Flash Fiction 
Primal Shriek

This week’s Flash Fiction Friday tells a raw, uncompromising story of grief, loss, and resilience. Primal Shriek captures the devastation of a mother who loses her son to knife crime in London — and her determination to turn pain into purpose.

Story
I stood in the cold, musty room, the lights dimmed low, the clock ticking as midnight passed. My only son lay in an open coffin. I’d clung to his hands all day, and by the time I left, they were warm from the heat of mine. My life had been obliterated by a senseless knife crime in London. I wanted to climb into the coffin and never come out. Nobody can understand the raw devastation of a mother who has lost her child to youth violence.

Tears dripped onto his waxen face as I kissed him goodbye. Memories of his childhood seared through me—his first steps, his proud grin in his new school uniform, the day he came running into my arms shouting, Mummy, Mummy, I scored today. The guilt of not being there to protect him gnawed at me. My heart felt frozen, as though it had stopped beating.

When I hear people complain about a breakup or a job gone wrong, I want to scream: Get a grip. You’re still alive. Death is so final.

The morning of the funeral, the undertakers arrived. His coffin, draped in the flag of his beloved Arsenal, was lifted into the hearse. As we drove through the streets of London, his life flashed before my eyes: his laughter, his energy, his promise.

At the church, packed with his school friends, I pulled the veil lower, stifling sobs. The priest spoke to hushed mourners, but I barely heard him. No words, no prayers, no comfort could bring my boy back.

At the graveside, on a freezing December day — his 16th birthday — the sky tore open with black rain. I didn’t care. I clawed at the earth, throwing handfuls of soil onto his coffin like a madwoman. Mascara streamed down my face as I collapsed in a heap, shrieking like I’d never shrieked before. My world was being buried with him.

A year later, I faced his killer in court. A stupid young thug with a smirk on his face. Sentenced to life. But what is life when my boy had his future stolen at sixteen? I will never forgive him. Never.

That night, I cried myself to sleep, but I made a vow. My son would not die in vain. In the months that followed, I turned my grief into action — speaking out against knife crime in the UK, raising awareness about youth violence, and supporting campaigns to prevent another senseless tragedy. It became my mission to fight for change, to honour his memory, and to protect other children.

This is the reality of knife crime in Britain: broken families, wasted lives, grief that never ends. But through the pain, I found purpose. I carry my boy with me always, and in telling his story, I hope to save others from the same fate.


A raw and powerful flash fiction story about a mother’s grief after losing her son to knife crime in London. A heartbreaking journey through loss, justice, and resilience — and a call to fight youth violence.


Knife crime UK

Youth violence London

Loss of a child

Coping with grief

Funeral flash fiction

Court and justice system UK

Anti-knife crime campaign

Mother’s grief story

Violence prevention Britain

Flash Fiction Friday


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