Flash Fiction - Mystery / Thriller Short Story

Over my three years at University, I've been assigned a huge number of writing tasks and written for a number of different prompts. Here is a selection of flash fiction pieces I have written during my time as a student.

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I wake with my head pounding, the blood violently pulsing in my eardrums. I open my eyes but then clamp them shut, an unforgiving sunbeam making the ceiling blur in and out of focus like a kaleidoscope. The smell of alcohol fills my nose and it takes all my self-control not to throw up. Dread hangs in the room like a thick fog but I can’t pin point why. I cautiously run my hand over my scalp and recoil in pain. My fingers tremble as I raise my hands to my face and see my blood-stained fingertips.

I heave myself out of bed and feel the waves of nausea cascade over me as I drag myself to the shower. My whole-body aches as if my bones are made of wood and there’s blood, salt and sand encrusted in my hair, giving me the look of some deranged sea creature.

A hazy memory swims to the forefront of my mind. I’m laughing in front of the beach bonfire, popping lids off bottles with a pen knife, the drink burning my throat like liquid fire. I remember the bonfire flickering alongside the embers in a fiery dance, grey smoke engulfing the sky.

I grip the side of the sink and take deep breaths. Its then that I notice the excessive amounts of grime under my nails, only it’s not grime.

It’s blood.

Mentally retracing my steps from the night before, I close my eyes and see dark figures in front of me, swaying to the beat of the music. My thought process shifts and I’m back at the beach.

Sweaty bodies are pressing against me as they dance around the fire, laughter echoing in my ears as I stumble across the sand. I feel an unwanted hand snake around my waist and a face pressed against mine. I slur something that sounds like ‘get off me’, but the alcohol makes my tongue heavy in my mouth.

The memories begin to flood back like a veils been lifted. I’m away from the crowds and now the unwanted hand has snaked its way around my wrist, yanking me hard towards a cluster of rocks hunched in the dark. He slams the back of my head against them and pins me down. His rough voice sends a shiver down my spine.

My mind goes blank, then another image flashes to the forefront like a slideshow. The man with snakes for arms, a crumpled pile on the floor, blood staining the sand.

A penknife plunged in his stomach.

My knife.

Next thing I know, I’m running.

My phone buzzing on the toilet seat shakes me out of my stupor and it takes me three attempts to unlock it, my hands shaking uncontrollably. There’s a message from an unknown number that reads.

‘I know what you did.’