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FLASH FICTION: ClichÉ Destroyer: Kill a clichÉ. Kill it with fire

<p>This edition&#8217;s flash fiction features the prompt: &#8220;ClichÉ Destroyer: Kill a clichÉ. Kill it with fire&#8221;.</p>

PROMPT 8 – ClichÉ Destroyer: Kill a clichÉ. Kill it with fire




He was no diamond. He wasn’t clean cut, shaven or dressed. He had talent and passion but no clear future. Just a regular rock in the rough of life…

“You want to know something kind of crazy?”…the kind of rock she never really had. That person who she could always call. She’d never had someone who was her first call before.


Who needs diamonds? They’re shiny sure, but expensive and high maintenance and under all that pressure. She just wanted a best friend.  

“I think I’m probably in love with you.”

As it turns out, she preferred rocks.




Benson staggered down the hill, gasping for air, his suit in shreds and his spats spattered with dirt and clods of grass. Turning, he saw his Lordship appear over the top, brandishing an antique trident, while his Ladyship, wielding a sabre, followed close behind, with little Toby capering to and fro, carving knife in hand. Soon, the other guests were silhouetted against the moonlight, blades and spades held aloft, gleaming in awful anticipation. As they bore down upon him with the force of a screaming kettle, Benson the butler wondered what he had done to deserve such an ignoble end.




Prom night was over. The dance floor was empty, save for Peggy Ann. Bobby Brown returned from the bathroom to find her, facing away from him, dress sparkling. Play it cool – this was the moment.

“I guess it’s just the two of us,” laughed Bobby Brown.

There was no answer.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Peggy Ann turned and her jaw unhinged, blood red tendrils lashing out and encircling Bobby.

As they pulled him toward the nigh unrecognisable Peggy Ann’s slavering maw, Bobby realised that, whatever it was that had her tongue, ‘cat’ didn’t even begin to cover it.




I used to be a bargain hunter. Used to set alarms so I could claim all the supermarket’s reduced prices for myself. Used to have an app that buzzed whenever certain stores were having sales. Used to do a lot of things.

I’ve been holed up in a shed in Mozambique for seven months now, living on ants and a damp spot in the corner. It’s cheap; only price is my security.

Crack! A bang on the door. Crack! Again.

“We know you’re in there.”

Stale breadcrumbs fall under the door and I can smell expired dairy.




The persistent Romeo kissed her hand. Juliet stared.  “I love you and that’s all I really know.”

“Really, original for a movie star.” Juliet rolled her eyes.

“You’re the sun to my earth, you lovely star.”

Juliet paused. Amber eyes looked into crystal blue. With a wicked smile she pulls him closer. “Ready for the solar flares of my heart?”

Romeo stood horrified, those burning eyes and the idea of commitment engulfing him. “No!” He ran away.

Juliet smiled and turned to a hiding Count Paris. “He was never a threat, il mio amore.”


Farrago's magazine cover - Edition Three 2021


Our final editions for the year are jam packed full of news, culture, photography, poetry, art, fiction and more...

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