David's Short Fiction
The morning sun had barely begun to burn the dew from the lavender when the visitor arrived. He was a fuzzy, golden-belted bumblebee. From my vantage point at my table in the garden, I watched him navigate the stalks, his wings vibrating with a low, constant hum. He landed on a sprig of lavender with a clumsy grace, his weight causing the stem to dip and sway. He moved with a singular, frantic…
The coffee shop on the corner of Fleet Street was Julie and Morven's sanctuary from the relentless grind of criminal law. Mid-morning lattes were non-negotiable, even on the busiest days. "Did you see that?" Morven asked, setting down her cup. Julie looked up from her phone. "See what?" "Someone just snatched that woman's phone. On an electric bike -- flew past the window like a ghost." Julie…
Beneath the gnarled roots of the ancient hawthorn, where moonlight dares not tread, the cauldron rests. Its iron sides etched with runes long forgotten, pulsing faintly with a rhythm like a slow, sleeping heart. No flame licks beneath it, yet steam coils upward in spectral spirals, carrying whispers of names that haven’t been spoken in centuries. Some say it brews only shadow and memory; others…
Simon had always considered himself a creature of habit, finding comfort in the predictable rhythm of his days. But today, that rhythm had been disrupted by an unsettling undercurrent; a feeling that something was amiss. From the moment he stepped out of his apartment, a sense of being watched had prickled at the back of his neck, a sensation that persisted throughout his commute and into the…
My Dearest Elsie, I scarce have the strength to hold this pen, my fingers are near numb from scrubbing silver and folding napkins into what Master calls "swans" and I call "lumpy potatoes." Another party tonight; can you believe it? The third this week! The drawing room reeks of cigar smoke and desperation, and Lady Fenwick insists the champagne must be chilled exactly to "the temperature of a…
She sat at the table in their spacious kitchen, anticipating his arrival home. He was never late; she expected him to come bounding through the door at any moment, full of his infectious enthusiasm. The last few years had presented some challenges, but now she had the solution. A gift he had longed for and she could finally give him, even if her approach was unusual. He was on his drive home from…
The woman opposite me on the train would not stop talking at me! Not to me, at me. She wasn't opposite, as in directly in front of me at a shared table, but to my left, across the central aisle of the carriage. I'd made the first mistake of acknowledging her when I selected my seat. It's nice to be polite and pleasant to others; even strangers. I think I am a dying breed; so many people wander…
March 21st is World Poetry Day. I am not a poet, nor do I read much of it. I have a friend who is an amazing writer but sometimes it's too deep for me. I am a simple person! I've written three in my life, so here's one which helped me with my emotions on the death of my dog.
He opened his eyes to be greeted by shards of sunlight effortlessly radiating into the room. The golden rays faced no challenge breaking through the curtains. The room was still; not a sound. Glancing around, he was not sure what time it was. Spring had sprung and daylight hours were creeping earlier into each morning. As he reached for his phone on the sturdy bed-side cabinet, Owen was confident…