WordFactory Logo

Short Shorts

We like short shorts …and here are a selection of ultra-short stories from visitors to The Word Factory. Contact us if you would like to see your work here. We are currently preparing to offer you a selection of unpublished and commissioned stories from your favourite authors. More news in due course.

Adult Education

Wednesdays is the night that St. Stephen’s runs its art classes. Not that I go along. I can’t draw for toffee. I’m a painter by trade, but I’m more of a gloss and emulsion man. Besides, Leanne would go ballistic if I showed up.

‘Call yourself an artist?’ she’d say. ‘Piss artist more like’.

When Leanne found out about me and Sandra from down the builders’ merchants, she had the locks changed. I hammered on the door until my trainers came flying out of the bedroom window.

‘It was only the once,’ I shouted up at her.

‘Whatever,’ she said.

Read full story

Danny And Sarah

Sarah small, 28 and bottle-blonde was sitting cross-legged on a hard-backed chair, naked, eating toast and reading yesterday’s paper. Around her the room was a bed, a sink and a gas ring.

Danny’s place.

Danny rolled out of bed.

Outside the October morning was pinned up blue.

‘Coffee?’ asked Danny. He was big, all angles in black boxer shorts. Read full story

Take Italy

by Marian Garvey

Hire a car, a fiat with a sun roof and drive south ’till you reach Sorrento. Drive up in to the hills there then make a turn of the road and park under the shade of the olive grove trees. Stop and sit. There is the sunlight, the car heating up without the air con, the sun filtering through the trees and beyond that the distant sky. Read full story

Oral Gratification

I’m missing something, she thought as she stretched her arm out for the third time towards the glass of full-cream milk on the pine table. Yum, she said out loud, and wiped the milk moustache with a linen cloth. The silver bracelets jingled like happy bells on her slender wrist. Read full story

Dancing In The Kitchen

She is sewing pips of reminiscence in his fertile mind, selecting scenes for the reel of his memories. She is the Director, Writer and Makeup Artist. She would like to be the Film Editor too and supervise the relegation of her inadequacies to the cutting room floor. She would like to censor any shameful language: ‘You stupid boy,’ ‘I can’t take you anywhere,’ ‘I should have thought twice about having children.’ She does this in her Director’s Cut. In this version she is always smiling. She makes delicious, nutritious meals, irons his favourite clothes in time for him to wear them, patiently explains homework and never shushes him in the car because she is listening to the radio. Read full story