Veronica Stone
Bio
Short story and flash fiction writer.
I love old movies, whisky and fountain pens.
Stories (13)
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A Challenge Inspired me to Make a Mixtape
When I first read the prompt for the challenge ‘The Summer That Wasn’t’, I immediately thought of music. Summer and music go together so well, I think, because it seems so much more vibrant at that time of year. Festivals play a part in forging that link, but I think it is more to do with open windows, everywhere you go you hear snatches of tunes from each house you walk past, every car that drives by with the windows down. This often diverse soundscape is echoed in mixtapes, where disparate sounds and styles are pulled together to somehow make sense as a whole.
By Veronica Stone6 months ago in Writers
Bloody Families
Every family has secrets. Yes, even yours. And even if you think you know all there is to know about your kin, I am willing to bet there is still at least one secret tucked away at the back of the closet. How am I so certain? I hear you ask. Well, I thought I knew everything that went on in these palace walls, all the whispered mysteries that unfolded around me when people thought I wasn’t paying attention. Turns out, I wasn’t paying close enough attention.
By Veronica Stone11 months ago in Fiction
Reflections. Top Story - October 2024.
Snick! The door clicks closed. I can’t see her yet; she is too far away, the lighting too low. But I know it is her – recognise the way the shadows drape around her, shielding her from prying eyes. And so, I wait, patiently. It’s what I do: I sit, and I wait, and when she is near…
By Veronica Stoneabout a year ago in Fiction
My First Real Six String
The dilapidated old guitar case was more for show than offering any kind of protection, with hinges held together with old touring stickers, bits of wire, and hope, lay all but forgotten in this dark, dusty corner of the second hand store. Despite all of this, something drew me to it; the fancy brands and glossy wooden bodies on display out front didn’t interest me, even if I could have afforded them. Even the generous finance terms offered on these instruments were just white noise once I spied this tatty case peeking out from behind a stack of old boxes.
By Veronica Stoneabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Laugh
I hate gardening. Hate plants. Even as I tend to the freshly planted sapling I wonder why I bother. I could just let it die I suppose, but that would be giving in, letting her be right yet again. Her hissing voice takes up its vicious invective from beyond the grave, echoing through my mind, reminding me of all the plants and pets I failed to keep alive.
By Veronica Stone3 years ago in Fiction
First Day Nerves
Hands wrapped tightly around my lucky orange mug, white knuckles betraying my nerves. There is no warmth to be found here; the coffee - lukewarm when I poured it - is now cold, the burnt bitter taste echoing the expressions on the faces of the others in the room. The battered, mis-matched furniture, like the coffee, is designed to be unwelcoming, deterring anyone from lingering too long.
By Veronica Stone3 years ago in Fiction
Last Day
So many years I have given to this place. So many people, so many memories, so much bad coffee. Searching through the cupboards to retrieve books borrowed and never returned, I am reminded of the whispered insults - I was a relic, no use any more, should jump before I'm pushed. Waste of space, most of them - never cared about the kids or the classes. That new girl has potential though, and I can't bear to throw books away. Instead, I cram the carrier bag into her locker, and smile as I leave the staffroom for the last time.
By Veronica Stone3 years ago in Fiction
