Nellie Bradshaw - Portfolio
Mess (2025)
Short Story Excerpt
Form: Short story (literary fiction).
Genre/Focus: Psychological realism, trauma, interior monologue, suspense, and emotional intensity
Submitted to: Scottish Arts Trust – Edinburgh Short Story Awards
Status: Completed, unpublished.
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Synopsis: Mess is a psychological short story exploring cycles of trauma, obsession, and self-perception. The story blends first-person interiority, vivid sensory detail, and unreliable narration to immerse the reader in the protagonist’s fractured world. The narrative examines the tension between memory, longing, and violence, while sustaining suspense through subtle, obtuse clues.
Professional Feedback Highlight:
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“This thriller builds slowly to a gruesome climax through mostly inner talk by the narrator… I thought this was about a girl crush. Then I looked again at the word choices and I realize it’s about a knife, and the narrator self-harms. This explains the awful ending. I think this was clever and nuanced writing – at least for me, since I didn’t suspect a thing!” - Anonymous professional reviewer, Scottish Arts Trust – Edinburgh Short Story Awards​​
Excerpt (~300 words):
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“It takes time.”
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Time… Of course, I know that. Of course I do. I am patient. I am ‘doing my best’. I won’t be like them. I’ll create a new being, one with life, blood, veins. No longer sand, no longer foam, no longer moulded into the delicate curves of fists.
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The mess they made of me.
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Don’t dwell, not now. Not when I’m so close. They can smell my fear from a mile away. So let’s drive that mile leisurely. Savour the peace; the muddy, white road, cratered by the familiar tyres before mine. Do not remember who owns them.
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Up. Sky. That’s right. It’s blue, isn’t it? Or at least, as blue as you can get this time of year. Just around the corner and I’ll be there. Slower, now. Enjoy it. Before I brave another moment of cold winds, just to get to that stupid, fucking door.
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Step out. Step closer. I need not knock.
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“Bark! Bark! Bark! Woof! Woof!”
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He always knew when I was nearby, that blessed, nostalgic creature.
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Door opens, slight smile fades.
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“Oh, hello, love! Come in! Come in!”
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The fucking audacity. At least it wasn’t my name.
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It’s a funny little gathering in our peeled paper house. The kind where you don’t talk, for fear of wasting breath. The kind where you don’t listen, for fear of further poison...
Full Text Access:
Excerpt from the complete, unpublished story (~2,000 words).
Full story available upon request.