I have had two pieces of flash fiction published, but sadly Ether Books, the publisher has now closed down, so these stories aren't available to read anywhere.
Now, they won't be to everyone's taste: I love a pun, I have a rather British sense of humour honed on Fawlty Towers and Monty Python, and some of it is unintelligible, other than to me, myself and I.
But, just in case, here is one little firecracker for you (and I apologise in advance...) :
“So, Herr Vergollmogen, how are you producing this amazing new energy source?” asked the cub reporter for the New Scientist. “What is in the bowl?”
I smiled gratuitously at the craven greenhorn sitting opposite me.
“This?” I said, indicating the amber liquid by dipping my fingers into it. It was nicely warm, I had used water at 170degrees F, the perfect temperature for coaxing the most flavour from the tightly furled buds of camellia sinensis. “It doesn't have a name yet. I have been calling my new energy sources alphabetically, the last one was S. It didn't quite work out as an energy source, but it is very good for making herrings last a long time. I was thinking, therefore, that this should be T.”
His eyes stood out on stalks, like ripened cherries. I twirled my moustaches, damp fingers elongating the tips to fine points.
“You have another 19 energy sources, already trialled? That is amazing!”
“It is isn't it. This is particularly useful for lighting. I have invented this amazing bag of light, look...” I dipped my right hand back into the T and lifted a glutinous glob with my other hand. My left hand waggled a bit and the glutinous glob stiffened and shone with an amber light.
“If you prefer, you can use a paler type of leaf, which gives a brighter, crisper light. But this is good for most purposes. Especially before lunch. Perhaps more of a Breakfast T.”
The cherries were still ripening, growing larger in front of me. His wonder at my amazing discoveries was most appealing, although I warned myself of hubris. The gods never did like a puffed-up, cocky bastard.
“Please, Herr Vergollmogen, may I dabble my fingers? Just a little? Please?”
I nodded my gracious assent.
The fledgling scrivener dipped his fingers, screeched, sizzled and fell to the floor, quite dead.
“Oh I am sorry,” I murmured to myself as I swept away his remains. “I forgot I was producing about 100 amps... Next time, I'll cool it a bit. Maybe we should blend it with some M, that seemed to cause things to cool rather than heat up. We could put that in first....”
I took my fingers out of the bowl, and scooped a little with the taste-vin attached to my dungaree straps. “Oh very good. A little hot after that, hmm, escapade, but very good. Now where did I put the Rich T biscuits?”
