He lifts the cup; he sucks lightly, then slurps. He smiles, he sighs.
He looks at his wife and says:
"Hon, you make the best darn cup of coffee in the world!"
Friday Flash Fiction |
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See him: Slouching down the stairs; shambling through the hallway; tilting off-balance through the kitchen door; dropping into his chair at the kitchen table, staring blankly.
He lifts the cup; he sucks lightly, then slurps. He smiles, he sighs. He looks at his wife and says: "Hon, you make the best darn cup of coffee in the world!"
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The Culvertson twins stayed up all Tuesday night, playing games on their laptop computers. They dropped off to sleep about 6:00 a.m.
At 6:30 a.m. their mother rapped on their bedroom door. "Time to get moving, guys. This is a school day, you know. "I can't do it," moaned Ned. "Me neither," groaned Ted. "What'll we do?" "Make like zombies," said Ted. "Lie still; play dead. Maybe we can fool Mom into thinking we're really sick till it's too late for school." The plan work awesomely. But when their mom discovered the ruse, she grounded them for two weeks. "Can I help you?" "I doubt it," said the old woman. "I know more than you." "You sound like you're calling from the US. Why are you phoning?" "I want to complain. You're extremely rude." "You'll allow me to reserve the right to disagree with you." "That's OK. The US Constitution allows us freedom of speech." "This is Europe. We don't have the First Amendment. We just try to be polite." "That's your problem," said the woman. "Being polite or not being from the US?" "Both." "Well thankfully, we in Europe do have one right..." (Suddenly, the telephone goes dead...) (@Paul Simon 1966. I'm sure he won't mind being used here).
'Look!' Amanda rolled up her sleeve. ‘It’s Viking!’
Her alabaster skin was a colourful scribble. ‘You’re going on a raid?’ Philip asked. His beautiful daughter, sullied for life. Presumably some boy told her it was cool. She rolled her eyes. ‘Dad!’ Her face was alive. ‘Glad you like it. You’ve got it forever.’ She pouted, dissatisfied. He sighed. ‘It’s amazing.’ What a stupid way to live. Amanda watched him drag on his cigarette, breathe out an acrid wraith of smoke. She made a show of batting it away from her face. ‘Dad,’ she grimaced, ‘what a stupid way to die.’ Even The President Of The United States Sometimes Must Have To Stand Naked, by Gordon Lawrie19/10/2014 Immigration: a tall black American steps forward; a large, imposing officer studies his passport.
"Whereyagoin?" "Washington." "Whereyabin?" "Afghanistan." "Gonna have to ask you to follow me." Then in a private office, "Gonna have to strip-search you, sir." "What???" "There's been a death-threat to our President, sir." "But I am the President." "Passport says your middle name's Hussein. From Afghaneestan. You could be a disguised bomb." "I'm not – " The officer's drawn gun stops him. One humiliating ten-minute strip-search later, the President is released. Returning to his desk, the officer waves the next man, a blond Austalian, through. "Proceed, Mr Assange." Sylvie sat with her mother and Luce, her god-mother, surrounded by crocheting and magazines. Beyond mother and daughter, Elsa was reflected in the plate window.
To encourage labour, Elsa invited her daughter-in-law to go walking. “Want another gown?” “Nah, I've got my sweater.” She pulled it on. Luce jumped up and tugged the sweater down, “You can't wear this! It's open down here.” Sylvie waddled off to the bathroom. Disappointed, Elsa shoved the god-mother in the shoulder and left the room, remembering the time Luce said nearly the same thing to her pregnant sister moments before Sylvie's wedding. I was scared, because it was my first day of school. But I made friends and we did skipping together, so it was OK. Until it started hurting, really bad, behind my eyes. They took me to see Mum. She was crying. I wanted to go home, but they said I’d have to go to sleep first. They cut off my hair and pulled my whole head open. I woke up and wondered if I could go back to school. When I asked, they said I could soon. I could do anything I wanted. I decided to buy a hat.
“Oh dear,” said Mazzy, dropping her head to her tentacles. “It’s Friday.”
Owiz swiveled Eyestalk 7 to peer at her friend. “What’s up?” “Well, it’s Flash Fiction day,” said Mazzy. “And I haven’t written yet.” Owiz extended Tentacle 3 and patted Maddy’s head “Don’t worry – I’m sure it’s fine,” she said. “But it’s a commitment!” Mazzy.said. “But it’s VOLUNTARY!” Owiz replied, blond spikes waggling agitatedly. “They’re not gonna drop you!” “I know,” Mazzy sighed. “But I can’t think of a thing to write.” “Maybe you could write about us?” said Owiz. “Nah – no one would ever believe it,” Mazzy said. The action was now to my east. Perched up on top of a grassy heath I watch as dozens of men are mowed down by enemy fire, some unknown demon within the mossy bank. Like Satan’s windscreen wipers the bullet fire tore through wave after wave; Chug, chug, chug, chug. I adjust my scope, struggling to see through the smoke, but I have to focus. Beads of sweat sink down my shaved temples as I tighten my grip, hooking my finger around the smooth trigger. My eyes as white as hot coals, calm and ready.
“Target is in sight sir”. The tall, thin jungle warrior lifted the lid, giving Thompson his last look at the world. There was a blazing fire under the huge iron pot, and the water was already getting warm.
"How you want me cook b'wana? Rare? Medium? Well done?" "You're quite a jokester!" Thompson growled, then added: "You ugly bastard!" "Me think well done!" said the warrior, slamming down the lid. "I know you're here. Make it easy on yourself. I came to kill you, and I can make it quick and painless--or slow and agonizing. The choice is yours.
"There you are! Darting into the hall closet, eh. Now I've got you! "Damn! This is no closet. It's your gun room. And of course you're a crack shot. "Good Lord--is that an elephant gun--!" Harvey wasn't a vampire by choice. He'd been bitten by his best friend Marty, who had earlier also become a vampire not by choice.
Vampires live a very gloomy life: They have to sleep all day in a drafty old box half-filled with smelly dirt. They don't dare stay out too late or the sun will fry them into crispy critters. And they can't drink wine, or booze of any kind--or even enjoy a nice fat burger. Their only food has to be yucky blood. Being undead, thought Harvey, is definitely a bummer! Mister, don't go up there. Black Pine Hill ain't no place to visit. Folks who venture up there to satisfy their curiosity don't come back.
I went once, and I saw it. No sir, I don't know what it was; but it scared me so bad I blotted out everything I saw. But it's there, all right. And it's real bad. I'm the only one I know who ever got away from it. What's that? You're gonna take a look, anyway. Okay. It's your funeral. What's the name and phone number of your next of kin? With thanks to Gordon Lawrie for inspiration...
“In the interests of full disclosure, I stand in front of you today –” No, no that’s not right; it doesn’t quite sum up what I want to say. Let’s try again. “As the man who has always strived for honesty, clarity and transparency, and exposure of government and corporate wrong-doings, I stand in front of you today…” Nope, that doesn’t work either. I need something more immediate that will give my statement impact. I know! “I stand in front of you today…” Even Julian Assange Must Sometimes Have to Stand Naked. Told in parts over a number of weeks.
Chapter I: The Adroit Dragon Dad Your relationship flourished, and a beautiful egg awaits. You’ve watched friends cope with fatherhood and wondered: Could I? Would I? Of course you will. There are very few deadbeat dragon dads. Evolution has also ensured that the pregnant dragon is irresistibly attractive. The beautifully increasing curve of her abdomen and the compellingly sweet pheromones she emits make leaving unthinkable. The female has undergone a long pregnancy, prepared the birthing sand and delivered a large egg. But when the egg begins to crack, she will disappear, and you will imprint the hatchling. But you won’t mind. Imprinting works in both directions. Chapter II: The Hatchling The newly-hatched dragon is not as helpless as many new-hatched birds or some newborn mammals. Neonatal dragonettes can walk, albeit unsteadily, and they can feed themselves, if suitable food is provided. However, they cannot yet control their excretory muscles. It will be two to three weeks before they can leave the cave for a suitable place*, and months before they can fly. During this period, it is best to keep them on the hatching sand, which of course must be kept clean. The parents’ best friends during this time are patience and a broad scoop. *See Gov.Bul. 386, Building a Sanitary Latrine Chapter III: Feeding The Young Dragon Alexy was sunk into a corner armchair at Dark Streets Books, nose deep in a paperback. As he’d never read much, I was intrigued. “Whatchoo got there?” I asked. “BBD,” he muttered. “Bram’s Bloodly Deadiquette?” I smarted. “Very funny,” he scowled. “Bagged Blood Diet.” He looked embarrassed. “Like blood banks?” I said. “Exactamente,” Alexy said. “Healthier blood. Banks don’t take from druggies or diabetics. No more Fat Alexy.” “So, you gonna open an account?” I said. “Wish I could! I’m so tired of the hunting, the mesmerizing … I’d rather just slap a bag on my fangs and be done.” Chapter IV: Learning To Hunt Soon the young dragon will be able to leave the cave, although flying skill is several years away. Youngsters will try hunting, pursuing such small prey as can be found nearby. Even this early, it is essential to teach the time-honored hunting rules. First and most important: Humans are off limits. While they may look slow and vulnerable, they can be dangerous. Since the Treaty of 716, our two species have been at peace, and this must continue for our mutual benefit. And although dogs and cats are not mentioned in the treaty, attacks on them frequently provoke human ire. I was sitting before my computer, staring at the blank monitor screen when my wife came in.
"What are you writing about today?" "Nothing so far," I replied. "Darn writer's block." "You always did say ideas come to you while you're doing something not associated with writing. So how about taking out the garbage? That should inspire you!" They came down the gentle slope of the foothills; they had approached from the other side of the mountain. We had them now--at long last.
When they reached a certain point I raised my arm and the troops on Wedge Hill started the avalanche. Their warriors floundered and were mostly buried in snow. They had come to annihilate us--they called us Abominable Snowmen--but they failed. And we showed them just how abominable we can be! The rain stopped and I went to the front door. Outside, the lawn was puddled; drops of rain fell from the eaves of the house.
It was a night like this when you passed away; and as I stood on the front porch I realized all over again how much I missed you. Then the clouds dissolved and the moon and stars came out. Down by the pond frogs began to sing. I went back inside, crawled into bed, and lay for a long time, remembering. Joe stared at Hallie, who was lying at the bottom of the ladder.
“Jeez Louise, woman. What a stupid way to die,” he said. “No guts no glory,” Hallie snapped. “What a stupid way to live.” Joe crouched down. “Does your mother know where you are?” “I’m sure an arrangement could be made,” Hallie said, scowling. “She doesn’t have to know.” “Yah - nothing salvageable there,” he said, cocking his head. “Clean Up, Aisle Five!” the loudspeaker squawked. “I gotta go,” Joe said. “You’re Aisle Seven,” Hallie said. “Damn! I know I thought of that FIRST!” he said, loping out. Part I: Coveted
It was just unfair Grandma gave Lilith the doll. All Vera got was a tin of pencils. She unfurled Lilith’s sleeping arm. The doll’s eyes were hard in the moonlit room. Halfway down the stairs, their mouser rushed between her bare legs. The doll fell from her hands. Its porcelain face smashed when it hit the wooden treads. Next morning, her father called her into the parlour. ‘I didn’t mean to, I just wanted a play,’ she began. ‘Damnation,’ he sighed. He unbuckled his belt. Afterwards, he took her onto his lap. ‘Hush now, Vera. It could have been worse.’ Part II: Just Business Vera heard Harry Fulton on the veranda. Her father rented the Fultons’ creek paddock for the weaned calves. ‘Margaret has another one coming along. Biddell’s offering us more money.’ ‘I’m raising two girls.’ ‘I’ll take one of your steers. Butchered. That’ll square us.’ Vera was skinning potatoes when her father walked through the kitchen holding his rifle. ‘Just going out for a bit, Vera.’ She heard the shot. Two weeks later, they were checking the steers when she noticed the poddy calf was missing. ‘It wasn’t Freddy, was it Dad?’ she pleaded. He sighed. ‘We all got it coming, kid.’ Part III: Awakened Lilith opened the road gate and marched up the dusty drive. Vera dawdled, fussing with the catch. Bertie Fulton was mending a fence across the way. She walked over, leant on the wire. ‘Hot.’ ‘Want a swim?’ They tramped through the dry brown paddocks, past the calves, towards the creek. There was a pool surrounded by bush. She tugged her tunic over her head, unfastened her brassiere. She shot him a glance, then shimmied out of her cotton underwear. ‘You sure?’ ‘I know what I’m doing.’ He bent down, tasted her. ‘How could you know?’ he murmured. ‘At your age?’ Part IV: Lethargy Bert stayed in the ute while Vera went into the surgery. When she came back, she’d gone past crying. He reached across to hold her hand. ‘I’m too young for it,’ she said. He started the drive home. ‘It’ll be okay. I’ll work for Dad. We’ll fix up the old shearing shed.’ She looked across at him. ‘There are already six kids in your family.’ ‘Maybe your father – ' ‘He’ll kill me.’ Bert gripped the wheel tighter. The blue sky stretched out forever, beyond the pasture, beyond the mountains. Eternity, succouring the human soul. He exhaled. ‘I’m out of ideas.’ Part V: Fury Lilith hid behind the banisters. ‘You’re a little fool. A damned little fool!’ She didn’t catch Vera’s reply. ‘Your mother, if she were here, she would die. She would die of shame!’ ‘Well, maybe if my mother was here I wouldn’t be in this trouble!’ ‘Don’t you –’ he began. ‘Don’t I what? Don’t I grow up? Don’t I become a woman? You only want to keep me here ’cause you couldn’t keep a hold of her.’ There was a crack, and she heard Vera wail. ‘I’m going!’ ‘Where? Where are you going to go?’ ‘The other way from you!’ Part VI: Honour Harry Fulton opened the screen door cautiously. ‘What can I do for you, missy.’ ‘Bertie home?’ Harry closed the door and called his son. He grabbed Bert’s elbow as he passed. ‘You been a fool?’ ‘I love her. ‘Love doesn’t do a thing.’ Bert pulled free and went out onto the porch. Harry saw the Moore girl fold herself into Bert’s arms. ‘He called you a no-hoper,’ Harry heard her say. Bert took off down the driveway. Ten minutes later he was back, rubbing his hand. Harry strode outside. ‘You an even bigger fool now, son?’ ‘He had it coming.’ Part VII: Hunger The café was overcrowded. Vera smiled and moved along so they could share. She sipped her Darjeeling. Their order arrived: milkshakes, wedges of Black Forest cake, ice-cream and cream. ‘This’ll totally wreck my diet.’ The girl patted her flat belly. Her friend giggled, ‘It’s positively sinful!’ Sinful. She examined the translucent liquid within her cup. She saw Bertie’s slender frame as he stretched out naked on that first hot afternoon, dappled in the soft light of the glade. Vera swallowed quietly. The waiter passed. She caught his eye and gestured to the empty teapot. ‘Thank you, may I have another?’ “Darla! That ring! Who’s the lucky guy?”
“It’s George! Finally he proposed.” A pause. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” “Darla, I’m sorry to have to tell you. George has been dating Veronica, a coworker, for months.” “But … You mean it was always only about my money?” “Darla, I’m so sorry. I’ve always known George was a gigolo. I just had to say something.” “I could kill the bastard! The gold-digging bastard!” “Darla, why don’t you talk to somebody?” “Why, what will they say? I just want to kill him!” “Call this number first. Ask for Ann-Louise or Rejoice.” Caroline (slinking across the floor, swishing a black fringed scarf, singing raucously off-key) She had it COMing … ta-DUMP! She had it COMing … ta-DUMP!
Ben (looking up): What in tarnation you think you're doing? Caroline (stopping in mid-swish): Rehearsing! Ben: What for? Caroline: “Chicago.” I’m auditioning. Gonna knock em DAID! Ben (tucks his pen behind his ear): Nope. You can’t sing. Or dance. Caroline (flouncing the scarf): Jealous. You are Jea-LOUSE! Louse! Ben: Aren’t you gonna sing the rest of the words? Caroline: Nope. They’ll hire me after the first line. Ben: More likely they’ll throw you out. Next! The end of paradise – HE…
Didn’t know –SHE did… Walked out the front door and had to duck if a six was hit… Turned right at the front door and walked 30 meters for tennis… Walked another 40 meters for squash… Walked ten meters right from front door for first tee… When hot and tired needed only 60 meters to cool off in the pool… Walked to the pub afterwards for drinks, darts and snooker ‘till midnight and only Ten 10 meters backwards from pub for great meals… Married and moved Never saw it coming - SHE did. “Oh, George, I love you so much.”
“The same to you. You’re my one and only, Veronica.” She stiffened, abruptly breaking off the hug. “And who, may I ask, is Veronica?” His eyes went wide. “Oh, crap. Uh, she’s just a person I ... met in a store today?” Her eyes narrowed, as he continued to fumble for words. “Honest. You two would get along beautifully.” He pulled a small box out of his pocket, and she gasped, looking upon the brilliant ring. “She helped me choose it. All for you, my love.” “Oh, George. You are wonderful!” “She just came in, Tom.”
“Where?” “The other way from you.” “Thank you, may I have another?" “A sixth brandy? At your age? Maybe you should have an orange juice.” “I’m allergic to that.” Tom slugged down his brandy. His eyes widened, then closed, and he fell back, slamming onto the floor. “Well, it could have been worse,” said Jack. “After all that booze,” replied Sam. “He had it coming.” “Fast enough, though. He never saw it coming.” Ed, who fancied himself a philosopher, said, “We all got it coming, kid.” “So what do we do with him?” someone asked. “You’re asking me? I’m all out of ideas.” |
"Classic"
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