Nick Boldock - Writer

Very short fiction! (100 words or less)

The Morning After

My knuckles are a mess. My hand looks like I’ve had a fight with a cheese grater – and I only wish that I had. I dial Julie’s number. As I wait for the connection I try and piece together the fragmented memories from last night. It’s all a haze – I can remember necking shots in the Z Bar, then Julie flirting with John, then a fight outside, John on the floor, bleeding, not moving.

The phone goes to voicemail. Julie isn’t answering.

There’s a knock on the door. I answer it in a daze, arms outstretched, ready for the handcuffs.

Originally posted online at Lily Childs' Feardom (entry in the Friday Prediction 100-word challenge with a twist!), December 2011.

Blame

I’m so clumsy. One glance in the mirror and I can see the damage I’ve caused—a blooming black eye, a livid cut on the cheekbone just underneath. Gary helps me dab antiseptic on the wound, shushing me as I sob quietly into the back of my hand, stroking my hair and telling me I have to be more careful in future. He is right of course—just like always, this is all my fault. Clumsy, stupid me. I’ll just say I walked into a door. Again. I know Gary loves me really. He doesn’t mean it. It’s just me.

Originally published in Reader's Digest, November 2011 ("specially commended" in the RD 2011 100 word fiction competition).

Meat

I prod at the meat as it fries away in the pan. I haven’t cooked it right. It’s as tough as old boots. No good. There’s not enough love in this cooking.

What am I going to do? Maybe I can start again – check the seasoning, tenderise it a little better maybe?

It’s too late. Helmut’s in the bath. I cooked half of his penis, like he said, but I can’t take the rest now. We were going to eat together, but he’s already dead.

It wasn’t meant to be like this.

Originally posted on Status Stories - Short Fiction In 100 Words Or Less (Facebook Group), November 2011.

Sunday Driver

Forty miles per hour on a country road. I ask you. I'm sure this is some kind of conspiracy - I can imagine the man upstairs stroking his beard and quietly pissing himself at his hilarious practical joke. I'm swearing at the car in front but for some reason that doesn't work and it doesn't get any faster. I actually start to wish the driver has a heart attack, or at least a minor stroke. I wouldn't mind, but I only said I'd follow Dad because he said he knew the way. Never again.

Originally posted on Status Stories - Short Fiction In 100 Words Or Less (Facebook Group), September 2011.

Ferris Wheel

From the top of the ferris wheel I can see for miles. Somewhere over the twinkling lights of the city, towards the sea, I imagine I can see the Home. Smoke sneaks from the chimney and whispers out into the night sky, forming little shapes only I can see. I look down at the miniature people dotting the fairground. That one there, she could be my Mum. Or that one, with the blue hat and the long scarf. I keep looking, refusing to accept she just isn’t there, then it’s back down to earth and back to the Home, alone.

Second submission to Reader's Digest 100 Word Fiction Competition 2011 (not placed).

Night Crawler

Bastard coppers. Done me good and proper – “kerb crawling”, they say. As if. What do they think I am? Some sort of pervert? Only the proper freaks get done for that. No, me... I got lucky.

Originally published by Blink-Ink in their 2011 special Noir issue.