Blog Archives

A Midlife Crisis, by David Croll

27/2/2019

Damon puts on really dark sunglasses even though it is nighttime. A crucifix necklace dangles around his neck. Driving a sporty convertible with a girl barely in her twenties, he pulls up to his friends.

His behavior perplexes his friends.

“What has gotten into him?” asks one.

“You don’t suppose…No. It couldn’t be.”

“What?”

“You don’t suppose he’s going through a midlife crisis, do you?”

They laugh. Vampires do not go through midlife crises.

“Hey Damon, you’re 800 years old. Act your age.”

Damon smiles, exposing his fangs. He flips off his friends before racing off with his dinner date.

The Spy, Left Behind, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/2/2019

Jack was navigating byzantine alleys of historic medina in Casablanca (Morocco). Amidst surrounding cacophony, Hassan from a sidewalk café grabbed him offering the “best kebab anywhere”. Jack bit the bullet, grabbed a red plastic-chair, and ordered a mixed-platter. Nearby, a seated gentleman, face obscured by brim of his hat, was writing on a notepad.

Jack: Who’s he, a poet, a painter?
Hassan: A leftover spy.
Jack: What?
Hassan: Ever seen Bergman – Bogart’s Casablanca? This area was full of spies. But, nobody told him the war’s end.

Jack snooped from back. The gentleman finished sketching the corner building, labeling “Enemy Post”.

Plastic Smiles, by Archana Nagarajan

25/2/2019

Sasha bade goodnight to her Barbie dolls, all two hundred and sixty-six of them. It was her nightly ritual. In the last twenty-six years, not once had her dolls failed to greet her back. The constancy of their smiles reassured Sasha. Dolls had no rules for smiling. No terms or conditions; no flattery or favors required. Unlike in the real world, Sasha didn’t have to second guess the reason behind their smiles: Too wide. Insincere? Too brief. Do they even care? Too eager. Ulterior motive? The real world with its real smiles was perplexing, exhausting. Plastic smiles suited her better.

Prelude to an Act of Remembrance, by Steven Holding

25/2/2019

He hasn’t been back since his teens; only in dreams and drunken memories.

Three of them huddled by the canal side, hungrily sucking the butt of a poorly rolled reefer, choking down the smoke then off on a laughing jag.

Red-eyed and careless, wandering along the water’s edge, navigating the path to the aqueduct. The motorway down below never failing to amaze.

Swigging cans, sniggering as they unzipped, unleashing a torrent of piss onto unsuspecting motorists.

He grins, remembering.

Rockets his cigarette over the rails; cherry red trails as it falls.

Lights another.

And waits to see what will happen.

The Perfect Housekeeper, by Mark Tulin

25/2/2019

She came to my apartment every Tuesday morning. While I was at work, she mopped the floors and scrubbed the tub. I didn’t have to tell her what needed to be cleaned, she knew instinctively that there’s dust on the blinds and under the bed. She even found the grime at the base of my electric toothbrush. There’s nothing that she didn’t clean and she never missed anything. She’s an omnipresent goddess, knowing all my dirty habits, what messes I made and where. She was so good it was scary. So, I fired her and hired someone who wasn’t perfect.

Fleeting, by Don Tassone

25/2/2019

The old man sat in his armchair and looked out his window.

One springtime long ago and far away, he had walked down boulevards lined with cherry trees bursting in pink. He breathed in the sweet fragrance of a million blossoms as delicate petals drifted through the air like snowflakes. It all made him feel so alive.

Returning home, he had planted cherry trees in his backyard so he could remember the experience each spring. This morning, his tired eyes strained to see blossoms in the trees, but overnight the season had advanced, and he felt his life ebbing away.

Fertility, by Austrian Spencer

25/2/2019

The seat is leather and within minutes my back is damp, and my t-shirt sticks to my skin. I am shaking. I see through blurred eyes, as Phil holds me to his chest and does not let go. The doctor is mumbling, but I do not hear or care. Phil will tell me later that for him, it is a relief. That he will always have me to himself. That he wouldn’t want to share me with anyone else anyway.
All I hear is that I am to blame.

Relocate, by Deb Whittam

24/2/2019

There was always a risk when they decided to open the border and welcome their tired brothers to their homes. Some suggested that the flood of immigrants would use their generosity against them and waste their precious resources.

While there was an admission that this could occur they knew it was hypocrisy to denote their brothers as poor and then do nothing to assist them in their bid to seek salvation.

Their hope that this act of kindness would bring all joy was soon laid to waste.

The demons took no time in destroying heaven, leaving the angels furious.

Privilege, by Dart Humeston

22/2/2019

The anger increased to the point where my left ear pained me something terrible. I was kind enough to hang up the phone. The person at the insurance company shouldn’t suffer too. After all, as a relative of mine told me once, health care is not a right.

I guess it is a privilege?

The Declaration of Independence states we have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

But that was a hate letter to the King of Great Britain and was never included in the US Constitution.

My death preventing insulin will be $1,400 this month.

Mismatched Pairings, by Archana Nagarajan

22/2/2019

There was an abundant shortage of love in my married life. She found me pointedly dull. There was a profound simplicity about her which I found greatly annoying.

“Why can’t you be more sophisticated?” I grunted.
“Oh, stop being so acutely obtuse,” she leveled.

Our differences kept precipitating slowly. She couldn’t keep up with my slow pace. I couldn’t tolerate her blunt avoidance of our marital problems.

One day, our paradox peaked into the lowest point of our married lives - we almost fully separated but thanks to intervening friends and family, we finally decided to start at the beginning.

A Premature Exhumation, by R. S. Pyne

22/2/2019

The scraping sounds got louder. She could hear them now, their muffled voices filtering down through the loosely packed soil. Shovels scraped against stone as they undid the sexton's hard work.

Wait, she told herself; they couldn't hear your screams when it mattered. Why waste breath you no longer have? The noises continued and she grew more impatient. How much longer would she have to wait? Then, a crowbar loosened the coffin lid and she felt air on her face.

Close your eyes and play dead – wait just a little longer. The bold Resurrection Men were in for a shock.

Work Day Surprise, by Charles Gray

22/2/2019

I sip coffee and drive to work.

While stopped in traffic, yesterday's rumors torment me; If thirty percent cut, I could survive. My job evaluation says creative. I have a ton of experience and should be ranked top ten in the department.

Park Camry.

Enter building. Coworker exits, security guard at his side. "Sixty percent," he shouts.

People scramble in corridors. Gossip. "Who got hit?"

People congregate in cubicles. Stare. Hand over mouth.

Close office door. Sit. Wait. Tremble.

Books. Schematics. Unfinished to-do list. Master's degree on wall. Wife's picture.

Phone rings. Boss. "Can I see you in my office."

Into the Sea, by Julie Achilles

22/2/2019

I saw them running towards the sea, clothes abandoned, hand in hand. I could hear the sounds of their laughter as they run.

They were splashing about in the darkness and I could only just make out their heads bobbing about under the moonlight. So typical of them both, so full of fun, so full of life.

Then Silence, I scanned the horizon and saw nothingness.

I knew they were gone, carried away by the strong tide. When the sun rose I watched as the sea gently rolled over the stones at the shore.

The Arrival, by Bruce Levine

22/2/2019

Fifteen hours and twenty-two minutes had gone by. He’d waited. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait, but he also realized that he had no choice. There’d been no warning, no signs that this was the time. It wasn’t his first time going through this, but, in the past he’d always known it was coming. This time – nothing.

He paced the floor in circles, and then forced himself into figure eights and then back and forth. He looked at the floor to see if there was a rut forming.

The plane landed – the puppy arrived.

Multnomah County Pound, by Kirsty MacKay

22/2/2019

Corinne and her kid go straight to the Kitten Play Room. I linger before the cats in cages. They are asleep, resembling furry pancakes. Only the chubby one is awake and sitting up. She blinks her yellow-green eyes at me. She flops to her side with a soft grunt. I kneel to look at her; She reaches a paw through the bars and pats my cheek. I break away. Corinne's daughter rushes up to me squealing, "We picked one out!" We drive home with a shaggy black kitten, but I feel I've left someone behind.

The Intruder, by, Marjan Sierhuis

22/2/2019

Ariel opens her eyes to a room that is pitch black. She glances at her illuminated watch dial, notices the time and swears under her breath. Falling asleep while reading on the sofa is going to stop.

She suppresses a yawn, flicks on a table lamp and once again fights the urge to fall asleep.

She suddenly hears strange noises coming from the kitchen.

Ariel dare not move a muscle. She keeps her breathing slow and regular. After all, she doesn't want to alert an intruder to her presence.

But if the raccoon is back, he has got to go.

Rescued Me, by Lisa Miller

22/2/2019

Enough for a bed, let’s get the hell out of here, Sam thought. “Come on Girl lets go,” he says, hugging his dog, Sally, wishing they were taking a drive to the lake. Instead, they’re living out of a car. Two years after bringing Sally home from the Paws-and-Claws shelter, Sam lost his job and place to live.

Tonight, Sam pays for a motel (mostly for her). He feeds Sally. Then sighs, staring at the lasagna turning around and around like his life lately. Glancing down at Sally, Sam realizes she’s more of a friend, the more miserable he gets.

Silver Linings, by John Cooper

22/2/2019

“So this really is it, time to take my leave and for me to retire.

It’s a shame that we couldn’t find anyone to take the business on and that we’ll have to shut it down, but that’s the way it sometimes goes I suppose.

Anyway nearly 6 o’clock so time to pull down the shutters – same old routine for the last 29 years. Not sure I’ll miss this bit, though it will be strange that I’ll not be here tomorrow opening them. Ah well can’t be helped.

Now where did I put that lottery ticket?”

Free To A Good Home, by June Rollins

22/2/2019

“The runt is all that’s left,” she said, handing it over to outstretched, calloused, hands. “It will be prone to health issues which can be quite expensive. This one has been on a special diet to limit diarrhea.”

He handed the runt back and left. He needed a mouser, not an invalid.

“Sorry, little one, looks like your time’s up.” She removed the Free Kittens sign from the window. “Too bad he didn’t want you. Will you forgive me for lying? I had to when I realized I did.”

And for the first time, the tiniest kitten began to purr.

The Crazy Doll, by Yoey B.

22/2/2019

She sits atop my bookshelf. Her long brown hair and light pink dress make her look innocent enough, but those eyes. It's bedtime. Can I move her? Certainly. But she will always pierce the object of her gaze while staring intently at me.

The floor lamp bulbs fade away to reveal a soft, white, merry glow around the shelf. She speaks through tightly pursed red lips. Is it a message of foreboding? Perhaps. She lunges at me. Grabbing an empty medicine bottle, I crush her rosy little face. Then I recall flushing all in a grave attempt to heal myself.

Mother's Day, by Archana Nagarajan

22/2/2019

She came home to find pink flowers everywhere. Pink gerberas lined the hallway, the dining table was pink with roses, there was even a vase of pink poinsettias atop the bathroom counter. Her husband had gone all out to make her feel special on Mother’s Day, the one day she wept while mums around her celebrated their gifts of pattering feet, messy homes and non-stop chores. Later, she went to the bathroom to freshen up. The note was tucked between the poinsettias:
“The moment you let someone into your heart, you become a mother. Pregnancy and childbirth are just after-effects.”

Fifteen Minutes of Fame, by Gordon Lawrie

22/2/2019

As the crowd bayed for the climax, he stood on the stage, jaw jutting upwards proudly.

"I'm an artiste," he pleaded. "I need time. Everyone agrees that I write music, I perform, I write prose and beautiful poetry. '

The crowd was having none of it. "Now!" they yelled.

"Don't rush me!"

The audience began clapping rhythmically, demanding action.

"I'm worth more than a mere Warhol 15 minutes of fame! Someone with my talents should expect to be famous for a lifetime!"

"I think we can manage that, sir," said a voice behind him, slipping the noose over his neck.

The Warlock’s Curse, by Shawn Klimek

19/2/2019

When a witch he recognized was buzzed into the building, Horace lunged to keep the door from closing, and then slipped in behind her. Racing the elevator upstairs, he reached the third-floor hallway in time to observe into which apartment she had entered. Approaching that door, he blocked the peephole with a bag of Chinese take-out and then knocked. It opened just enough for an elderly woman to peek over the chain.

“Oh, it’s you, Horace,” said Griselda, the Coven High Priestess. “No warlocks allowed.”

“But Griselda,” Horace pleaded, “I self-identify as a witch.”

“Ain’t curses a bitch?” said Griselda.

Last Dance, by Lisa Miller

18/2/2019

You asked for it, they said, dressed like that in skintight clothes, stupid kid. But back in ’85, a Cop sits beside you in a crowded café, lending an ear over hot chocolates and coffees. A friend, he said when you're beloved Eating Disorder waltzes in with sympathy and sweets. Later, in constant motion twisting, turning while tap-dancing around the tasteless food. In rhythm counting calories, chewing, sickened as it slides down your throat.

With misplaced guilt, you denied closure until saving yourself for the last dance. Now in step gliding, leaping into a life so different and wildly beautiful.

Down the Aisle, by Raymond Sloan

18/2/2019

The soft sting of morning air brought her round. She rubbed her eyes before raising herself beneath the big open skylight.

She sat.

She applied make-up, did her hair, stood and draped the dress in one arm. Heart bumping; scene forming.

She then slid on the dress, and smirked to herself in the sloped glass. Then poked on her shoes, whirling herself into a total giddiness, arms whipping her round, eyes searching the clouds as she swung.

She stopped, watched the sky for two watching cracks, then begun.

Down the aisle would be – The Baileys, the Becks, the Grey Goose.

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

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