“Mummy, mummy, look, look!” Lina pulls hard at her mother’s hand as she chats with one of her grown-up friends. They’ve been …
“Mummy, mummy, look, look!” Lina pulls hard at her mother’s hand as she chats with one of her grown-up friends. They’ve been …
Stringybark Just for Fun 100 words using Patron, Meekly, Damp, Ecstasy The armholes of her nightie are damp as she leans over …
“Oh, Mrs G, that’s lovely that is. You’re so clever.” The young woman in her navy polo says as she arches her …
Upturned leaves glide in. Their umber-clad skeletons disrupt the dance of sun on water, then cast shadows on the tiles below. …
Lisa sips at her zero-alcohol beer and stares at splashes of red and white as they wrestle over the sponsor-encrusted grass like …
My toes are hanging over the edge as water crashes into the rocks far below. The Pigram Brothers sing of it, but …
A piece to mark International Women’s Day on 08 March: A short story about a woman and a place using picture prompts …
A short story describing a place without using an adjective or adverb. Audis, Beamers, and Mercs force us against the tea trees …
Do you remember summer in the seventies? I do. As my eyelids lower under the weight of a glass of chardonnay and …
No! A needle jammed in the groove of busyness. No room to think. Full! Blah! Words tumble, meaningless, inconsequential, Stop! …
“You’re gonna do what?” “Enter the UTA,” Izzy repeats, lifting the half-empty wine glass to her lips. Damn she should have ordered …
“About us – we at midnight, slaves, Chained to a tottering world”* “Look at them.” Titus** stretches his lithe trunk over …
Baby’s first Christmas Wide eyed curious chuckle Engraved on our hearts
“What is going on Liza?” “He’s a fraud Dad.” “How do you know?” “I was living with him.” “WHAT? Where?” “Here.” “WHAT? …
“What is going on Liza?” “He’s a fraud Dad.” “How do you know?” “I was living with him.” “WHAT? Where?” “Here.” “WHAT? …
Jesus? New toys! :-J Fake, faux, real? :-/ End-of-year drinks. %-) Tap if you’re ready. Declined. :{ Who stole the chocolate from …
The dust scatters in the stiff October breeze as Liza’s mother lifts her hand to toss a handful of fresh earth onto …
“Hey Pa.” “Liza,” the old man raises his head from a thick volume at his lap and nods, as she steps across …
“Hi, I’m Jack.” Liza’s boyfriend sticks out a smooth palm towards her Grandfather, as the screen door swings listless behind her. Her …
“It’s howling!” “No, it’s just a breeze”. She stares at her grandfather as he leans against the door, his worn flannelette shirt …
* This piece is a response to Rob Wilcher’s beautiful poem “Carry the Water”. The stream eddies, as his hand drifts. …
“MUM. Did you send it?” Clara’s twelve-year-old selfishness stole her thoughts … again. “Are you listening to me?” Her daughter stomped her …
For Sheila and Roger Let us go then, you and I, to gape at sunsets spread across the sky, that meld …
“Me, me, me, me, me, me, me.” Val can hear them as they flit between the soft cream lounges and the clinking …
How could he not know? “Why, why, why?” he howls till I silence him. A slither of red dribbles from my father’s …
“What size jacket: thirty-four?” Pink cuticles expertly retrieve a black suit from the rack. “Oh no way,” I reply, confident my last …
“Close your eyes,” molasses smooth, his voice beckons. Spidery fingers stroke my papery cheeks. Liquid slurps from a flask at my bedside. …
Coins cascade into the parking meter. The dial spins. Half an hour in the oxy tank will flush the toxins. Post-nuclear air …
“Marry me?” His loud plea is swallowed by the cold gray of giant housing blocks. Windows slam shut. Blinds drop. I twitch. …
The door whines shut as heaving workman lever the latches shut. Finally, it’s dark. “Are they gone?” A tiny twelve-inch monitor blinks …
Unfamiliar strings of sinew are lodged between her teeth and Beth pokes absently at them, eager to dispel the odd sensation, but …
“Have you seen the curve?” Beth’s father slurs, as she shuffles softly towards the living area. His eyes are riddled with delicate …
“Ping.” Busy, I’ll check that later. “Ping.” I really don’t have time for this. 1:20. Boss wants this report on his desk …
“This better be good. I’ve got a network to run. My clock is ticking. Who’s this?” Vlad freezes as he steps into …
“Jack, mate, how are you? I didn’t think you’ld be back for a few days.” Beth can hear a man calling to …
Impotence beats a steady drum at her temples as Beth retreats to the sanctity of her privacy pod. Her small lithe fingers …
This piece is an 800 words piece for a spoken voice competition: Entanglement – Voices of Women. https://voiceswomen.com/entanglement/. It was written in …
“Well?” Beth’s brother Jack demands as she returns to the apartment she shares with three generations of her family. “Well, what?” Beth …
https://themovingpen.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/Boreas-Street-3.m4a Sarah strides across the strip of hard black sand, her toes kicking at the pebbles. Like marbles in a schoolyard, …
The year is 2120. Beth blinks and refocuses on the text. They can’t be serious. She stops, breathes slowly, carefully, aware every …
She kneels, her back heaving and pushing. Every muscle straining. Doc Martins scuff and push against the footpath. Passersby glance, then stop; …
Oh God, she was beautiful! Ra’s heart belted against his ribcage each time he thought of her – let alone his groin. …
“Have you got everything”? she asks. “A huh,” the small child nods, his pudgy arms gripping hard at the backpack hugged to …
We are a group of early writers who met at the Writer's Studio in Bronte, NSW (Australia) and want to showcase our creativity for the public to enjoy. Each of us has committed to producing a short story each month - that's roughly 4 or 5 stories each month.
If you'd like to receive our stories, drop us a line at movingpenstories@gmail.com.
Sign up to our newsletter to be notified of the latest stories by The Moving Pen