Friday Flash Fiction - 100-Word Stories

Glass Eyes, by Lucy Brighton

23/3/2019

Out of the candy floss quiet, a voice, “Can you move?”

Bile tingles my taste buds, the fruity flavours of last night’s wine.

“We to need to try and move you,” she says, “Can you hear me?”

I blink to focus, close one eye. Things steady and still: a tableau of horror.

Thrown safely from the corpse of the bike is a small teddy lion, its fur matted with dirt from the road, one of its glass eyes protruding grotesquely from its face.

The memories come all at once, a crescendo: a mangled pink frame; sirens; delicate blonde curls.

The Diagnosis, by Fliss Zakaszewska

23/3/2019

“What’s the matter with her?” asked her husband, as she walked slowly in front of the glass viewing panel. “She’s been like that for two days.”

Hilary’s vacant facial expression hardly changed as she slowly paced, back and forth, back and forth, occasionally turning to face the watchers and say, “Miaow.” Every so often, she’d turn and hiss, then stop to lick her hand. Back and forth, back and forth, lick, lick. She hissed one more time, then curled up on the bed, asleep.

“I thought you had a diagnosis?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“What is it?”

“In a word, she’s catatonic.”

A Soldiers Return, by John Cooper

23/3/2019

He took his gun down from the wall and checked it over carefully for signs of rust and wear. So it would begin again, this war that had no end. Tomorrow he would find the ammunition left from the last time and practice shooting – see if he could still hit anything.

Setting the gun aside he looked into the fire and mused about the curious ways his life had changed in these last peaceful years – never had he thought he would be so pleased to be going back, but there was truly now nothing left to keep him here.

The Final, Bex Gooding

23/3/2019

He stared across the net at his opponent, they'd been in this position many times before, would it be different this day?

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, racket in his right hand he bounced the ball on the ground, then shifted the ball to his left hand, leaned forward and continued the routine. He bounced the ball 8, 9, 10 times more.

He couldn't delay any longer.

The crowd seemed to hold their breath, this was the moment.

He tossed the ball into the air, arched his back and slammed the serve across the court.

The crowd roared.

Enough With The Excuses, by Marjan Sierhuis

23/3/2019

She comes home after being away on business. She finds dirty dishes piled in the sink. There must be a week’s worth waiting to be washed.

“You should have cleaned up after yourself,” she says.

“You are a nag,” he replies with a hurt look on his face. “Besides looking after the children, mopping the floors, vacuuming the carpet, washing and ironing the laundry, mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges, taking the dog for his walk, I worked a twelve hour shift in the Emergency Department.”

“Enough with the excuses.” “That still doesn’t explain the dirty dishes,” she says.

All Things Imagined, by Lisa Miller

23/3/2019

“Why did you leave the restaurant, John?”

“Why? You were talking to another guy for gods’ sakes!”

Rolling her eyes, she nearly drops her phone from shaking so bad. John never let her explain, not wanting her to talk to anyone. She can picture him now his frown deepening sitting on the couch they once shared, aggravated, getting more agitated by the minute when his texts go unanswered. But the lamp was the last straw, cutting them both when the lightbulb shattered to pieces. Big mistake thinking they could just chill and be friends. His mind, always imagining the worst.

The Oxford Tutor, by Ian Fletcher

23/3/2019

“Good effort,” he’d say on hearing us read our essays, before urbanely demolishing them point by point, somehow leaving us feeling it was we who had formulated his illuminations.

How we would laugh in the quad on exiting his 18th century rooms, imitating his patrician voice and manner, instantly forgetting timeless topics he’d spent his lifetime contemplating.

Forty years on, he has long passed and we too are old, reaping what we have sown in life.

We mock him no more for he has grown in stature over the years, looming over us like Shakespeare’s colossus, bestriding our narrow world.

The Interview, by Jim Bartlett

22/3/2019

Henry nervously stares across the desk at Ms. Willington as she slowly thumbs through the pages of his resume. She finally smiles, then looks up and catches his gaze.

“This is very impressive. Looks like you’ve had a ton of experience in database management.”

“Yes. Just shy of 12 years.”

She smiles again and leans forward. “So here’s the old cliché question: What do you want to be doing in 5 years?”

Henry’s eyes fall to the medical report poking up from his inside jacket pocket, the words “Stage 3 Pancreatic Cancer” spilling off the top.

“Living,” he replies.

Yoga Enters Modernity, by Sankar Chatterjee

22/3/2019

Visiting motherland, Mr. Subrata Sen of Indian Diaspora in US was catching his connecting-flight in Heathrow. Buying a copy of The Guardian, he noticed the blaring headline: “Goat-Yoga: All The Rage Now”. A photo of a group of bent-over practitioners with individual baby-goat standing on everyone’s back accompanied the article.

Soon he realized how the millennial entrepreneurs had modified the ancient Hindu techniques of breathing, exercise and meditation to improve health and happiness. Trailblazers cat- and dog-yoga paved the path for goat.

Later, Google-search revealed a “Black Sheep Yoga Studio” near his US-neighborhood. Landing, he signed-up for next day’s session.

The Lesson, by Helina Ambachew

22/3/2019

At the end of the lesson, he asked; “What is the purpose of life Sir?”, after some thinking and rolling eyes, the old man answered, “The purpose of life is to live, what else?” “All right then, how should I live? “his question changed. The query piqued the old man’s curiosity and asked, “Don’t you know how to live?” “That’s why I am asking?” said the man feeling confused “Ok, son, if u want to live life, go and help others.” The old man whispered.

The Abyss, by Julie Achilles

22/3/2019

I watched motionless as she walked closer towards the cliff edge, knowing her mental state and was afraid.

I couldn't see her face, yet, knew I would see only distress and pain at a world who did not understand her.

The wind and rain came in from the sea, so forcefully as if God Himself was pushing her backwards, but, her determination was too strong.

As she reached the edge, I called out her name, but, it was lost in the wind.

With arms outstretched and no hesitation she walked off into the abyss.

Spin Cycle, by Mark Tulin

22/3/2019

I carefully turned the knob to the right spin cycle and temperature, separating the whites from the darks, and paying particular attention to the delicates. Most importantly, I didn’t overstuff the washer or dryer.

I believed that if I took care of her heavy-duty Whirlpools, she might see me as the kind of person who would do the same in a relationship, treating a woman with respect and not taking her for granted.

As I walked past the laundry lady and out the door, I kept hoping that she had noticed that I cleaned the lint from her dryer.

Canes, by Gordon Lawrie

22/3/2019

Clearing out her father's things, she came across two school canes.

She recalled how he hated being expected to inflict pain on errant pupils, but back then 'you were simply expected to do it.' Proud of his own minor part in banning corporal punishment from schools, his concern for children had inspired her to follow him into teaching.

So what to do with the canes? Astonishingly, people would pay good money for these things. What would her father have wanted?

The answer was easy. There was a bonfire in the garden: with any luck they'd be ashes by the morning.

Checkin' Out, by Doug Bartlett

22/3/2019

The rays of sunlight streamed gently into the room, waking him up. He realized he was staying in a hotel, and after looking at the clock on the wall, thought he better call the front desk to find out when check-out time was. “Hello, this is Jimmy in room 1975. I was just calling to find out when I need to check out of my room.” “Mr. Hoffa,” the desk clerk responded, “ We’ve had this conversation before and the policy hasn’t changed. You can check-out any time you like…but you can never leave.”

The Other Half, by Nicky Johnson

17/3/2019

Officer Willows’ arms violently shook as he raised the gun. Finally, again he found the man that had terrorized the town for the last two years. The main subject of the small town’s jokes, only hired because of his great granddaddy, the once heralded sheriff, knew this meeting was inevitable. The monster proved to be too strong during their last encounter. The recount was mocked as a fairy tale.

The resisting trigger submitted, and an explosion of glass jumped from the mirror. He scrambled for a shard to finish the job. Officer Willows lay in jest no more

A Sad State, by Amy Malski

16/3/2019

Julie, was she lazy? She was wondering what would be faster than making ramen noodles. She considered eating the ice cream but that's all she had clean was a fork. That could do. Grabbing the pint she shuffled back to her bedroom where she crawled into bed and ate till she fell asleep.

Waking up twelve hours later in a mess of sticky chocolate soup, she remembered she was going to do something but couldn't remember what that was. Later she remembered what it was and that she already did it.

It doesn't matter what it was. Nothing matters. Ever.

Bug Bite, by Dawn DeBraal

16/3/2019

She rubbed her hand briskly feeling the sting. Soon after realizing a raised welt taking on a life of its own as her skin danced below the surface. Histamines, she was having an allergic reaction and needed to take some benadryl. The distance from the deck to the bathroom wasn’t great, her hand had swollen twice the size. How could this be happening so fast? She rummaged through the medicine cabinet. A worsening pain made her look. She gasped as she watched an opening being torn through the bloated skin allowing the new hatchlings to exit from the “incubator” hand.

To Never Know, by Julie Achilles

15/3/2019

I was just sixteen, too young, they said.

My Life had always been in turmoil, or was that just an excuse?

I looked for love, security and happiness, I found none, instead,

I found fear, sadness and self-destruction.

They took her as she was born, by accident I heard a girl.

In my head I named her, Rose.

Now I am sixty-one and I never knew what happened to Rose, did she have a better life than me? I Hope so, but, I resgn myself that I will never know.

Otto and Mandy, by Fliss Zakaszewska

15/3/2019

Otto was blotto but Mandy was randy. “I feel shick,” he slurred, vision blurred. With that, he rolled over and snored like a dog.

Mandy pushed him away and folded her arms. “Frustrated,” she muttered as she cocked her head and listened. “Is that someone in the flat below? Thought it was empty.” She grabbed her phone and sent a text.

‘Yes, and yes. Just got home from sea,’ came the reply.

Smiling, Mandy crept downstairs. “Thank goodness for Handy-Andy.”

Judy, by Bex Gooding

15/3/2019

‘Hello? Why can’t I move? Is it locked in syndrome? Please don’t take my organs! I’m still alive! Stay calm Judy, focus.’

Images of her children came to mind, running in the sunshine, through the bluebells, their laughter filling the air.

‘Roboton167, run self diagnostic.’ The Scientist looked into the organic, human eyes of the automaton.

‘Problem?’ The Director asked.

‘I think she’s aware.’

‘Impossible! It’s a machine with a human brain interface, the eyes are purely aesthetic.’

As the lines of digital command code overrode the images of Judy’s children a single tear fell onto Roboton167’s synthetic face.

The Tomb Looter, by Guy Fletcher

15/3/2019

The looter peered down from the pyramid-shaped hill of El Qum thousands of years ago licking his lips in anticipation. He would be rich, the dead didn't need such expensive items buried with them. He thought it was all superstitious nonsense.

After 3 days he found his way into a tomb and discovered treasure. He was ecstatic. There remained one tremendous problem though. He was trapped.

It was totally dark, his torch had long since been extinguished. Now he put his faith in the gods but they did not listen. They found his skeleton centuries later.

She's Leaving, Julie Achilles

15/3/2019

I see her standing in the hallway."please, don't", I say.

She turns and looks directly at me.

"Mum, please", she pleads.

Her hand moves towards the door, her suitcase in hand, then hesitation.

"I have to do this, please don't cry".

I know I am making this harder for her, I really don't want to, I just cannot help myself.

The door opens and she leaves.

I can only stand and stare after her as the door closes and I stand alone in the hallway and let the tears fall.

Deterministic Chaos, Idibus Martiis, by Gordon Lawrie

15/3/2019

You might need a quick visit to Wikipedia to get your head round this one.

"Cheat – you're wearing a stab vest!" Cassius complained as his knife bounced off the leader's bulked-out torso. "They've not been invented yet."

Caesar grinned. "Cleo and I brought it back from our 21st century holiday. You should go there sometime." He nodded at Brutus. "You too, Brutus. Look, I've brought you souvenirs." Caesar handed over two crushed butterflies.

"Did you buy any souvenirs?" Brutus asked Cleopatra.

"I brought back this asp," she said.

Caesar reached to stroke it. "Lovely chap. We call him Mark." Just then, the snake stretched out and bit him.

"Careful, Jules!" said Cleopatra, "You were warned..."

I Hate the Ides of March, by Henry Bladon

15/3/2019

I remember the 15th March because it was our anniversary. It was also the day you betrayed me. Yes, I can use a classic, because 'you stabbed me in the back' when you chose to cheat on me with her.

It was, if you'll pardon another, 'the day our love died.' I could go on. 'If you love something let it go,' they say. They also say: 'things happen when you least expect it,' it's not life and death,' and 'nothing lasts forever.'

They may all be true, but I hate clichés. And now I hate the Ides of March.

The Thingamabob, by, Marjan Sierhuis

15/3/2019

Cliff looks out his kitchen window. An enormous saucer shaped object sits on his plowed field
.
“Millie, anything on the news about unusual sightings in this area?”

“Why, Cliff?” asks his wife as she joins him at the window.

“Well, there is a strange looking thingamabob perched on our property.”

“Oh that, replies Millie. “I have invited the occupants to join us for breakfast.”

Cliff looks at Millie, his expression wary. “Who are they, and what do they want?”

Cliff suddenly feels something poke him in the ribs.

“You can ask them yourself.” “They are right behind you,” she whispers.

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