Friday Flash Fiction - 100-Word Stories

Crazy Colors, by Russell Conover

14/7/2019

“Whoa. What’s with these weird colors?”
“No idea. What the heck is going on?”
“The sky is purple. The sun is blue. The water is red. The grass is orange. Are we crazy?”
“Maybe one too many energy drinks yesterday.”
“Nah. Plutonians have probably invaded and brainwashed us!”
“And changed how we see color? Why?”
“Beats the stereotypical probing.”
‘Good point. But, I still don’t buy it.”
“Or maybe they’re preparing us for the colors of their alien world. Uh-oh!”
“Come on. A space trip could be fun!”
“While at the mercy of invaders?”
“True. Time to take cover, stat!”

Freedom Alley by Jim Jepps

13/7/2019

The anarchist bookshop was in a state. Unswept floors and paperbacks piled up in no kind of order. Once someone had put a broom round and it had taken them weeks to get it back to how they liked it.

Of course they had standards. When the bucket of protest badges was tipped over all hell broke loose. “Our outrage is spilling on the floor!”

Their favourite phrases were, “Sorry, cash only”, “don’t worry if you don’t quite have enough” and “I’m sorry, we don’t stock that kind of thing here.”

Kropotkin, they felt, would have been proud of them.

Sunday Surprise, by Mary Wallace

12/7/2019

Sunday morning I discovered my two daughters, aged six and four, had taken the biscuit barrel into the Lounge and stabbed every teddy bear biscuit through the heart with a coat hanger. The Great Teddy Bear Massacre was too much for my nerves, so I left the girls to clean up with their their laughing Father. I couldn't see a funny side.

Tuesday I reached for a biscuit and there, lying in the bottom were all the stabbed Teddy Bears surrounded by crumbs and carpet fluff. I have never laughed so hard in my life!

98, 99, 100, by Linda Cornelissen

12/7/2019

Time for this week’s 100-word FFF story. I can’t think of a single thing. How pitiful is that? I, who can string together seemingly endless runs of words; legible, sensible, plausible or not, there are hundreds of thousands of the little buggers littering many pages, many notebooks – contributed to over many years.

Since I was able to understand the concept of writing, beyond the basics of bizarre little symbols representing the sounds that we make, I’ve had the urge to write. SO! How hard can a puny little hundred be? Irritated finger drumming. Damn! Word count 97. Sigh.

Right Back At'cha, Doug Bartlett

12/7/2019

The old biker showed up at church wearing his tattered jeans, faded vest, scuffed boots and a five-day growth of beard stubble. Afterwards, the pastor told him if he were to return, he would need to ‘clean up.’

“What do you mean?” asked the biker.

“Talk to the Lord,” the pastor responded, “He’ll let you know.”

The following Sunday the biker showed up looking the same.

“What did the Lord say?” asked the befuddled pastor.

The biker responded, “He said He wasn’t sure what was appropriate as He hadn’t been inside this church in a very long time.”

Hope on the Highway, by Kim Favors

12/7/2019

Mile 0: I wonder when the snow will melt. The suitcase’s combination lock is 6-32-26. You might figure out what you've found. If it’s not too soggy.

Mile 587: Fake IDs are easy. Buses, even easier. They rarely search in small towns. Still, two, three days max, then time to move on.

Mile 2314: Wish I hadn’t lost those logbook entries — I’ll probably get picked up soon. Who will be first to find me? Too scary to think about.

Mile 2316: A car’s coming. Should I risk a ride? I wonder if the snow has melted.

Caught Out, by Gordon Lawrie

12/7/2019

He looked at her coldly.

"These billet-doux were in your underwear drawer," he said, waving sheaves of letters.

Her face betrayed fear and embarrassment, but she wouldn't be steamrollered.

"You were rummaging through my knickers and bras. For the usual reason?"

"Checking up. A man should be able to trust his wife."

"You should know, I suppose, I'm your fourth."

"So who is he, this confidante?"

"Confidante? Billet-doux? Been working on your French? But to answer your question, he's someone I can share my secrets with."

"I still need to know something," he said.

"What?" Abrupt.

"What does dysfunctional mean?"

Unknown Heroes, by Lisa Miller

12/7/2019

Flashback to the Swing Ride on the NYC Coney Island Boardwalk: Gunshots firing while we’re swaying, suspended in the air defenseless.

Once again, uniting together in shared grief amongst the rain of bullets. Ear-splitting screams sound like the shrill wail of a siren when the ride abruptly stops. “Calming meds,” I hear paramedics say. “Probably post-traumatic stress.”

Extraordinary how many of us voluntarily walk into the unknown. Selfless heroes amongst the chaos and pain.

Back home, I look around and name everything to bring me back to the present. Gorgeous how the violet sun fades and sets behind the sea.

Corporate Safety Logic, by Cindy Patrick

12/7/2019

The manager announced they were going to replay the film. The drivers all groaned. The film showed a truck-driver hitting a woman on a bicycle. They call her Suzy. How many times do they need to see Suzy get killed and then be sent out to work with, “Have a good day!” After the film, the manager poses the same question. “What could you do differently?” One truck-driver closes his eyes, holds his forehead and says, “Let’s see now, Suzy is going to make a left at Elm and 5th at exactly 07:30. I would be there at 07:32. ”

The Wedding Omen, by Mark Tulin

12/7/2019

“Mom, I’m so excited. All I can think about is tomorrow.”

While Liza talked, her mother remembered her wedding day. The families didn't get along. No one seemed satisfied with the food or the band. That day seemed to be a bad omen for things to come.

“Honey,” she said. “I want you to go to bed now. The first day is crucial. It will set the tone for your marriage.”

Liza kissed her mother, goodnight.

The next day the weather turned stormy. The ceremony was moved indoors. There wasn’t enough space for everybody and many stood outside holding umbrellas.

Tree Pose, by Helen Watson

12/7/2019

I lie on the shed floor and stare at the ceiling. When I started yoga I assumed I would stand in tree pose in instagrammable locations and chant “om”. Turns out yoga involves a lot of lying down.

The ceiling is tongue and groove pine planks. Dad and I built it together. We had a rhythm: size, saw, nail, repeat. I love the grain, the knots. I imagine the trees standing tall in a Finnish forest, deep in snow. The air is crisp, sparkling, alive with the brisk scent of winter pine. My mind clears.

Sparks flying at the Airport, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

12/7/2019

Flight delayed. Wait played out in time ticking on my parking meter clock. Guessing game as to which speck in the sky would turn out to be his plane.

Outline of two figures became clear from the dark backdrop.

“You must be the shameless hussy Nancy,” my venom spewed at the woman flanking his side.

A stranger ran to join us.

“So that’s the slime bag,” he snapped before turning to me. “Who are you?”

“His wife.”

The man grabbed the woman’s arm and forced her to run towards the exit.

My attack was on hold, until we reached home.

Smoky, by Marjan Sierhuis

12/7/2019

“Where did it go?” asked Zacharias as he trained his binoculars on the lush vegetation behind his home.
“What are you talking about?” his wife queried when she joined him on the back deck.

“The culprit, who messed up our flower beds, pillaged our waste bins, unlatched our kitchen window and ate the last slice of pizza.”

“You must mean Smoky, our masked bandit,” she replied and shrugged her shoulders.

“I can’t believe you have given it a name,” said Zacharias
.
Smoky decided it was time to move on. He knew when his presence was no longer wanted or needed.

Woodbee, by Alex Z. Salinas

12/7/2019

Woodbee had been with the English faculty three years. Her wit was sharp, her features indistinct.

She’d submitted her letter to the editor with considerable smugness because 1) the student newspaper was, she believed, like cheap toilet paper and 2) because her response to a student’s commentary demanding administrative changes was, she believed, glorious.

Her piece was published thusly:

"Enacting change at this university is like relocating the cemetery; you’ll receive no help from its inhabitants."

Woodbee was legendary among maintenance staff, especially to the gentleman who prettified the campus graveyard.

Placed on administrative leave, Woodbee was quoted thusly:

"****."

Frederick Squirrel, by Bruce Levine

12/7/2019

Frederick the squirrel ran down the tree for the hundredth time that day. He was looking for only the perfect nuts to add to his winter stash. Frederick lived in an abandoned nest high up in a tree in my back yard and I watched his daily activities – running up and down – gathering nuts.

I loved Frederick and felt that we were friends even though we’d never met. He was the perfect companion - furry and cuddly-looking.

Today, like all days, I watched and thought how lovely it would be if he would visit.

Too bad Frederick’s only a squirrel.

Day Walker, by Bex Gooding

12/7/2019

The vampire looked into the eyes of the frightened teenager who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

‘You’ll make a fine dessert.’ he laughed revealing sharp, white fangs. ‘Look at me, you want to die don’t you?’

The boy nodded, completely entranced.

‘I'll make it quick.’

The vampire pushed the boy's head to one side and licked his lips in anticipation. He felt a strange shudder, not of his own excitement, but of the universe itself; he paused.

‘The inversion spell.’ he thought as he began to feed. ‘It’s worked! Today we become Daywalkers.’

Poison in his Food, by Kate Wilkinson

12/7/2019

On the telly they always catch the killer. It is not so in real life. As a young woman I was happy and gay. No wonder he fell in love with me. His drinking got worse. There was never enough money. Sour and defeated is who I became. The children stopped visiting once they moved away. Afterward I collected his pension money for a few months then stopped. The last withdrawal was from out of town when I was on holiday. I’m so peaceful now. It’s lovely on my own; serene.

Sweet Dreams, by Pamela Kennedy

12/7/2019

The fog descended upon the valley as its poisonous vapors slithered its way through the village.

The air was so thick that the breathing among the country folk became heavily labored. The little traffic there was came to a standstill. The church spire and the clock tower were no longer visible. The village slowly fell into a state of complete slumber.

No one knew what was transpiring except the one who ordered the release of this "peaceful" havoc.

Quietly and efficiently Operation Sweet Dreams had begun. Soon the takeover of the village would be completed.

At Wits' End, by Diane Clark

12/7/2019

“Rats!” muttered Joe. “Why’d they have to take away our phones?”

“Dad said it would be good for us to entertain ourselves for a change.” Peter shuffled his feet in the dust. “What should we do?”

“Beats me.” Joe looked around the yard. “There’s nothing to do out here.”

A squirrel with an acorn in his jaws scampered past, unobserved. Flame-colored roses spilled over from the flower bed along the front walk, again unseen. A cool breeze ruffled the branches of the willow tree. Neither boy felt it.

“How much longer do we have to stay out here?” Joe complained.

Writing Feedback, by Russell Conover

7/7/2019

“And the world was never the same.” Bob finished reading, and looked to the writing group for feedback.

Silence greeted him.

“That was just too scary,” Sandy gasped.

“Who would want to live through such a nightmare?” Thomas panted.

Bob was crestfallen. He was attending his first meeting, and the members appeared to be tearing his piece to shreds. “I was just trying to build suspense,” he lamented.

“Then mission accomplished,” Thomas told him. “But I can’t imagine ... ” he trailed off.

“A world without chocolate donuts? Why LIVE?” Sandy wailed.

Bob shrugged. So horror wasn’t his thing. New genres awaited!

The Flower Uprising, by Rod Drake

6/7/2019

The flowers are rebelling. Their revolution is led by the militant chrysanthemums. We should have seen it coming, but flowers had always seemed to be our friends. I suppose the various weed killers over the years irritated them, to say nothing of planting them in tight window boxes. I would guess that clipping their friends and
relatives for table arrangements was the breaking point. As it stands now, we humans are losing the war. Our only hope is they will be kinder to us than we were to them.

Unless winter comes quickly this year . . .

Robbery, by Arthur KC Chan

6/7/2019

“Money! Or I’ll kill her!” He hysterically demanded, coiling his arm around her shoulders. A knife at her neck. The moon was hiding from this lifeless street.

We just left our 3-year-old from the intensive care, blaming each other over the cause of the accident. In fact, we never stopped quarrelling. One year into the marriage we realized from two distant planets we came. My green to her was greed. A nuisance, a burden, a cross. I longed to be free.

Staring at the absurdity I saw innocence in her eyes. Shimmering tears. Long-lost familiarity. My love at first sight.

Dejected, by Sandra James

5/7/2019

Rejection slips…inevitable reality for a writer.

Inspired stories and poems, carefully edited and re-worked to what she hoped was perfection. Proof-read for typos, printed onto pristine paper. Crisp sheets inserted into an envelope, addressed, stamped, fingers crossed, dropped into the big red post box.

Replies bounced back into her mailbox at alarming speed. Rejections, all of them rejections. She decided to paper her walls, put them to good use, a great talking point.

One space to complete the wall. She met the postman at the gate, eagerly accepted the envelope, tore it open. Oh…she’d been accepted!

Chocolate Cake, by Bruce Levine

5/7/2019

She said that she was going to go out with a bang – die of an overdose of chocolate cake at her one-hundredth birthday party. That meant that he had to stick around until he was a hundred and sixteen…

At first he agreed then realized, if she was only a hundred he’d be alone for thirty-one years – he planned on lasting until a hundred forty-seven.

That presented them with a problem. Now they both had to recalculate…

Math was never their strongest attribute so they agreed – one hundred forty-seven and enjoy chocolate cake whenever they wanted.

Death Slide? by Bex Gooding

5/7/2019

Ben shuffled along the queue. Talked into going on the waterslide, he was petrified. He looked over the edge, such a long way down.

How was he going to stop at the bottom?
Would a few inches of water slow him down?

The delighted screech of a six year old boy caught his attention. The boy sat down, let go of the bar and rode the water down the slide.

Ben reached the head of the queue. He was a grown man, if the kid could do it, so could he.

His stomach clenched in fear, he let go.

Whoosh!

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