy cop style show. 

It’s an old favourite so I’m copping (heh) out a bit and posting a throwback for today’s prompt. 

I feel like this would be the pilot and week by week we would see their antics unfold…

The Swan of Death


You have morbid thoughts as a parent. It’s normal.

At least, I think it is.

Nothing murderous just what if I drop him on his head? What if he gets run over by the school bus? What if I don’t teach him to cook chicken right and he goes off to college and dies trying to make chicken ramen?

Does chicken ramen even have real chicken in it? Probably not.

Anyway, those kind of thoughts. Normal anxiety-ridden mom stuff.

Continue reading “Wavelengths”

Claws Out as Gryffindors Cry Favouritism

Viewers were left stunned last night when fisticuffs broke out in the Big Brother castle.

This year, weekly tasks have housemates battle it out to win a spot in comfortable Gryffindor Tower or slum it in the Slytherin Dungeon.

Housemates Harry, Ron and Hermione are the only housemates to have won every task, quickly becoming a tight-knit trio and audience favourites.

But now it looks like the honeymoon might be over. Continue reading “Claws Out as Gryffindors Cry Favouritism”

Weird News

Um, so today’s prompt was to Google ‘Weird News’ and write the first story that came up and it was… um… interesting. My initial thought was… oh… God.

So before you dive in I just want to stress that the characters in this story are NOT meant to represent real people. It’s a real story, about real positions within the White House but the characters I created are entirely fictional. I’m British and a bit dumb when it comes to politics – I don’t even know who the actual Chief of Staff is (or how his hairline is doing). Seriously, I’m clueless. This thing is based more on the West Wing than real life…


“How did he get in?”

“I don’t know, sir, we’re still investigating.”

The Chief of Staff ran his fingers through his thinning hair. This was his dream job, why did it feel like a nightmare?

“Has it really only been eight months? Don’t… answer that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can go now, but I want to know immediately if you find anything else out.”

“Of course, sir.” Wallace backed out of the office and closed the door gently behind him. He’d been yelled at more than once for letting it slam. Delicacy was just not something they taught you in the Marines.

He’d made his Momma proud when he was appointed White House Head of Security. And since the inauguration he’d seen threat after threat just around the corner. He was constantly on edge but nothing had got past him yet.

He wasn’t about to let some sneaky punk make him let his Momma down.

As he approached the second floor of the Executive Residence he heard the President’s continued yelling. Wallace understood that he was naturally shaken by the security breach but he seemed more concerned with fixing his appearance than finding the culprit.

“Willis,” he said as soon as he saw the burly Head of Security, “have you found out who did this?”

“Not yet, Mr President,” Wallace replied, resisting the urge to correct the Commander in Chief: he was hardly going to start getting his name right eight months down the line.

“Get on with it then,” he waved his hands and turned back to yelling at the huddle of nervous-looking staff all trying to calm him down.

Wallace nodded and gestured to his second-in-command, Ramirez, to follow him out in to the hallway.

“Anything?” he asked in hushed tones.

“Nothing. Everything was locked down, still is locked down, no sign of forced entry – in fact, there’s no sign anyone has even been here, it’s… a total mystery.”

“Ain’t no such thing, we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Wallace clapped his deputy on the shoulder, “have we gone through all the CCTV?”

“Combing through it now,” Ramirez nodded, “zilch so far.”

Wallace grunted, “I need more coffee.”

He started to turn in the direction of the kitchen but stopped when he saw an aide scoot past him into the President’s suite.

Her face was white as a sheet, shoulders hunched as if to protect herself. Wallace’s trained senses honed in on the danger immediately.

He watched from the doorway as the young woman approached the President. He couldn’t hear her words over the ruckus but he saw her shakily hand over a folder.

A hush fell over the crowded reception room as the President opened the folder and read the memo within.

“Who did you say this was from?”

The aide cleared her throat, “North Korea, Mr President.”

“Wallace!” the President shouted.

Wallace hurried over and quickly read the memo the President held out to him.

“I want this sorted out by noon,” he said, not waiting for an answer before striding into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Wallace frowned and gestured for his entire team to follow him into the empty meeting room next door.

He waited for the last junior officer to close the door behind himself before speaking.

“I’m just going to say this straight out. There’s been another incident in North Korea. Exactly like this one. No signs of forced entry, no signs of the culprit.”

“Exactly like this one?” Asked Ramirez, raising his eyebrows, “even with the… ” He gestured to his shaved head.

Wallace nodded, “someone, somehow, for some reason, has switched their hair.”


Flash Fiction Challenge Day 3: “Weird News”