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“Entrapment” Flash Fiction by Kathryn Jenkins

He rolled off me, pulled up his jeans then fumbled for a cigarette.

“Music’s stopped,” he said.

I didn’t bother telling him I’d heard it stop while he was thrashing about on top of me. I could feel parts of my back starting to ache where I’d been hammered into the ground and it smelt like I was lying in a cowpat.  The three-quarter moon hovering above us didn’t make it any more romantic. I lay still and squeezed my pelvic floor muscles tight.

He dragged on his cigarette and stared over at the barn. “It’s Sam’s 30th in three months. Thank God it’ll be in a more civilised place than this. You going?”

“Only if I need you.”

He looked down at me, frowning.

I smiled. “It’s all right. I told you no strings attached.” Just like the good old days in high school when he told me he respected me while screwing Samantha Biggs behind my back. Or at University when I’d finally opened my legs to him not knowing he was fucking every girl in his dorm.

His eyes narrowed. “If Amy finds out…”

“She won’t.” A car engine turned over. “They’re starting to leave. You’d better go before she misses you.”

He nodded and flicked his cigarette butt into the grass. “Later,” he said, standing up.

I lay where he left me, raised my knees and placed a hand on my belly. Another five minutes should do it.

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“Big, Mean and Ugly” Flash Fiction by Kathryn Jenkins

Big, Mean and Ugly
by Kathryn Jenkins

He appeared from nowhere; big and ugly with demon tattoos striding up his arms. Moira tried to pass but he blocked the way. He reached out to touch her baby. Moira stood still, paralysed.

“You have a beautiful baby,” he said softly, before walking away.

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“Fireproof” Flash Fiction by Kathryn Jenkins

FIREPROOF
by Kathryn Jenkins

We laughed about the shirt his mother gave him, “treated with special flame retardants,” the label declared. Perhaps, we joked, if he wore it to work it would protect him from being fired. But it’d been a good year. Everyone was whispering about big bonuses, not redundancies.

He wore his new shirt to the office on Christmas Eve. At lunchtime he called to say there was a staff meeting at 4pm. He was excited about the bonus. Instead they announced fifty jobs were to go. His was one of them.

He never came home. The police called round later that evening to confirm what I already knew. He was gone, they said. Speeding … missed a corner … crashed into a power pole … burnt out car … nothing left. Not even his fireproof shirt.

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