17 Very Funny Very Short Stories: Volume 1: FunnyInFiveHundred.com Flash Fiction Collection. 

Get a free copy of this book, featuring my story The Smell in the Library.



Flash Fiction Friday. Concern. Katie Lewington. 

It took me three days to call my sister, who had text me twice to say please ring me. She had left a voicemai message I had not wanted to hear. 

Our mum had been in hospital and was recovering at home. 

My sister and I rarely communicate. 

This was only going to be bad news. 

Flash Fiction Friday. Cuppa. Katie Lewington. 

He settled himself into the armchair. The carer handed him his tea, and tucked the tartan blanket around him. ‘Thanks.’ He told her, taking a long sip of tea and inevitably choking on its hot taste. She patted his arm. ‘Slow down!’ her voice was light. She was young.  Still a child. He nodded, closing his eyes and dozing off. She lifted the cup from his liver spotted hands and patted his arm again. 

Flash Fiction Friday. Chaos. Katie Lewington. 

Although she hadn’t meant it to be, her journey at first was a rush. 

She had laid out her clothes the night before, warming up a porridge cup and feeding the plants, and herself,  before leaving the house.

She slid into the car and drove to the  station, where people milled about: lost, abandoned  and weary.

The announcement boards were mania, heads lifted up to read them and the ever shifting times, trains and towns. She hurried through them and stuffed her ticket into the turnstile. 

She lost her loose shoe and had to run back for it. She picked it up and sprinted to the train. Once on the train there was immediately no air to breathe and no room to ease her shoe back onto her foot. 

Flash Fiction Friday. Elastic.  Katie Lewington. 

She wasn’t the least bit sporty, but she wore sports bras, tracksuit bottoms and a jacket favoured by football managers. 

It was an effort to be girly. 

She had previously dressed in baggy men’s shirts and t’s, with loose flowing skirts if she had to leave the flat. 

Sports clothes stretched, and they dried easily too when she had to sponge off food spills. 

Flash Fiction Friday. Tap.

​He tapped the a key, then the space bar and shifted the wireless keyboard from his lap to under his arm, as he stood to stretch. He walked over to the window, lifting the sash and poking his head into the cold exterior of the UK. 

He put down the keyboard on the sill. It wobbled half in, half out. He went over to his computer screen and patted the desk, as he looked into the glare until his eyeballs ached. 

He couldn’t even type the bloody title.

It was so boring. 

Fiction Friday. Autumn Drizzle. 

​He sneezed into the tissue and wiped clean the autumn drizzle that seemed to stream from his nose.

He crumpled the slight tissue, and then stood back on the balls of his feet. He judged the target of the toilet bowl and the distance. He lobbed the ball and it hit. 

‘What are you doing?’ his wife asked, startling him. 

‘Nothing, dear’

‘Well, move out of my way then. We’re going to be late’ 

Flash Fiction. Pitch. 

A perspiring can of Redbull, sugar free, and a hot dog, drenched in mustard and with very little sausage 

She brushed the crumbs from her flannel shirt and felt the fluttering of butterflies in her chest, as she sat on the stadium seat and imagined the game that she would be playing in tomorrow. Only one more sleep and she would be on this very pitch in front of her.

Excitement turned to apprehension, as she thought of Clara. Clara was both her opponent and girlfriend.