博客存档 - Friday Flash Fiction

Full Moon, by Jennifer Duncan

28/1/2022

The family gathered in the living room. Mom sat kitty-corner from Dad, diagonal being the longest distance. Her brother spewed a smutty joke in a noxious plume. Her sister scraped nails of bitterness down the blackboard of hate for her cheating husband. In the fireplace, the burning wood crackled and spat as it sucked the oxygen from the room.

She had to leave.

Outside, the cold snow squeaked cheerfully underfoot, clean, white, firm. The full moon glowed among sugary stars. She exhaled her tension in puffs that made soft, misty, wispy clouds. Breathing in, her lungs tingled with frosty joy.

Cold Solace, by Rob Wolf

28/1/2022

Sunlight sent diamonds glittering on the endless expanse of snowy lake. It kept most people inside, but Lena loved standing in the raw wind, feeling the intoxicating power of her own survival in these biting conditions. She had been walking for hours and, save for the tips of her fingers and nose, paid little attention to the raw chill. Conquering winter blissfully elevated and calmed her. It removed the ravages of her inner critic and the constant, agonizing brutality she had to survive at home. Out here, on the edge of her world, she felt in control of something.

Guy Talk, by Jim Woessner

28/1/2022

We were talking cars, my friends and I—old makes and models, cars we’ve loved or hated or wished we’d owned. The subject could have been anything—politics, women, or sports. But this morning it was car talk over croissants and coffee. And it’s not what you’re probably thinking. It wasn’t meaningless banter. There were feelings, emotions, and deep yearnings for classic wheels. “I had this beater Caddy back in college.” “You should have seen my ragtop MG.” It was smiles and tears for what was bought, sold, wrecked, or lost to rust. Nostalgia of the best kind. Vroom, vroom.

Jan's Plan, by Virginia Ashberry

28/1/2022

Jan’s grandmother died last month, about the same time the Russians took Alaska and the Arctic’s true north.
Ha, Santa is no longer Canadian.
Grandma had told stories about the old-cold-war, more than half a century ago. Crouching under school desks, air-raid siren testing.
The same stuff Jan’s kids are learning now.
Grandma had told her about Great Grandma’s plan if nuclear bombs were coming.
Just then, Jan’s phone alarm blasted off. So, just like Great Grandma had planned, Jan took her kids by the hand… out to the street to be sure to get hit in the first blast.

The Day I Gave Up, by Leonard Mills

28/1/2022

They say for any good marriage to survive, it takes partnership. I say; one person must give up.
So I did; the first of January seemed fitting.
The old me disappeared, full of hopes and aspirations. I stopped trying to reason during arguments, and just accepted the inevitable; I was always wrong.
My opinions became grunts, and I became a shell of the person I thought I’d grow into. The garage became my only haven.

That was five years ago now.
And if you ask my partner; they’ll say we’ve never been more happily married from that day to this.

Tears Before Lunch, by Allison Symes

28/1/2022

Yes, I’ve been crying.

I know our blazing row earlier would explain my red face but if it was that I would’ve put make-up on the moment you stormed off earlier, like I usually do. I knew you’d be back. You always are. I’m only surprised you haven’t noticed the make-up before.

This morning, we were both over-tired and silly, yes? Glad you agree. Now let’s kiss, make up and have lunch. You like that? Good.

What’s for lunch, you say?

Lunch is my crusty bread with onion soup.

I told you it wasn’t the row that made me cry!

Ladybird, Ladybird, by Adele Evershed

28/1/2022

I found a yellow ladybird in my kitchen sink on New Year's eve, climbing the white sloping sides like a snowy mountain. She had almost reached the rim when she slipped down toward the plughole, not even trying to use her wings to rescue herself.
Knowing I couldn't save her, I scooped her up and placed her on my Easter cactus. It was blooming hopeful flowers, tricked like the ladybird by the unseasonable days.
Suddenly, I knew I no longer wanted to stay so far away from my daughter. The next day, I booked a flight to take me home.

The Fallow Season, by Mimi Grouse

28/1/2022

'I'm stuck,' said the Author. 'All my ideas have gone into hibernation.'
'And plots are thin on the ground, and the Lake of Inspiration has frozen over,' smiled his wife. 'Perhaps it's time to look at the bigger picture.'
'Ah, the Novel. The characters are behaving churlishly there, too.'
'You should edit it. Give them somewhere comfortable to live until Spring comes round again.'
'Editing. It sounds so brutal. Reminiscent of pruning trees.' Chuckling, he took her hand. 'But yes, you're right. That's exactly what I need to do. And who knows? Tomorrow I might have something new to say.'

Color Scheme, by Susmita Ramani

28/1/2022

Dashiell Balderforth adjusted his space suit’s settings so that he could breathe on this planet, GL227B, which seemed more like an outsized clod of dirt.

He was about as far from his West Village gallery as one could get.

And why was he here? Hubris and whiskey. Over drinks, he and his friends had heard a news story that far-off planets had colors never seen before. This appealed to beautiful Liliana.

Painters -- and the ones who loved them.

Stepping into a cave, his breath caught. The walls weren’t lavender, lilac, mauve, heliotrope, amethyst, or periwinkle. The color was indeed…indescribable.

Opinion, by Hannah Retallick

28/1/2022

Harvey lolled on the bench in the large changing room. His girlfriend of two weeks, Tanya, stood in a red silk gown. Her best friend, Lindy, had nodded and smiled.

Harvey shouldn’t have said what he said next. ‘Bit unflattering, if you want my opinion.’

If she’d wanted it, she would have asked for it. But she hadn’t. Tanya put her hands on her powerful hips as Lindy tutted, scowling at the now-cowering loser.

The women caught each other’s eyes in the mirror. Some things aren’t a matter of opinion. The dress was fabulous; Tanya was fabulous.

Bye, bye, dude.

Tesseract, by LM Zaerr

28/1/2022

In her sock drawer, Isie found a gold tessera, wavering lambent. Its hot touch spun her to a four-dimensional tesseract mosaic. Encubed in twenty-four walls, she fragmented into a coffee coaster, a marriage license, an old photo, all those pieces shattered by the lawyer's voice. A dragon made of twisting tiles breathed piecemeal fire, and Isie burned in shades of gold and ruby. Rearrange the tiles. She spread the dragon's emerald scales into grass. The blank background she formed into sheep, and she smeared the monster's flaming breath into a shimmering sky. She was the shepherd in this bright realm.

Moving On, by Pamela Kennedy

28/1/2022

The past has been reflected upon long enough. It's time to move forward. If you haven't learned your lesson, don't worry, it will be taught to you again. Please, move on.

You know how, you know where, and most importantly you know why. Don't worry, it won't happen again. You couldn't fool the one you loved because you couldn't fool yourself. That one special person moved on so, too, must you.

History doesn't always repeat itself. Put faith in someone who doesn't deserve to suffer endlessly for an error of the past-have faith in yourself.

Friday Night, by Brian Maycock

21/1/2022

I am on edge as I swerve, avoiding people coming the other way. It’s not that busy, not like town used to be on a Friday night, but it’s more than I am used to. The streets, the buildings peering down on me, the cloud streaked skies have replaced the four walls I longed to escape. And now I have, heading to one drink with friends, I am overwhelmed. I take a deep breath, try not think how the thing that keeps me alive is still laced with danger and plough on. One more step in the right direction.

The Lottery, by Bill Cox

21/1/2022

He couldn’t believe it when he saw his social security number on the television screen. ‘Congratulations to our winners,’ the announcer declared, ‘They have all won this month’s Depopulation Lottery. They have fourteen days to get their affairs in order before undertaking their orderly exit. We thank them for doing their bit to help save the planet and wish them a positive end of life experience.’

He felt a strange mixture of fear and pride as those all around congratulated him, but pride eventually won out. At last, he had the chance to make a difference!

Closing Remarks, by Dee Lorraine

21/1/2022

“Hi. Are you back in town? Can I come over?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when I arrive.”

Thirty minutes later, my doorbell rang.

“Come in. Coffee?”

“Thanks.”

We sat on the sofa.

“I had to tell you personally. He’s gone.” She looked to the ceiling, then at me. “He loved you deeply.”

“What happened?”

“Said he needed a nap. Never woke up. ‘Natural causes,’ they said. I found him. And this.”

She handed me a cream-colored, wax-sealed, padded envelope.

His handwriting. My name.

That night, I read his note. Smiling, I placed the key in my jewelry box.

Rhyme and Punishment, by Candace Arthuria Williams

21/1/2022

“L” is for the things I learn in school.
“O” is for the only teacher I love.
“V” is for verbs that describe things.
“E” is for everything I want.

“Miss Radcliffe! Miss Radcliffe! She can’t win the contest! Her mother helped her write that poem!”

Early Edition headline:

Third Parent Found On School Grounds: Authorities Remain Baffled.
The only clues—an apple and a bizarre unmetered poem.

A Library is a wonderful place to be.
It has plenty of books to read
And everything you need.
I buried you here to get you away from me.

Authorities Remain Baffled.

Sweet Tooth, by Paul Dicken

21/1/2022

He always added too much sugar, and the coffee dregs had crystallised in the bottom of the cup. It sat there forgotten on the table, dirty brown spittle still smeared around the rim. It was the only thing left of him in the house.

He always complained that the handle was too small for his swollen, slug-like fingers, and he would writhe and grimace and deliberately up-end his drink into his blanket, and it was always all her fault. But now the cup was chipped and blood-stained, so she buried that in the garden too.

Red Ruby, by Marie Johnson-Ladson

21/1/2022

Lilly had lost her job and money was tight. She was feeling down because her Grandfather had just died. Every time she visited him, he would be sitting in his favorite chair, which he called, Red Ruby. He always told her don't worry you will be financially set one day.

When the Will was read, it stated that her Grandfather had left her Red Ruby. When she received the chair, she noticed the zipper was torn. Lilly decided to redo the zipper and found that Red Ruby was stuffed with thousands of dollars.

Grandfather gave Lilly his most valuable possession.

Mysterious Hiccups, by Peggy Gerber

21/1/2022

Jenna’s diagnosis was intractable hiccups. She tried everything to stop them, often holding her breath until she was blue. The doctors shrugged their shoulders in confusion.

Throughout her suffering, Jenna’s husband remained unsympathetic, sitting in his chair yelling, “For God’s sake Jenna, your hiccups are driving me crazy. Bring me another beer and leave the room.”

Jenna felt at her wit’s end until suddenly, an epiphany. She packed her husband’s bags and bellowed, “This is my house. Get out and don’t come back.”

In a rage, he stormed out and slammed the door. Jenna bolted the lock, without a hiccup.

One Last Look, by Lynn Messing

21/1/2022

She finished packing her bags with the few things she wanted to keep – some clothes, her favorite toys, and her precious photographs of people whose pictures would never be taken again. She picked up the bags and looked around the room one last time. Her old teddy bear. The checkers game she used to play with her brother. The other toys that Mom and Dad had given her before… Before…

A tear trickled down her cheek as she turned to her new life with her aunt.

Seagulls and the City, by Barbara Wheatley

21/1/2022

The big move was from The Big City to down-south country, the whole town-versus-country-mouse thing, with half-hour hilly drives to town.

Not pigeons on the streets, but seagulls. Perched on overflowing city bins, surveying their unsuspecting prey. Who was more startled, them or her?

She contemplated an article called Seagulls In The City for the local paper - you know, after the shock of seeing them there.

In her next house, seagulls peppered her garden. Flew overhead, squawking, battling, dancing on the ground to wake up the worms.

On the move - again. Like a seagull heading for its sea.

In Good Working Order, by Sue Clayton

21/1/2022

I try to preserve my machine in good working order, ensure it receives regular maintenance.

Constant use of its parts is vital to stop it from rusting. I always use recommended substances to keep its cogs and gears operating efficiently.

Its hard-working pump needs to keep up its impetus, especially as it ages. Any warning signs of a breakdown and it’ll receive immediate attention.

My machine is the only one I have so it needs to be kept in good working order for 365 days per year.

If my machine stops… there’ll be no more me.

The Message, by Pamela Kennedy

21/1/2022

"To him, you are just another woman, but to you, he is your only love. This dashing man will never truly be yours. I beg you not to give yourself to him. With all my love, Grandma"
.
The note, written in ornate Victorian style penmanship, was found in an old book picked up at a yard sale. Judith
wondered if she, whoever she was, ever gave herself to him, whoever he was. Those words haunted her.

She thought of her relationship with Gerard, who for the third time canceled their date. That message, Judith realized, was meant for her.

The Carrier, by Sandra James

21/1/2022

She was a carrier. She spread it wherever she went, flitting like a butterfly… here… there…

No one was immune. Masked, sanitised and distanced, they caught it and subsequently spread it to everyone they came into contact with.

A plague. One to rival covid-19. There was no vaccine.

Big business and governments despaired. How could you sell more commercialism and propaganda to satisfied, happy people?

They tried in vain to stop it but she and all the other infected people continued to spread happiness. Kind words. Compliments. Joy.

And the world was a better place.

1.618, by Charles Gray

21/1/2022

Strolling downtown, Jill noticed everyone gawking at her. She let go of John’s hand and lowered her head. “People are rude.”

“Yeah, I know.” John, wide-eyed, stared at one couple. “Take a picture it’ll last longer.” He opened the calculator on his phone. “Sweetheart, what’s your exact height?”

“Four-two.”

“Okay, I’m six-nine, so…”

John crunched the numbers.

“Plus, a sixteenth inch.” Jill smiled.

After determining a solution, John raised his index finger, “Aha!”

“What?”

“The ratio of our heights is the golden ratio. Everyone’s staring because we’re aesthetically pleasing.”

Jill grabbed John’s hand and walked with her head held high.

<<Previous

Forward>>

Full Moon, by Jennifer Duncan

Cold Solace, by Rob Wolf

Guy Talk, by Jim Woessner

Jan's Plan, by Virginia Ashberry

The Day I Gave Up, by Leonard Mills

Tears Before Lunch, by Allison Symes

Ladybird, Ladybird, by Adele Evershed

The Fallow Season, by Mimi Grouse

Color Scheme, by Susmita Ramani

Opinion, by Hannah Retallick

Tesseract, by LM Zaerr

Moving On, by Pamela Kennedy

Friday Night, by Brian Maycock

The Lottery, by Bill Cox

Closing Remarks, by Dee Lorraine

Rhyme and Punishment, by Candace Arthuria Williams

Sweet Tooth, by Paul Dicken

Red Ruby, by Marie Johnson-Ladson

Mysterious Hiccups, by Peggy Gerber

One Last Look, by Lynn Messing

Seagulls and the City, by Barbara Wheatley

In Good Working Order, by Sue Clayton

The Message, by Pamela Kennedy

The Carrier, by Sandra James

1.618, by Charles Gray

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