Elle Jauffret

Writer & Fork Handler

Blog posts : "Short-order fiction"

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Apr 18, 2017


Birdseeds and Cheese grits

The young boy knew exactly what to do with the $20 bill he found buried in the muddy snow. He asked his mother for a ride, not to go purchase a replacement for his pair of pants that was thinning dangerously at the knees or a pair of gloves that would keep his…

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Joan's War: Bitter Sweet Lemon Custard

Jan 19, 2017
















Joan brought her sword down with all her remaining might, inflicting a deathblow on her opponent, and watched the last of her country’s foes collapse. 

Exhaustion made her knees wobble. She stumbled toward her nation’s flag, fighting …

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Absinthe Tainted Reminiscence

May 6, 2016


(Painting: La Muse Verte by Albert Maignan)

Year 2115. Saturday, May 4th

A bottle of emerald liquid stood in front of his penthouse front door in place of his daily delivery of hookers and cocaine. He picked up the unexpected gift, wondering what psychoactive drug his personal concierge…

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The 25th Easter of Éléonore

Mar 25, 2016

Nobles and dignitaries from all over Europe had courted her since she appeared at her first debutante ball, but none had succeeded in stealing her heart. Éléonore had turned down every single gift, gesture, or advance—from Fabergé Imperial Easter eggs to egg-shaped earrings made from the rarest …

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The Singer's Wife and Manager

Jan 14, 2016

She pushed through the crowd of groupies, making her way to her husband, the leader of the band. They were all under the age of 30, mainly females, all sweaty and hysterical, exuding adoration for the man to whom she was secretly married. A wedding band could cost a singer thousands of adoring f…

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Prepaid Jail

Jul 5, 2015

My mother registered me in the Volunteer Inmate Program when I was one day old, forcing me to spend my early childhood within the confines of grey walls with badly painted frescos of reunited families and wide-open spaces. She was the first one to use the Prepaid Sentence Program that allowed citi…

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Jun 5, 2015

I decided to participate in Chuck Wendig’s Fast Fiction Challenge this week. I chose numbers 1 (red) and 16 (villanelle). I didn’t know what a villanelle* was and wanted to take on the challenge to write one - good or bad- as I only had 30 minutes to write it (my short-order fiction rule).  (see …

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Mardi Gras beignets: Bugnes

Feb 16, 2015

A Mardi Gras mask not only conceals one’s identity with splendor, but also creates mystery while allowing a complete lack of accountability for one's actions. Now… where did I put mine?

"Bugnes" (the "beignets" I used to make with my father during "Carnaval")
Mix together ingredients: …

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The Log

Dec 23, 2014

The log was the gift of a complete stranger, the boy discovered in the snow, at his little brother’s feet, upon waking up from their cold-induced nap.

“‘must be from Santa!” his brother said. But Thomas knew it wasn’t. He had stopped believing in Father Christmas the year his parents die…

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Clueless meets Friday-the-13th

Oct 30, 2014

Text message: 

O-M-G! Jason Voorhees-Lecter asked me to go to the lake with his family this weekend! I so can’t believe it! I know you think he’s creepy because he wears his hockey mask all the time. But FYI, guys love sports as much as girls love shopping! (hint on why you are single). BTW,…

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Rooftop Secret Garden

Apr 25, 2014

Lilly sneaked out the window and stepped on the frigid platform of the fire escape. She climbed up the stairs, cautiously but quickly, leaving behind the prints of her small soles and toes in the April snow. The roof was empty but for a green house made out of plastic bags and dry-cleaner hanger…

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Spaghetti and meatballs à la Spillane (Noir fiction style)

Jan 14, 2014

Starting the year strong 

My boss told me not to judge a book by its cover when I see her. But what did I care? I don’t read anyway. When the broad came to my desk to start the job, bimbo was written all over her. She was squeezed into a tight red wool skirt with a white silk blouse showing …

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Moby Dick Fan Fiction: Ishmael's return

May 25, 2012

My meal, a seafood stew slathering two servings of pasta, stays untouched, yet this is not my first ale. I lightly eat, yet heavily drink, attempting to obliterate my memory of the fateful journey. I recall Queequeg, who I had encountered here, in the very same place, the Spouter-Inn, the eve of…

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