Blog Archives

Eureka Moment, by Gordon Lawrie

1/5/2015

Widely assumed to be Pluto’s most intelligent man, Plutonian No. 20145B possessed eleven physics degrees, ten from Pluto universities and one from Galactic College, Neptune. An acknowledged electricity expert, he was the first Plutonian to demonstrate that light-switches are generally either on or off.

20145B’s bulb-changing PhD meant he was the obvious choice to fix the broken light-bulb in the town hall toilet. Valiantly, he mounted the stepladder and reached up, whereupon he became the first Plutonian to discover that mending broken lights without turning off the switch leads to death by electrocution.

His body was donated for scientific research.

Vanishing Act, by Russell Conover

27/4/2015

“GRR--where’s my ticket to Rio??”

Amy swooshed papers left and right as she scoured her apartment for her plane ticket. The family reunion was weeklong, and the flight was in three hours. No time now to buy a new ticket.

Panic rose in her throat. She couldn’t miss this get-together, since it was the first in ten years. But no plane ticket? Kinda hard to fly.

Suddenly, she saw it under the cat’s food bowl. Reaching down to grab it, she looked Fluffy in the eye. “Trying for a vacation, buddy? Think again. This one’s mine.”

Fluffy simply meowed.

Dad Isn't There Any More, by Ann-Louise Truschel

25/4/2015

Every Saturday I visit Sam. At 99, he gets around pretty well. His general health is good. He’s pleasant, enjoys a good laugh and is a great conversationalist.

We reminisce about his days as Controller of a steel company. And then there’s golf. He loved golf! Every Saturday for years, he played 36 holes with his brothers.

Sam loves to talk about the old days. He’s always a little sad to see me go.

“Come back and see me again. You’re such a nice girl,” he says.

“Sure thing, Sam,” I assure him. To myself I say, “Love you, Dad.”

The Disappearance, by Emma Baird

24/4/2015

Eddie frowned: his stories seemed to have vanished from the library. He’d checked the day before and all the stories had been there. The librarian had said they were among the most requested stories in the library.

He scratched his head, puzzled. Where were they?

Behind the romance section, a huddled figure smirked as she watched his search. Oh, Eddie, I know where your stories are! I can’t bear the comparison so I’ve wiped them off the face of this earth! Now, 50 Poses of Topless Regency Rake could claim its rightful spot at top of the most borrowed list.

Children's Television, by Gordon Lawrie

24/4/2015

The League Against Children's Stories (LACS) was formed by desperate parents seeking respite from the endless repetition of mindless junk.

Paradoxically it was LACS that realised that familiar stories could still provide twenty-first century children's entertainment: celebrity cage-fighting.

The prime-time televised series was an instant smash hit. Viewing figures soared for the Blyton-Seuss grudge match, the Gruffalo's mouse-squashing scene, and a particularly nasty contest involving Thomas The Tank Engine and eye-gouging.

One billion viewers worldwide tuned in for the slightly anticlimactic grand final: The Very Hungry Caterpillar simply devoured Peppa Pig in two mouthfuls.

A second series is planned for 2016.

The Matchmaker, by Len Nourse

19/4/2015

She’ was gorgeous and vivacious, the ideal girl for my son so I introduced them.

Two years later I asked my son. “What’s happened with ‘She’, I thought you liked her.”

“Dad, yes, and she was beautiful, but she met Cannabis. Need I say more?

‘Why ‘was’.”

“The last I saw of her in court she looked like old straw.”

“When was that?”

“A year ago.”

“Well I saw her yesterday and she is even more vivaciously gorgeous than ever.”

“Dad, I wish you would stop trying to fix me up.”

Hmm, a wedding invitation from ‘She’ and my Son.

THE PLUTONIAN PROBLEM, by Ann-Louise Truschel

19/4/2015

I used a new Plutonian software program (located on Pluto) to write my story Friday afternoon and sent it off. The finished post arrived on earth late on Friday because the distance from Pluto is 4.25 to 7.4 light-hours, depending on where Pluto is in its orbit relative to earth.

Unfortunately, being new to the Plutonian software, I didn't specify that the transmission should STOP when it got to earth. I guess you caught it just as it passed by and went off into outer space to circulate forever in the heavens.

I'm now immortalized in outer space. Who knew?!

Interplanetary Destinations, by Russell Conover

18/4/2015

“Which planet should we call our home?” extraterrestrial #1 asked his companion.

#2 sighed. “So many choices. How about Mercury? Near the center of the universe and action.”

“Too hot,” said #1 with a frown. “Maybe Jupiter? More mild, and peaceful-looking.”

“But we’d fall through the gaseous land. Earth’s out, due to the wackos there.”

The two looked at each other in dismay, shaking their heads. They’d never find their ideal home.

“Wait! How about Pluto?” #1 smiled. “Off the beaten path, and not even the ‘official planet’ stigma anymore.”

“And plenty of Friday Flash Fiction, too. Off we go!”

The Visible Woman, by Ann-Louise Truschel

18/4/2015

“I can’t do it, Dr. Swan. I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t do it! I can’t become invisible! I just want to die!”

“That’s why you’re here, Catherine. Suicide is not the answer. We want to help you understand that there’s nothing wrong with being visible. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

“Nurse, We need to increase Catherine’s medication. I’m afraid she’s talking suicide again.”

“She’s desperate to become invisible, Dr. Swan.”

“And she’s not alone. Hopefully we’ll be able to get her to accept the truth; not everyone can master it,” said the doctor - just before he vanished.

Second Guesses, by Jane Reid

18/4/2015

“Did you write a story about me?” asked the fox.

“I did,” said Aesop, “one Friday when I was feeling blank. I remembered how you jumped and jumped to get those grapes, and walked away muttering.

“I guessed what you were saying. You told yourself that they were sour.”

“Wrong,” retorted the fox. “Don’t you know grapes can be harmful, even lethal, to members of the genus Canis?”

“How would I know that?” asked the fabulist. “It won’t be studied for millennia – and then only for domestic dogs.”

“Best not to take chances,” said the fox.

“But they were sour.”

The Plutonian General Election, by Gordon Lawrie

17/4/2015

In Plutonian elections, everyone is a candidate but only seven wise people vote, so winners are chosen sensibly from the best candidates.

This year’s Election Debate was a lengthy affair. Each candidate was asked, “What is the meaning of life?” Being politicians, they avoided answering the question. The Brown Party warned that Pluto’s changing climate meant it would end up green and blue. The Plutonian Planetary Party wanted Pluto’s planetary status restored. A nasty man blamed everything on Uranian and Neptunian immigrants. But most just wanted better services or lower taxes.

The ruling government was returned with an increased majority.

Guaranteed Sunshine, by Emma Baird

17/4/2015

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and sunny.

The bride-to-be was content. People didn’t realise that the old rituals worked the best. Here was the proof – glorious sunshine and blue skies.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror as the hairdresser worked unobtrusively behind her. Bridezilla she wasn’t (the groom had been allowed to choose the music) it was just that some things couldn’t be left to chance.

In a hotel across town, streaming sunshine woke the groom. The old rituals were indeed the best. Sex with your about-to-be mother-in-law guaranteed great weather for your wedding.

By Len Nourse

17/4/2015

I thought she eventually succumbed to my battery of advances - the outcome, a great evening of sweat ‘n toil.
At tee-off on Sunday morning golf with Gordon, Emma and Jane, a loud tittering descended from the pro-shop. “John, I eventually got him between the sheets.”
‘How’ said John.
“Well, as you know, I’ve always wanted him, even though I’ve always ignored his advance as a tease because he’s married, even though he and his wife live in different countries.”
‘What made you change your mind?”
“Just lust!”
The looks from Emma and Jane hurt.

A Moral Tale, by Gordon Lawrie

16/4/2015

In my mind, I can still see Bob typing at his desk.

He’d always enjoyed writing, going back to the days of ball-pens and hardback notebooks. Latterly, though, he only ever used the latest software on the latest laptop.

His friends were always asking to read something; he said, one day, but only when something was really ready. Not before.

I can still remember the day Bob slumped over that laptop and died just as he was about to switch on. The laptop was password-protected, of course. Very secure indeed. No-one ever found out if his stuff was any good.

The Escape, by Russell Conover

11/4/2015

“That’s impossible!” Joe exclaimed.

Irene shook her head. “Facts are facts. Frankie, my pet dragon, escaped yesterday.”

Joe groaned. He knew Irene had been training Frankie not to shoot flames at innocent passersby. However, her success had been minimal so far. He couldn’t imagine the potential damage to society.

“So, how can we prevent a crisis here?” Joe demanded.

“We need something to attract him,” Irene responded. “Ideas?”

Joe sighed. “Well, what do dragons eat?”

Irene choked. Frankie had an appetite for short, plump men, just like Joe.

She shook her head. “Not happening. Time to call for heavy artillery.”

Velometh, by Tammy Mezera

10/4/2015

Velometh found a tunnel underground to hide. At night, he could hear the drones buzz overhead. There were humans left, somewhere, but where?

He found a shard of glass to cut cotton sleeve for a tourniquet. The jump through the window cut his forearm in several places. Since the robots took over the world was different. No medical supplies or food production, except for the what they had at the lab.

Did he leave just to die? If they found him, they would fuse another spine in his back. His dna was meant to make organic robots.

He sighed.

The Helpful Deputy, by Ann-Louise Truschel

10/4/2015

Jimmie found that gun we was lookin’ for. Told him we didn’t have no case without it.

Think it’s the gun that killed Charlie?

I’m sure it is.

You’re lucky to have Jimmie, especially since he was such good friends with Charlie and his wife. Where’d he find the gun?

In the living room AC vent.

Didn’t we look in the vents?

Yup.

How’d we miss it?

We didn’t. We found it the day of the murder and printed it. None on the gun, but a good thumb print on two of bullets in the revolver.

Whose thumb print?

Jimmie’s.

Tattoo Parlour Etiquette, by Emma Baird

10/4/2015

These are the rules. Please obey them, or we will withdraw our ink.

1.       Thou shalt not be drunk, or under the influence of drugs when requesting a tattoo.

2.       Thou shalt know what thy’s requested Ancient Chinese symbolism actually means.

3.       Thou shalt wash thoroughly beforehand – particularly if thou seeks tattooing of intimate areas.

4.       Thou shalt spellcheck all requested names and places.

5.       Thous shalt keep thy knuckles tattoo-free.

6.       If thou shalt undertake a tattoo in the name of a loved one, know it is AGAINST OUR STRONGEST COUNSEL.

We hope you enjoy your tattoo experience.

Hard Times, by Gordon Lawrie

10/4/2015

Back in 1959, found myself bummin’ 'round Minnesota way, playing guitar and singing songs to earn my next meal. Truth was, I could barely read or write then.

I remember running into this nasally-voiced little guy with curly hair who sang folk songs. We swapped a few things; I gave him one of mine about stuff blowin’ in the wind, he gave me one called ‘We Shall Overcome’. Turned out that wasn’t even his. I think he used mine, though.

Later, someone else took a kinda pop-song of mine called “She Loves You”. Never found out what happened to that.

Memories Of Dylan, by Amy Friedman

9/4/2015

Not technically fiction, but 100 words.

I saw Bob Dylan twice: First time the Blood on the Tracks tour. 1974, Madison Square Garden. Afternoon concert. Hippies in their 30s swaying and grooving, while we college students felt unforgivably young. We didn’t have much money, so we got seats behind the stage. I had a great view of Dylan’s tush and back … he never turned to face the hoi polloi. Then, summer of 2005, I saw him again, on the stage in Bethel, NY, the former site of Woodstock 1969. His creaking whine of a voice had matured into a gravelly, unintelligible drone. Cool hat, though.

February 2002, Highway 61, by Eric Smith

9/4/2015

At the Dylan concert I saw Sweet Marie’s tattoo for the first time. Given its anatomical location, propriety did not permit me to gawk—I averted my eyes and gazed deep into hers. Later, after making inquiries I learned it was a large, spidery, winged angel that crawled out and hovered above the considerable décolletage her costume that night presented. Some earth mother figure, she later confessed she’d left the concert early out of embarrassment—not for herself but for the poet laureate of rock and roll. “Why,” many people demanded to know, “did he continue to tour?”

Poll Position, by Alison McHarg

5/4/2015

“How will you vote?” Tony asks, as they grab a coffee.

Gordon looks askance at him. This is not usual chat for them. He’s obviously been paying attention to that tedious TV debate. Mainly grasping stage-managed folk all trying to persuade the country that they were the most genuine, truthful and insightful.

“Err, I’m undecided,” Gordon says.

That’s a lie – he’s already knows. He’ll never put an X in the box for back room barrackers, machiavellian plotters, inward-looking divisive nationalists or idealistic delusionists.

Wallace gets his vote – it really is a matter of loaf and death.

Revenge, by Eric Smith

5/4/2015

I want revenge against the company for ousting me from a job I disliked and thrusting hard times upon my family and me. I fantasize about hate calls, venomous letters, destroying company vehicles, attacking company officers in the parking lot, causing the company loss of business. None of these of course will help me secure gainful employment, which should be my primary concern. I still have contacts, but they can do little for me. Should I drop the idea of revenge? No. I think it’s important. My future success alone is not enough. Only revenge can set the record straight.

The Makeover, by Russell Conover

5/4/2015

Dracula had sharpened his fangs, styled his hair, bought a new robe, and prepared himself for another night of terrorizing victims. He snuck into the unfamiliar house with his usual cackle. “I vant to suck your blood!”

“Aah! That voice! Where’s it coming from?” a panicked woman screamed.

“I can’t see a thing! The lights went out!” a man cried.

Dracula stood right in front of them, waving his hands and baring his teeth. “You cannot escape! You’re trapped!” They screamed again, looking in every direction, but continued their generic panicking.

“Darned invisibility,” he grumbled. “A curse of the supernatural.”

The Missing, by Ann-Louise Truschel

5/4/2015

“Did you talk with the informant?”

“Yeh, sounds like a young kid. Says his name is Douglas. Says he can tell us who’s killing those boys. Says the guy lives on 7th Street in a gray shingled house, and the evidence is in his garage.”

“How does the kid know?”

“Says he was there when the first boy was killed.”

“And he’s just coming forth now?”

“Says he’s been in transit and just recently reached a place where he can communicate.”

“Why you?”

“He said it was because my nephew was the first victim.”

What was your nephew’s name?”

“Douglas.”

<<Previous

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

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

We occasionally send out little newsletters running competitions – and subscribers are also our voting panel. If you'd like to join us, please click the Subscribe to newsletter button below.

Subscribe to Newsletter

No spam, we promise!

If you would like to try the
100-WORD STORIES
automatic RSS feed in your browser toolbar, click the blue "RSS" link below. For more help see the Help page

SUBSCRIBE to Friday Flash Fiction - 100-Word Stories

Friday Flash Fiction
Rules

Kinda obvious, really...

Fiction only
No more than 100 words
Don't be nasty or cheat
Include your name and a story title

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories