Napkin Scribbles: Short stories and Novel extracts by jhmitchell

Freddie Monologues: Run

The cry of cicadas is both a warning and a memory. Every year they bring with them the nostalgia of Christmas. Emerging on the curtails of a dry heavy heat to become a daily backdrop of ordinary outdoor life.

Aliens and Ice-Blocks

I am infected with an alien.

My body has become a treacherous landscape of nope. Within mere weeks the alien has taken command and turned all my senses traitor. My memories of food are full of pot holes and landslides and precarious roads that lead to a rather strong gag reflex unlike anything I’ve so far experienced.

Talk to Me

Seventeen years old and here I am, sitting at a small, corner coffee table, glaring at the menu and praying that the waitress waiting to take my order doesn’t notice the unshed tears I’m fruitlessly trying to blink into submission.

I am not going to cry. I’m not. I’m seventeen for Gods sake. Not five. Not lost and alone without any means of communicating. No. This place is familiar. This place is safe. This menu I know like the back of my hand. Have read it a thousand times. Can recite in my sleep for crying out loud.

Late Lines

You’re late. Except you’re not that late so it’s okay. It’s nothing to make a fuss over because everyone is late sometimes, right?


Life explodes in all its grandour and chaos and mishaps and that means that sometimes, despite best intentions, things fall by the wayside.

An Ode to BK

A new post for a fresh website look.
Also (in case you hadn’t noticed) I’ve been feeling rather sappy lately.

A Short Story: The Price

His eyes fell on her, still so bright, and she felt that shiver from so long ago creep back through her. Back through the tips of her ngers and her lips, where she sometimes still felt the burn of his soul.