Blog Archives

Fashionable by Desire, by Scott Rhodie

27/1/2023

The sun blazes downward, ripping at my soul. My forever mantra is to keep moving, push on, and drive past the craziness.

A woman that suffers for her art, but nobody questions my ability to deliver.

No oasis here as the heat drapes itself without mercy, and this desert leaves a thirst that needs satiating.

Red hot, on and on, raging towards the highway leading to purgatory. Satan sits, luring me with tempting pieces, closer still to his altar.

I'm shopping at Macy's, New York, in fierce heat, waiting for an eternity in the juice queue.

You Have To Laugh, by Brian Mackinney

27/1/2023

Terry’s brothers got first class degrees and became senior executives in big companies. By the time he was sixteen Terry’s girl friend was pregnant. He got a job in the building trade and settled down. His sense of humour won him many friends.

Terry put together a 5 minute comedy act and entered a local talent show. He won and had offers of work in the local clubs.

After he had made the difficult decision to go full time his reputation snowballed but his greatest pleasure was phoning his desk bound brothers from the Caribbean during his cruise ship gigs.

Emergency Visit, by Bobby Warner

27/1/2023

"What should I do>" I asked. Something had upset her, rendered her restless and agitated, nearly unconscious. Anxious and afraid, I finally called.

"Get her in as quick as you can," said Dr. Samson. I'd known Fred for forty years. He'd always taken good care of me and mine.

I got out the car, and put her into the front seat. She seemed still out of it, almost in a coma, and I hurried every little bit.

Hours later, Samson patted my hound Trot-along. "She's find, Jerry. Give her these pills and bring her back in a couple of days."

Forget-Me-Not, by David Croll

27/1/2023

My high school sweetheart gave me Forget-Me-Not because their sky-blue color reminded him of my eyes. “I will never forget you,” he said as he gave them to me, then held me tightly. I was smitten. A few months later he would forget me for a cheerleader.
In college, my boyfriend gave me Forget-Me-Not. He too said, “I will not forget you.” He too forgot me.
Later, the man who would become my husband gave me the same flower with the same promise. He too forgot me for his secretary. I yearn for the man who will give me roses.

Winter's Fury, by Dorian J. Sinnott

27/1/2023

The blizzard came without mercy. It blanketed the land in sheets of heavy snow—bringing with it ice that thrashed the shutters. The howling wind through bare branches echoed like a banshee—longing for lost souls out wandering the night.
But while the outside earth trembled beneath its fury, the fire inside still blazed. Cozy and warm. Small, but mighty. Burning through even the darkest of hours. Providing what light it had. A hope for a new day. For silent stillness. A world covered in tranquil white.
Yearning for spring.
After all, the greatest beauty always came after the storm.

Ashes, by Bruce Gunther

27/1/2023

After her cat died, Joyce carried the small urn of Marlee’s ashes everywhere. She knew people talked behind her back, but she didn’t care.

At home, she placed the urn on the dining room table as she ate. She carried it in her purse at the grocery. She set it by her plate at restaurants; once, the busboy tried to clear it with the rest of the dishes.

Then came the horrific car crash. When Joyce came to, she was bathed in warm white light.

Next to her, purring, was Marlee, pieces of the broken urn around her.

Will You Love Me Tomorrow, by Sue Clayton

27/1/2023

“I love you,” his lips pressed against mine as our Ferris wheel carriage climbed towards the stars, stopping and swaying at the top, coloured lights draped around the wooden struts twinkled against the night sky.

‘But Will You Love Me Tomorrow’, the popular song played inside my head.

Rivulets of blood seeped from beneath the upturned, broken carriage lying at the feet of the stunned crowd. It had taken only seconds for the upper struts to break away, hurling the carriage and shattered lights to the concrete below.

He wouldn’t love me tomorrow, but tonight he’d been mine completely.

The Moment, by Brian Taylor

27/1/2023

Although the school was small, and they knew of each other, this would've been their moment.

They'd look at each other and feel something different. They'd think of each other constantly. Though both were shy, he'd get the nerve to ask her out in a week or so. She'd nervously, but eagerly, say yes.

They'd become inseparable. Being misfits, they'd be teased but neither would care. All that would matter was each other.

Prom, their first time, marriage, two kids, and so on.

But, sadly, both had their heads down, eyes on the hallway floor. The moment was missed forever.

A Final Glance, a Gentle Touch, by Tony Covatta

27/1/2023

Ray, wife Frances and daughter Astrid drove back home for his dad’s funeral.

Frances: “Open casket?”

Astrid: “Ewww!”

“Girls, I’ll handle it.”

Ray told the attendant, “Please give me a moment, then close the casket.” Dad, dressed in dark suit and sober tie, serene, still presented as knowing all, certainly more than he. After a final glance, Ray gently touched his father’s quiet chest.

Months later, Ray noticed that he no longer peered over the miles to dad’s hometown as he mulled knotty issues, made difficult decisions. His final glance and gentle touch had been enough. The line was broken.

A Date with Van Gogh, by Corey Bryan

27/1/2023

Her voice sounds like she’s speaking through a fan when she whispers. She always whispers when we stroll through the colossal Tate. She’s cautious and quiet in case the art may be eavesdropping. It all seems silly to me, Van Gogh had a hard enough time hearing when he was alive.

Hedging my bets, I say “I bet I could have painted that sunflower” just in case Vincent’s good ear is listening in.

“I bet I could kick your ass,” he whispers back, with a voice so tired, like he’s heard this all before.

Every Day, by Tom Baldwin

27/1/2023

You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling. She has gone. You are alone again.

You try to get your life back on track, knowing rejection will follow.

Your laptop pings. Is it good news? No — it never is.

At six o’clock she comes home. ‘Any luck today, John?’

‘No,’ you say. ‘Too old, wrong experience, over-qualified. All the usual reasons. And that’s the ones who bothered to reply.’

‘Never mind, darling. You’ll find something soon, I’m sure.’

She says it every day. You no longer believe it.

Maybe, by Alyce Clark

27/1/2023

It is kind of like a second skin- her self-loathing, clinging ever so closely to her. Attacking. Dismantling. Corroding.

Years of put downs, gas lighting and lies have done their job well.

She’s mostly broken… Mostly. Still, some remnant of hope lives on inside of her…

That place deep inside where no one can reach. Where dreams form and resilience deepens. Here, her fractured mind tries to heal, as her heart whispers kind things to her.

The concept of “maybe” is introduced. And her spirit hums a lullaby: Maybe I’m worthy. Maybe there’s hope. Maybe I can start over.

Maybe.

The Meaning of Human Existence, by Sankar Chatterjee

27/1/2023

Simi Smith, an artificial intelligence expert was burning her midnight oil, tweaking her latest creation, a chatbot capable of converting prompts to visual images. She posed the query “Princess Kate shopping at Harrods”; an image of beaming princess shopping jewelry appeared. But to the prompt “Prince Harry promoting Spare”, the program revolted, demanding more cerebral input.

Simi quoted Greek philosopher Heraclitus: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” The program obliged with a mystic image, reflecting the wisdom “Everything must change continuously for our universe’s operation.”

(Image credit: Neera Chatterjee)

The Terrifying Attack, by Jennifer Duncan

27/1/2023

At 3 am, Grace was pacing around the house. She looked out the window, saw a man with a gun coming down the street. Horrified, she realized he was coming to her door. Stifling a scream, she fled out the back door. Adrenaline charged, she raced down the sidewalk. Footsteps pounded behind her. Lungs gasping, legs agonizing, she stumbled, fell. Cowering on the ground, she waited breathless, panicking. Overwhelming waiting exploded time.

Suddenly she was grabbed. She fought back. Pain, then her brain metlted.

In the hospital, they treated her for a psychotic break caused by a manic episode.

My Doll, by Phyllis Souza

27/1/2023

"You're too old. Give that doll to your cousin." My mother said.
After years of loving my doll, I handed it over in perfect condition.
When my younger cousin grabbed it. The doll cried, "mama."
Tears hid in my throat.
I went home. Opened the door.
"Well, did you get rid of the doll?" Mother asked.
"Yes. I did.” Tears rolled down my cheeks.
A week later, I visited my cousin. My doll was lying floor without an arm.

High Score, by Yul Choi

27/1/2023

I exhale, then darkness. Death.
Words appear: HIGHLIGHTS. A video shows a baby being born.
It was me...
A memory movie and a dashboard.
Plus points for good deeds, helping my neighbor; minus for bad, cheating on my wife...
The movie ends and an envelope appears.
“Check your score!” a voice.
I’m stunned, “What?”
“If you have more than 0 you get to go to the Luxury Lounge!”.
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
“Do you hear your neighbors?”
I suddenly hear screams, or were they always there?
I approach the envelope and open it…

Yoga Recollections, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

27/1/2023

The yoga instructor surveyed her class of six at the retirement community gym.

I remember Agujas as being petite but wiry. She had her own opinions about everything and let you know precisely what they were. Agujas attended yoga right up until the day before she died.

True, responded another retiree. But let’s remember how it actually happened.

According to her husband, who also is no longer with us, she suffered a fall from the top of the stairs all the way down. It was a bad one.

He lived a quiet life after that, she recollected with a smile.

Why Now? by Allison Symes

27/1/2023

Bella Rayston, peering in her special hall mirror, only saw trouble.

They finally found me. Pity.

Bella opened her door to stop her visitor walking through it.

‘Government inspector? All black coat, icy expression, and the magical handcuffs. I’m a lucky lady.’

‘It’s time to face the consequences, Bella. Nobody gets away with criminality.’

‘Can I get my cloak?’

‘Last time you tried that, Bella, you ended up here on Earth. It has taken us ten human centuries to track you. Leave now.’

The government inspector left the bungalow alone.

A body was found later.

Bella ensured it wasn’t hers.

Family, by Jacqui Wiley

27/1/2023

It just took one phone call and Susie was on her way to meet her family. Feeling happy, she parked all she had planned for the day. Her motto was always ‘why do today, what you can put off until tomorrow.’

As she parked her car she could hear her Mum in her ear, ‘Blood is thicker than water, dear, they’re your family.’

Susie entered the hotel and was greeted by smiling welcoming faces. Her people, they accepted her for being her.

She directed her inner answer to her Mum, now in heaven, ‘My family are people who care, Mum.’

Changing the Course of her Life with Words, by Shelley Kirton

27/1/2023

Sitting beneath shady oak-tree comfort, she eliminates vocabulary she no longer has use for. The razor-sharp blade excises words, and she lets the breeze carry them away like literary confetti. She has outlived the need for so many nouns, pronouns, verbs, and adjectives. Prepositions with which she must never end a sentence. And conjunctions. Cautiously: adverbs. Oh! Those interjections. It is time to simplify her life. Has she ever needed undulatory? Gone. Another tiny gap in her Penguin. Or sendal? Farewell, medieval thin silk fabric. Millions of 8-point words on 818 tissue-paper pages to rule on. It is marvellously satisfying.

The Longest Goal, by Adam Suh

27/1/2023

A long path ahead of me, with mountains and valleys, hills and storms, but it is just me and my dribbling ball. Sometimes fainting from exhaustion, I keep kicking the ball, thinking about the goal post at the end. On the way, some people offer much-needed nourishment, a place to rest. Others try to steal my ball. But I refuse to become distracted. I shall keep running and kicking until my ball reaches the net.

Exhibit A, by Jenny Logan

27/1/2023

We’ve been together since University. We then lived in a chilly bedsit and she didn’t use me much. Not till another human started coming around. We three have stayed in a nice place some years now and I share my cupboard.

One day, after lots of shouting, I got put in a box.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve had that since before I knew you. You’re not taking it.”

“Just try and stop me,” he yelled back.

Now I live in an evidence room with blood on my bottom. It’s dark. I don’t like it. I want to go home.

Conscripted, by Don Tassone

27/1/2023

The young man looked out the train window, his eyes searching for his parents in the crowd of people waving goodbye to loved ones who, like him, were riding off to war.

He didn’t want to go but had little choice. He could have tried to flee. But if he had made it, he might never see his family again. And if he’d been caught, he would have been imprisoned.

Now his parents came into view, but they were not waving or even looking his way. They were holding one another. His mother faced away. He saw his father crying.

Monkey Business, by Paul A. Freeman

27/1/2023

We’ve been camped in the jungle a week.
“The chimpanzees have accepted us,” says the primatologist. “Look! The dominant male’s beckoning.”
It’s taken time to obtain the chimps’ trust because recently they got lured and ambushed by poachers. Babies got abducted, adults killed.
We venture from our camp. A harem of females, babies on their backs, beckon us, too. I wonder that they can forgive humans so easily. Suddenly, I realise. They were lured, now they’re luring.
I scan the trees encircling trees. Dozens of males are glaring down at us. The ambush!
It’s true then. Chimpanzees are fast learners.

On the Road, by Victoria Gladwish

27/1/2023

The man called out to me in French, not in a hostile way, but in a gummy toothless way, asking if I was having a good morning. I didn’t answer. If I answered oui, merci, et toi, responding yes and asking after him, the limit of my forgotten high school French, I would leave the impression I knew the language and would have to chat because that’s what one did in rural Quebec.
I risked being rude, but he likely concluded I was merely an Anglophone.
Hiking back to the lake, I wished I’d studied harder, embarrassed at my lacking.

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Since Friday Flash Fiction began in September 2013, 100-word stories have remained its 'beating heart'.

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