This is a collection of flash fiction, created weekly from prompts from an old Writeon group.

The stories are written in a variety of genres and are approx 500 words long ( depending on the format!)

The tramp paused his shuffling steps and bent down. He grunted as he grasped the fallen carrot, and failed to pick it up. Leaning on the low garden wall he kicked the carrot free from the snow. Tucking it inside his damp coat his mouth watered.

 ‘Oi, you, clear off.’ The tramp glanced up at a man in his dressing gown, standing in the warmth of his front door.

The tramp touched the side of his battered hat in a silent salute and continued down the road to the park. He cleared the snow from a bench and sat down, peeling off his damp gloves and hanging them on the bare branches of the bush behind him. He tucked his hands under his armpits, turned his face to the rising sun, and closed his eyes.

A dog’s bark and children’s laughter woke him from his doze. He stood and stamped the numbness from his feet. Sitting back down, he picked at the rope around his waist until the knot unravelled and he could open his coat. He rested his hands on his knees, allowing the warmth from the sun to ease the aches.

He smiled, watching children and adults enjoying winter’s gift.

The park quietened as midday approached. The tramp removed his hat and unwound his scrawny scarf, hanging them next to his gloves, before pulling off his coat to spread on the bench. Seeing the carrot, he lifted it to his nose, inhaling its sweet scent. He put it on the bench to thaw. Rummaging in his trousers he found a greasy paper bag. He chewed on the piece of fish within, and watched a family rolling a snowball until it was large enough to be a jolly snowman’s body. Another ball was created for its head. The children scattered searching for eyes and arms.

‘Hey mister, those yours?’ A small red-cheeked boy pointed at the bush behind the bench. His eyes gleaming with excitement as he danced on his booted feet.

‘Need them for your snowman?’

‘Yeah.’ The boy grinned.

‘He looks colder than me. Help yourself.’

‘Thanks.’ The boy grabbed the hat, scarf and gloves, joy echoing in his voice.

‘He’ll need a nose too.’ The tramp nodded to the carrot.

‘Wow.’ The boy snatched it up, and ran back to his family. ‘Look what I found.’ The woman stared across at the tramp, whispered to her husband and left.

The tramp stood and pulled on his coat. Time to move on. He nodded as he passed the fine-looking snowman, following the path towards town.

‘Hey mister.’ The tramp shifted his cramped legs and opened his eyes. A small boy stood in the alleyway. ‘Found him.’ The tramp groaned, then his eyes widened as the boy handed him a new hat, warm gloves and a long, thick scarf.

                ‘The snowman says thank you.’ The boy’s mother handed him a flask. ‘He hopes you like carrot and ham soup.’

                ‘And me Mum’s homemade bread rolls. They’re the best.’

Franklin’s habitual scowl was usurped by a smile. He knelt by his bed, and bowed his head, as if saying his prayers. Pushing the cover aside he dragged a small suitcase into the dawn light.  The smooth texture beneath his trembling hands set his heart racing. He licked his lips and chuckled. No need to open it, everything was ready. A year of research and planning culminated today.

He carried the case to his front door, turned to the hall mirror and straightened his hat, before glancing back at a notebook on the polished coffee table. He put the case down, took his new phone from his dark-blue coat pocket and switched it on. The schedule for his birthday was clearly displayed, but old habits were hard to shake. He slipped the notebook into the case, clicked the padlock and left his apartment. His smile faded as he crossed the misty street and walked to the café on the corner.

‘Good morning, Franklin.’ The waitress smiled at him. ‘Do you want your usual?’

‘No. A full English breakfast today, with extra toast, and a mug of tea.’

She wrote on her pad, straightened the tablecloth and saw the case tucked next to his shiny shoes. ‘Are you going somewhere nice?’

Franklin nodded. ‘A birthday treat.’

‘A surprise? I love surprises for my birthday.’

‘Not a surprise, for me.’ His scowl deepened to its usual darkness.

The waitress stepped away. ‘I’ll get your tea.’ She hurried to the counter, calling his order through to the kitchen. Franklin watched her movements, glad for the extra minutes he’d allowed. You could not rely on people to be consistent.

A hint of a smile returned as he wiped the last smear of egg and beans from his plate. A perfect English breakfast, or were his senses enhanced by his excitement? He stood, paid and walked to the train station.

The train was eight minutes and fifteen seconds late, but he’d allowed for a delay. Trains were never on time in England, but they were clean. He claimed an empty window seat. As towns and countryside blurred past he remembered previous birthday treats, and a chuckle surprised him. Childlike excitement, heightened from the imposed twelve-month wait. He had matured from a twenty-year-old glutton, to a connoisseur of forty- seven.

The train pulled into the station within the parameters of his schedule, and a taxi took him to the hotel in the centre of the city. His room was small, looking out onto a backstreet.

He hung up his coat and hat, took off his clothes, and folded them neatly. After a shower, he opened the case and prepared for his treat, waiting for dark.

Blood pounding in his ears, he forced the window beyond the safety catch and squeezed out onto the fire escape. He stood, smiling, for three minutes, before descending the metal steps to the street below, bumping into a pretty redhead as she hurried past.

‘Happy Birthday.’ Franklin whispered in her ear.