London Literary Project // Champions of Flash Fiction

by londonlitproject
  03:04 Deep in the Night Breathless, staggering rubber lightning bolts   linked arms jerking together, grips tightening like a Chinese finger trap as we fall apart. I trip on the curb beside the RADA studios, into the side of the green dumpster.  You kiss me,...
by londonlitproject
  00:52 Night Bus An empty lager can clatters across the floor as the bus lurches around a corner. It settles beneath the foot of a bearded man; he is hunched, drooling against the window. The bunny-eared woman beside me cackles demonically, flecks of a half-eaten ...
by londonlitproject
  11:15 Parkland Poetry Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I felt compelled to write a haiku – Inspired by a stroll past a smattering of snow on a swaying set of silver birch standing in a sea of sawdust in a secluded spot in a small park in Southwark....
by londonlitproject
  15:00 Remember   Remember Walthamstow Marsh. We stroll there by willowherb and moths unknown. Look up across the Lea. A viaducted train is halted. Beneath it, reeds rest and a warbler whistles. A grasshopper lands as if pole-vaulted.   This place, a her...
by londonlitproject
  09:30 Sunday Morning Aidan sees a No Smoking sign as Juan lights up, breathes out, says, “So, bye”. It sounds like a question; he turns slightly away. Aidan looks at the curve of Juan’s shoulder through yesterday’s t-shirt. He wants to ans...
by londonlitproject
  15:25 Baby Memorial Garden The teddies on the wall live in polythene bags to protect against rain. Sometimes the foxes carry them off. I had bought a violet at the gate and, on impulse, dug it into the soil. This would have embarrassed Justin, if he had come. I s...
by londonlitproject
  14:07 Solitude I’m here in the near-silence; in the city, still – but you wouldn’t know it.  Queen’s Wood is steps away from what we understand, from the Northern Line rattling its way towards Finchley, from the beeping traffic of  Archway Road. Noises of s...
by londonlitproject
  00:00 Snapshot Eritrean pancakes and popcorn. Dancing to the beat of the bongo drum. Latin music. Samba. Bossa Nova. Brazil. Drinking passionfruit cocktails with pineapple leaves that tickle your nose. Lime and ice. Beautiful barmaid with an irresistible smile. S...
by londonlitproject
  14:00 Address to Francis, Duke of Bedford   You did a good job, Francis in leaving us this square. Two hundred and eight years on the London Plains curlicued and festooned with seed bolls, dappled and lichen blotched trunks, each with more arms than Vishnu, ...
by londonlitproject
  11:42 Lost Love? Turning, Brick Lane’s the same old friend and he sees her straight away, transforms himself to a heron, wraps his arms ’round her leather-clad skin and draws the world in through his nostrils pretending not to smell her hair while she...