Blog Archives

Cornish Lust, by Gordon Lawrie

31/3/2018

An Easter bonus. Blame Fliss Zakaszewska for this one.

Deep into the night, they were reduced to watching Simpsons episodes with deaf signing attached. Empty beer cans littered the floor. They rotated across the sofa towards each other.

"Whit noo, hen?" he asked.

"Doh navva turn in dreckly," she said. She spoke Cornish, he Scots; neither understood a word the other said.

They gazed into each other's eyes.

"I have Cornish lust for you," she said, smiling lasciviously. He understood that.

The top resisted at first, then gave way, allowing him to gaze lovingly down. He was immediately reminded of strawberries and cream.

"The stuff of dreams," he said.

Hope, by Don Tassone

31/3/2018

He trudged through the soggy grass, sat down on the old cedar bench and stared at her flower garden, feeling as empty as it looked.

It had been a hard winter, the first he had ever spent alone. Her passing had left him despondent, and he wondered if his life, too, was over.

She had always cleaned up her garden in the fall. But now the wilted remains of dead flowers shrouded the untilled soil.

Then, near the edge of the barren, mottled earth, he spotted the green tip of the first crocus sprout, and his spirits began to rise.

A Hundred Words, by Fiona Jones

30/3/2018

“Good work!” I enthused. “Here's a star to make you Star Writer of the Week.”
Jemma beamed with pride. She had worked hard for nearly twenty minutes—rubbing her head to start the ideas flowing... drawing a lively picture of squarish shapes and round smiling faces... and laboriously forming words: “I wet too The parc aN I plad on The swigs.” She had even done a full stop at the end.

“You've really made progress with your writing,” I added.

Jemma took a deep breath. “One day,” she promised—“one day, I gonna write a story a HUNDRED WORDS LONG.”

Accused, by Martin McConnell

30/3/2018

The lanky creatures hovered around her in the circle. She was the shortest, the heaviest, and often hungriest do to a deformity at conception, most often trading time for extra food. On this ship, she was the unloved, the first blamed, and the last acknowledged.

“She bumped the dial with her clumsy floating about the ship,” said one of them.

“I didn’t,” she replied.

It didn’t matter. Every crime needed a perpetrator. With nobody else to blame, she wore that shameful skin.

The long, gray, slender finger aimed at her in sentencing. “Twenty hours off your life.”

Not Cricket, by Charles Boorman

30/3/2018

Bruce was young and ambitious but after a few seasons near the top without major success he was afraid that his career might be entering the doldrums. If he wasn’t to go down as just another eternal talent he needed to deliver the goods PDQ. The older players told him a trick that could swing the match and kick-start his stalling career – if he could get away with it unseen.

The time had come. Bruce caught the ball thrown by the captain. But as he groped for the sandpaper in his trousers the TV cameras zoomed in on his crotch.

The Last Drop, by Greg Michaelson

30/3/2018

He walked to the centre of the bridge, hoisted himself up onto the parapet and sat with his legs dangling over the edge.

It was further than he’d remembered. He wondered how long it would take to fall.

He surveyed the willows dipping down to the water. He wouldn’t be coming back here again, that was for sure.

The young woman came running towards him.

“Wait!” she shouted, “Wait!”

She joined him on the ledge.

“Here,” she said. “These look promising. You choose.”

He smiled, and took a knobbly stick from her fist.

“Ready?” he said. “One! Two! Three! Go...”

Photo: David Brooker

A Simple Hello and Goodbye, by Johann Lux

30/3/2018

The extraterrestrial message took forty thousand years to get from it’s planet of origin to Earth.

Evidence of the message being authentic among the scientific community was undeniable.

Numerous analysis of the message was spun to blur what the message simply stated.

Of particular interest was the message’s reference to April, 29th, which led to speculations of terrestrial mischief. These suspicions were laid to rest with the discovery of a celestial object making a speedy approach.

Everyone is treated to a spectacular cosmic lightshow. Orange clouds begin to gather. Light from the Sun grows increasingly warmer and somewhat strangely brightened.

The Winds of Change, by Fliss Zakaszewska

30/3/2018

“But we were expecting a lion!” they gasped. “Bahhhh…” They turned. “And the sheep’s almost here,” they added.

“Well, you got me,” she hissed, cold green eyes staring at them.

“Are you albino with you being so pale and all that?”

A low noise emanated from the back of her throat; she was definitely not purring. “I’m a whitetiger from the Steppes of Siberia.”

“But March always comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb…”

“And this year, you got the Beast from the East. Now, where’s that lamb?” She licked her lips slowly.

Love At First Sight, by Gordon Lawrie

30/3/2018

As the door opened, they saw that they were made for each other.

She was ready to eat after the journey from Cornwall to Scotland; he'd starved himself since lunch. He'd made haggis, neeps and tatties for dinner, she'd brought four large pasties for a starter, and for dessert they sent out for a pair of Dominos ham and pineapple 13" pizzas. The pineapple was the healthy option.

Then they did what all romantic couples do: flopped on the sofa to watch Simpsons episodes together with some cans of cheap beer.

All the miraculous result of random right-swipes on Tinder.

A More Suitable Pairing, by Adam Smith

30/3/2018

The dragonfly alighted on the back of her hand. He could not tell which was more fragile and he could not imagine a more suitable pairing.

"You each are a nature's beauty," he whispered. She turned as if she could hear, but certainly the tapestry which hid him was thick enough?

He watched until she blew upon the creature. It flew circles and found its way behind the curtain, landing on his shoulder.

"I know you are there," she announced, "and I know we are one. Goodbye for now, my love."

When he ventured a peek, the balcony was vacant.

The Land of the Dead, by Ian Fletcher

29/3/2018

He looked at the boisterous teenagers chatting away, ignoring his attempts to quieten them down on this rainy Monday morning.

He’d started at the school twenty-five years ago. None of this youthful congregation would have even been conceived then.

“A whole generation born!” he thought.

“A whole generation passed on too,” he reflected, pondering the death of his parents, aunts, uncles, their friends and neighbors, all vanished from the earth.

“Let them chat on,” he thought, for they were still cocooned in the land of the living, while he was being drawn ever closer to the land of the dead.

The Real Little Women, by Adrian Slonaker

28/3/2018

On Saturday evenings, while the Cold War fomented fears of not if, but when, Oliver's panacea persisted in Peekskill. Lounging in the luxury of a La-Z-Boy, he was soothed by TV's adolescent sirens, who were to Louisa May Alcott's literary maidens what Atari was to Go Fish. Jo's snarky sarcasm, Blair's brilliant ideas, Natalie's Borscht Belt belly laughs, and Tootie's telltale histrionics were as reliable as Reagan's voters. When Oliver went off to university soon after the girls-er, women-had faded from the airwaves, he knew he'd been well-schooled in the 'Facts of Life'.

Siranne, by Tanya Fillbrook

28/3/2018

An intrusive cool breeze engulfs my ever weary bones as I witness peculiar ''space storms.''
To where I, Siranne Jones await my fate.
In love and war, in life;
For if these stars ''flicker to fade,''
Outcast I will be.
I will grasp hold of ''outer earth'' until the darkened heavens have become illuminated,
In order for my return to the safest planet in the universe:
Skarten!

New Normal, by Don Tassone

27/3/2018

They’d grown used to 24-hour news, to thinking of people they’d never met as friends, to assuming everyone over 50 has hair that is naturally brown, blond or red.

Deep down, though, they knew these things were an illusion. So they began to turn off their TVs, delete their Facebook accounts and let their hair go gray.

They had allowed themselves to think of such things as normal, but now they began listening to each other, writing letters and living at their own pace.

They began creating a new normal, and life became clear and slow and real again.

Intermissions, by Jason Scott

27/3/2018

Will placed the milk next to his foot. He’d been holding it forever.

“Stop bouncing that ball,” a woman fruitlessly begged her recalcitrant boy. She’ll get her wish, Will thought, while watching his phone count down, 3…2…

Then, everything stopped. Sound. People. The ball in mid-air. Possibly god, if he existed.

Will could grab that ball from time’s clutches but promised himself no more disruptions. Besides, he felt less alone, inanimate amongst the “frozens.”

Exactly 15 minutes later, life continued.

Raising his phone, he reset the countdown. 30 seconds. Enough time to text: Didn’t forget the milk. I miss you

The Cousin, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

26/3/2018

The younger one, a boy of two years, was struggling with an obstinate car while the other, two years older than him, was content with a tiny ball. The car was a battery-operated toy. The younger one’s mother was too busy knitting to see her son’s frustration. Suddenly, the desperate child began to cry. Flinging aside his ball, the elder one reached his crying cousin and pulled the car from his hand. Annoyed, the mother got up and smacked the elder one for his brutish act. The tearful child could only murmur, “I--I just wanted to press the button.”

Ending Her, by Susan Church

26/3/2018

She was a silly old lady and I hated her. Her hair was an explosion of maroon wires, like a rusted Brillo pad. Her gash of sticky lipstick reminded me of blood in the snow.

I would end her--now. Quickly.

She toddled down the street.

I inched down the grass toward the gate. I could feel my mouth filling with hot saliva.

Here she was! I pounced! She let out a jagged squeal as we collided. My meaty front paws scraped down her boney chest.

I growled as she went down. Ending her would be easy!

Tweets from the Bunker, by Reg Wulff

26/3/2018

More people working than ever thanks to thousands of job openings army, navy, air force and marine core. Unemployment will be at lowest level in history of America but Dems only worry about body count. SAD!

Massive growth in economy coming with increased need for materials and labor to rebuild cities, highways and other national infrastructure. Tremendous chance for American companies and workers to MAGA!

America is respected again by our allies and adversaries! Putin went down like a bitch and little rocket man is crying over his broken rockets. Xi better rethink his trade policies. Totally unfair to America!!

Complicit, by Justin Wall

25/3/2018

Today I watched the Earth die. It would be unfair of me to say that I was not without blame.

At 10am this morning, I was given a choice - either hand over my vaccine, or watch the planet burn. I knew the intention of those making this demand was dishonourable. This project was my life’s work; it cost me a marriage and many friends. Why should I have been held to ransom over this?

Five hours later, a super-contagion had wiped out half of the global population. On reflection, it is now clear that I chose unwisely. Oh vanity.

Spring Fling, by Jane Tulloch

25/3/2018

“I wandered lonely as a cloud- “
“Wait a minute, who said clouds are lonely?”
“That Wordsworth guy.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s actually true though.”
“No. But people say all sorts of daft things and call it poetry.”
“Well what could he have said then?”
“I walked about all by myself?”
“That’s not very poetic.”
“Right enough. How about- on my lonely walk I glimpsed a host of golden daffodils?”
“A host? Glimpsed? Really? I thought daffodils were yellow anyway.”
“Ok. While I was walking about all by myself I saw some daffodils.”
“Nailed it. Not very poetic though.”
“Argh!”

Meanwhile, in Washington, by Sankar Chatterjee

24/3/2018

The President just emancipated slaves. On a gorgeous day, after delivering a speech, he would open his house to all citizens to celebrate. His would-be assassin, standing near-by murmured “This should be your last speech in life.” Two days later, anti-abolitionist John Wilkes Booth would fatally shoot President Abraham Lincoln in Ford’s Theatre.

150 years later, thousands of students would converge in the capital to protest against recent arms-violence. Becky asked fellow protester Cathy “Do you think the President would sit with us discussing the issue?”

Current leader was just starting at the first hole in sunny Florida, 600km away.

Can't Find the Words, by Greg Michaelson

24/3/2018

He sat and stared at the screen. It was a big ask. And at such short notice.

They’d made requests in the past and he’d done his best to satisfy them. They weren’t always so happy with the outcome, but, eventually, had seen what he was getting at.

Usually he could respond without thinking about it too much, but this one felt different. If he got it wrong, the whole interaction might be compromised.

He really couldn’t delay it any longer. That was the point. Just to do it. But where to start? How to put it? One hundred words...

One New Message, by Holly Hale

24/3/2018

Mary plugged her dead phone into the wall and waited for the charger to kick in. With no internet or home phone installed yet, this was her only contact to the outside world. Pressing the power button her phone lit back up, revealing an unread text message.

‘Lock yourself in the bathroom, I saw him outside! I’ve called the police but you need to hide now!’

In a panic, she ran towards the safety of her bathroom, but it was too late.

Until We Meet Again, by Marjan Sierhuis

23/3/2018

My father’s words were muddled and incoherent. His once bright eyes now held a glassy-eyed stare. Clutching his cold damp hand I would try to be patient and see what he was trying to tell me.

Moving closer to the bed, I studied every nuance in his ashen face. I searched desperately for a sign that he was still very much a part of this life. But eventually I saw the truth. My father was dying and I had to face it.

Later, I said my goodbyes and whispered in his ear, “until we meet again.”

The Frequent Flyer, by Charles Boorman

23/3/2018

Even after decades of air travel, it never failed to piss him off: the baggage reclaim. The queue for trolleys, jostling for position at the conveyor. “How long do you need to get a few suitcases off a plane?” Joe grumbled to himself.

“Excuse me, can you give me change?” said a small man. He held out a bank note towards Joe, who put down his briefcase and began fumbling impatiently in his wallet. “There you are”, he grunted.

“Thanks a lot”, replied the man, disappearing among the passengers.

“Where the hell?” gasped Joe, looking around desperately for his briefcase.

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

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