Friday, 18 March 2016

100 word chiller: Blocked

Here's one to chill the writers among you:

Courtesy of

Dexter had given it all up to be a writer: the salary, the power, the perks and the pension. His head was clear of that corporate nonsense, his energy released from servitude. No more did he have to cram his creative output into fevered bursts at the crack of dawn or late into the night. He would write all day.

But nothing came. Instead of the wonderworld of a living imagination, where angels danced, sparks flew and treasures were crafted, he appeared to be working with a block of wood.

He had no talent. He had no job. Dexter panicked.

Friday, 11 March 2016


Courtesy of

If your thighs meet, you’re too fat. I’ll just eat the apple at lunchtime and leave the cheese sandwich Mum packed, which is 261calories. I need a gap between my thighs, like the girls on my websites. They look amazing.

Mr Havers is on about our new textbook on the Third Reich. I keep imagining breakfasts. Bacon melting the butter in soft white bread. Typical fat greedy cow with thighs squishing together.

I turn the page. There’s a girl lying there with perfect separated thighs. Really, properly slim. Then it hits me. My girl’s a body, thrown on a pile.