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Image by Suzi Kim

The Secret Stashes

                                                                     I find bottles of beer, wine and

                                                                 vodka all over the house, like little

                                                               bombs waiting to blow up in my face.


I’m sprawled on the couch, drunkenly

making out with some random I

picked up in a bar. I can feel

something hard and cold press

into my back. My fumbling fingers

press against a bottle of vodka,

half-drunk during a binge last weekend.


I’m rummaging around my bed

looking for some nice shoes for a night out.

I notice the box containing my

Manolo Blahnik’s stuffed into a dark corner.

I almost pop my arm out of the socket

stretching under to get the box. I open it

to find my shoes are missing, probably left

somewhere and two bottles of wine have

taken their place. One half-empty.


A week before pay-day I run out of

toilet roll. I’m sure there’s some

stashed away at the back of the cupboard

under the sink. I get down on my

knees and start to go through everything.

There’s no toilet roll but I find several

un-opened six packs of beer. They’ve

been there so long they’re thick with dust.


                                                                           My secret stashes

                                                                     haunt me. They’re echoes

                                                               of a life I’m trying to leave behind.

Pamela Scott.jpg

Pamela Scott lives in Irvine, North Ayrshire in the UK. Her work has appeared in various magazines including Flash Fiction North, The Poet, Buckshot Magazine, Brilliant Flash Fiction, A Quiet Courage, Allegro Poetry Magazine, and Dream Catcher. She is working on her second novel. 

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