Friday Flash Fiction - 100-Word Stories

Prioritizing Writing, by Russell Conover

10/12/2019

Helen was slammed. Between traveling to outer space, battling dragons on Earth, and having elegant tea parties with her colleagues, she had little free time. However, she was determined to advance with her writing projects.

She’d been working on a novel for years, and progress was slow. She was moving forward, though, and determined to publish someday.

She was also a member of two writing groups--one in person and one online. Both motivated her to continue with her stories, which she needed.

Life happens. Fact. But, writing was important to Helen. Dragons and the galaxy would have to wait.

All I Want For Christmas, by Jim Bartlett

10/12/2019

“And what would you like for Christmas, Charlie?”

The boy, no more than 7, reached up, giving the Sears’ Santa’s fake beard a hard tug. “I wanna grow up to be someone no one will forget. Not ever.”

“Oh, my. Surely there’s something that you’d like under the tree this year.”

The little tike hopped down from Santa’s lap and waved a dismissing hand. “Nah.” He turned back, meeting the Santa’s gaze. “Remember...not ever.” And with that he disappeared into the toy section.

The Santa leaned over to his helper “elf.” “Geesh, that stinkin’ Manson kid is just plain weird.”

The Mantra, by Mary Wallace

10/12/2019

'When you think you've had enough of this life, well hang on.' She had been singing it like a mantra in her head.' Everybody hurts,' but how long could she be expected to hang on?

Each little pain was prising one more finger from the ledge, loosening another turn of the pill bottle lid, pushing one step closer to the cliff. How long could anyone be expected to hang on?

"Mummy?"

She bent down to cuddle her son. Longer! She could hang on longer.

She tightened her grip.

Christmas Tradition, by K Hoffman

10/12/2019

Waking on working days was ho-hum, but today was Christmas. Every single one of the boys sprung from their beds with delight even before the sun appeared on the horizon.

G was the only one of the boys who didn’t have to share a bunk bed, for obvious reasons. But this morning, even he was in a good mood.

They rushed downstairs and gathered around the tree hand-in-hand, now a tradition. They whistled and hummed waiting patiently for her to arrive.

Apple and cinnamon wafted through the room as Snow White entered, serving each one a slice of holiday pie.

Christmastime Wedding, by John M. Carlson

10/12/2019

I can’t believe we’ll be getting married this Saturday! Jeff thought.

Jeff thought back to the start of their relationship twenty years ago. They met in college and quickly fell in love. Unfortunately, their families despised their relationship. Furthermore, both of them had much different plans for after graduation. So they broke up.

They reconnected at a reunion two years ago. Romantic sparks flew. And now, a bit before Christmas, they’d marry.

Todd came in the front door. Jeff got up to kiss his fiancé.

A Ginger Rescue, by Marieke Steiner

9/12/2019

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m going to die.

One minute I’m tending to my begonias -- the next I’m headed straight for the bottom of my pool. In my flannel shirt, denim pants and work boots, I sink like an anchor.

I can barely breathe, but through a watery lens I see Ginger pacing back and forth across the cement. A bark and a splash and she’s underwater too.

She grabs the back of my shirt in her teeth and drags me to the surface. Head above water, I sputter my thanks.

I’m alive this Christmas only because of Ginger.

Elderly Yogis Reminiscing, by Mark Tulin

9/12/2019

“I used to do a double-bind from a seated position,” said Sadie, “before my hip went out.”

“I loved stretching my legs over my shoulder until the collagen built- up,” replied Marta.

“Did you ever do a rolling wheel from a standing position?” Asked Sadie.

“Sure. Then I injured my sacrum.”

“Marta, it’s the dinner bell.”

“I hope they have something vegan for a change. Hate all that meat.”

“I knew we should have found a vegetarian-friendly home,” said Sadie

Two aides pushed Marta and Sadie into the dining room where baked meatloaf, mashed, and peas were served.

Alone,, by Sergio Nicolas

9/12/2019

James was exhausted by his work. He walked slowly up the stairs. He opened the door of his apartment and went inside. He saw that there was no one. He put his bag on the table and stood there. The room was cold and quiet. For few seconds all he did was to stare at the empty bed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Everything was dark before his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his face on his palms. The sun was about to set and he sat there still.

What a Gift, Doug Bartlett

9/12/2019

He awoke next to his wife. They had gone to bed hungry and exhausted from their long trip. Now far from home in a strange place with no friends nearby.This was not the way Joe planned it.

“Won’t anything go right?” he asked himself while feeling a tremendous amount of pressure. His wife was about to have a baby placing even more weight on his already depressed shoulders.

The still of the night was interrupted by a baby’s cry.

Joe and his wife Mary embraced their newborn son without realizing they were celebrating the very first Christmas.

The Slip, by Nicky Johnson

9/12/2019

“I have to hand it to him...showing up after robbing a liquor store,” Detective Jansen said, while he and Inspector Barie looked down from the upper level of the mall.

“I guess he didn’t want to disappoint the kids,” Barie replied with a baffled expression.

For fear of mentally scarring a few children, they waited and followed him to his dressing room.

“Come on out Fat Man. It’s over.” Jansen nodded to Barie.

They went in, guns drawn, only to find an empty glass of milk and a plate full of crumbs with a note that said, “Sorry, Boys.”

The Lessons, by Pamela Kennedy

9/12/2019

Young Jill's eyes widened when she saw the fully assembled Creche. Aah! New dolls! As she reached to take one, her mother began to admonish her but suddenly stopped.

"Jill, let's sit down by the tree and I'll let you hold the statues as I tell you the story of the first Christmas."

That afternoon Jill learned about the celebration of a Child's birth and the reason for Christmas.

Recognizing that decorations don't really matter but the message of love and joy does, her mom learned that Christmas is a holiday for children and a season for all.

A Wide Brown Xmas, by Linda Cornelissen

9/12/2019

Dear Nanna

You remember how Mum’s Christmas thing is putting up pictures of snow scenes? Weird, but she believes thinking cool on the scorching hot days helps. Well, not this year.

We’ve stopped school early to help Mum put out feed for our last few cattle. It takes most of the day. Mum looks really tired. Dad’s working in town to pay for feed. Most of our water is gone. Still we’re the lucky ones. Our friends up north lost their house in the bushfires last month. Wonder if anyone will say Merry Christmas this year? Keep warm.

Love Emma

Time Enough to Love, by Kim Favors

8/12/2019

Every visit, Laura berates me for forgetting her birthday.

Jan asks for the cigarettes I refuse to bring.

Thomas insists I reread letters from his long-dead wife.

Together we uncover and relive the past. Sometimes, I’m yelled at, other times hugged. There’s laughter and games and, during the holidays, elaborate meals.

I’ve come to need the three of them as much as they need me.

And when their time arrives, I’ll hold their hands. We’ll cry together.

They’ll never leave the hospital. I’ll come to them.

No one should die alone.

My Christmas Angel, by Sandra James

8/12/2019

My wife, my Christmas Angel, buys the presents, even her own if I give her that puppy dog look.

This year I shopped for her.

Too easy! The perfect gift in minutes.

“Afterpay, Paypal, Apple-pay, Bitcoin, Google Wallet, Mastercard, Visa, Amazon, or American Express?”

“Cash?”

Rolled eyes. I was the customer she’d been warned about.

“I’ll get the manager.”

The manager, equally unimpressed.

I noted the sign 'Free Gift Wrapping' – ask our friendly staff. Didn’t dare.

My Angel cooed on Christmas morning opening her gift.

I puffed with pride.

Until she whispered, “You bought me that last year!”

Bless Me, Father, by Gerry Murphy

8/12/2019

The leather strap bit into the boy’s buttocks like a branding iron.

“Offer it up for your sins,” said the sanctimonious priest and pointed at a picture of Jesus on the wall.

Jesus had long hair and milky-white hands with blood coming from holes in them. His heart was stuck on the outside of his chest like a big red plum with thorns all round it. Underneath was an inscription. “I will bless the dwelling in which my image is displayed.”

Jesus had witnessed many terrible beatings in the orphanage but never did any blessing that the child ever saw.

Miss High and Mighty, by Eliza Mimski

8/12/2019

The girl was always threatening to run away, saying that she’d disown the family. Can you imagine? She was uppity that way. She acted like we were horrible people, as if she was on a shelf above us. Always talking about going to college, like she was better than the rest of us. College this, and college that. Miss High and Mighty - Miss Highfalutin - that’s what we called her. Well, you know what we told her? We told her that she’d never amount to anything.

She finally left us. Not one of us can admit how much we miss her.

First to the Top, by Jim Bartlett

8/12/2019

Henson stopped. The blizzard had become a raging swirl of snow and ice, leaving the two men in white-out conditions.

“How much farther?” Peary asked.

“Maybe another hundred yards, but to the left,” answered Henson.

They counted their steps, fighting the freezing wind, until they reached what they felt to be the hundred yards.

“I’m the first man to the North Pole,” shouted Peary.

But as he did, the curtain of snow opened, revealing a white-bearded man in a thick red suit. His eyes twinkled and he wore a smile that warmed them to the bone.

“Second,” he said.

Fonts and Feelings, by Chitra Gopalakrishnan

8/12/2019

His font, the Segoe UI Light, speaks to me urgently and passionately. With a lover’s voice.

It carries the weight of his words lightly while its symbols mirror his intended intonations with fluid agility.

The varying width of its capitals, its slim E and S, for instance, differ intriguingly from the stodgy widths of other fonts.

As do its low-key lowercase stress and letterforms.

And, its italics are pure, not oblique or slanted roman like in other practical-looking sans serifs.

It is wonder then that I can neither resist the lure of his font nor the sorcery of his words?

Old Friends, by Adam Kluger

7/12/2019

“Henri, we’re old friends. Are you in trouble? Can I help you in any way?”

“Oh Craig, you have no idea how much I appreciate having a friend like you. The bar business is full of snakes and scorpions and all sorts of individuals with colorful nicknames that want a piece of my businesses.

“Are you going to be ok?”

“Henri-Pierre is always ok, my friend,” he said smiling. “Beautiful bartender!! Two shots of Los Arango Tequila Blanco."

Just as quickly he was gone again, back out onto the snowy streets of New York City, going who knows where.

Rise and Shine, by Austin Hehir

7/12/2019

"Audrey, rise and shine."

Her new foster mom opened the door and smiled softly at her.

"I can't do both," she sighed. "Its either rise or shine. You expect too much from me."

"Maybe for today, you can make an exception," the new mom said before she shuffled out the door.

A few minutes later, Audrey stumbled out of her new room to be greeted by stacks of pancakes and a seemingly endless amount of presents resting underneath the tree in the living room. Their first tree. Their first Christmas. Each one grateful for the new presents in their lives.

Christmas, by Antonia Rachel Ward

7/12/2019

You wore red to the party. I remember you arriving, eyes shining, cheeks flushed by the cold, snowflakes drifting through the door in your wake. Crystal droplets clung to your curls as you slipped off your coat and gloves. Your dress was like the lick of a flame in the dim room.

You were early, and the thought that it was from eagerness to see me made my heart skip. You crossed the room and slid into the seat beside me, turning to me, your face radiant. I had never seen you burn so bright.

“I’ve met someone,” you said.

The Vanishing Act, by Alison Ogilvie-Holme

7/12/2019

I often wonder how moments become memories, why certain people or events are embedded in the psyche while others vanish. Still, I always believed our memories would endure the passage of time.

When I first saw the headlines, recognition confounded me. Who was this stranger with your name? An internet search revealed raw, gut-wrenching details of he said/she said. The face in the photograph stared back in disbelief, all pretence stripped away with a single word.

“Guilty.”

That broken man has usurped the gentle boy I used to know - deep inside my limbic system. Never to be forgotten.

The Gift, by Ana Marie Dollano

7/12/2019

“I sense—he wishes to bequeath... a gift. He cannot rest
until he has passed it on,” said the medicine man discerning my father’s picture.

Flustered, Brother said, “But—if neither of us wants to accept it...”

“Give him this to drink for a week, and observe.”

One week after the visit to old-man Tasyo, on his deathbed, Father laboured. He gasped, trying to expel something. Finally, with a sudden retch spewed what seemed like a clump of mud. Then as if a burden lifted, his face lightened. Soon after Father’s last breath, the wind sighed as a tiny white butterfly emerged.

20/20, by Hasen Hull

7/12/2019

She stood in evening air as cold as she’d become. A funeral in January, resignation in February had set the stage for the following ten months, during which Kiran was blinded by fog too thick to navigate, a barrier erected between herself and every single one she knew. It was only now, burning bridges extinguished and a corner in the road imminent, that she could see with perfect vision: the possibility of easier times, a year of symmetry and synergy. Finishing her final cigarette, Kiran returned from the porch and joined the others to begin the countdown.

A Grandfather's Love, by K Hoffman

6/12/2019

“Your grandfather has brain cancer…”

I hear nothing more as I drop the phone.

Resting my head in my hands, I let go.

I picture his face, the way he spits on the ground

as the wad of Red Man in his cheek seeps its juices.

I hear him whistling and humming,

working with wood, creating masterpieces.

I smell the fresh sawdust.

I listen intently to his songs and wishes.

His last moments haunt me;

I see nothing that resembles the man.

I want to go.

I want to run back to my childhood

of Sunday morning comics… sawdust… tobacco.

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