Blog Archives

Blind, by Russell Conover

30/4/2016

The townspeople awoke, and panicked. They all stumbled from their beds to their front yards, seeking comfort and help.

“I can't see!” Troy cried.
“I've gone blind!” Samantha wailed.
“All I see is black!” Rudy exclaimed.

Not one person could see a thing.

“People! People! We have to calm down,” Andrea announced. “There has to be some logical explanation for this.”
“But what?” the town pondered. “A city doesn't just go blind all of a sudden.”

“Got it!” Zack proclaimed. “Apparently a lack of Friday Flash Fiction wreaks havoc. We need our writers back!”

Sign Up Now! by Emma Baird

29/4/2016

“And this week’s magic power up for grabs is...”

Maggie started. Newsletter sign-up forms were part and parcel of modern-day life, but this was different.

“Sign up for our newsletter and you get a super power!”

Ooh, magic powers! Who wouldn’t want them? She clicked on the form and added her address. Seconds later, an email arrived in her inbox.

“… the magic power is – invisibility!

“Click on this button and you will become invisible!”

She clicked. She stuck a hand out in front of her. She couldn’t see it.

The Government’s latest ploy to silence its citizens had worked.

Competition Time, by Gordon Lawrie

29/4/2016

Angela rubbed her hands gleefully: it was Flash Fiction Competition season again. For some years now, she and her partner Mark had been running writing contests which offered substantial prizes, plus a not insubtantial element of glory for the winners.

Their method of selection was simple. Mark allocated each entry a number, then Angela shut her eyes and called out ten random numbers. Once they’d chosen this shortlist, they were simply left with choosing first, second and third, while the rest were “Highly Commended”.

The best part of all? Each entry brought £5.00. Plenty left over after awarding the prizes.

When Kool-Ade Meant Sugar Water, by Jo Oldani-Osborne

23/4/2016

One thing was a given when we were growing up, we had oatmeal for breakfast: glutinous lumpy oats with lumpy instant milk. It was as regular as we were and economical for twelve kids at home.

One winter morning in 1976 our neighbor, Mrs. Runo called to ask if we were missing anyone.

Well, Mom didn’t even notice three-year-old Michael was awake let alone on a walkabout so she sent me across the street to retrieve him.

“Why did you runaway, darlin’?” Mother asked.

“They have better breakfast.”

From then on, Mom kept us stocked in Cheerios and Honeycomb Cereal.

Stuck, by Russell Conover

23/4/2016

Ray sat at his computer desk, staring at the blinking cursor. “Must you mock me?” he muttered. “You KNOW I'm totally stuck.”

The storm raged in his brain. He needed a story topic that would inform his audience, something that he'd enjoy writing, something that would entertain his readers. But, hard as he thought, nothing came.

“ARRRGH!” Ray launched himself up and stomped outside. “Must get out of that Bat Cave!”

Suddenly, inspiration struck. He breathed the fresh air. “Freedom,” Ray sang. “Times I've felt free, and how wonderful it felt.” He raced back to his desk, ideas churning.

A Meeting of Minds, by Emma Baird

22/4/2016

Ooh… hello. I wasn’t expecting to meet YOU here. I do like that purple top and those platforms. Can I get you a cup of tea?

Um…

I know! We could make some music together to pass the time if you want? I’m a dab hand on the piano. You do filthy lyrics. I do filthy lyrics. The 23 positions in a one-night stand could include being bent over backwards on me hostess trolley for example?

Or what about smearing an avocado on me lower portions? That could count as Cream couldn’t it?

You’re right! Let’s get to rammin’

The Visitor, by Gordon Lawrie

22/4/2016

Incredibly, this story has a grain of truth in it. A teaching colleague had his English class interrupted one hot summer's day when a passing horse wandered by and stuck its head through the classroom window. We never found out yet what the horse wanted – GL

Around three o’clock, Greta was rather surprised to find a large horse outside on her front doorstep. She took a moment to compose herself.

“Good afternoon,” she said politely. “Can I help you?”

“Nay,” said the horse.

“Are you collecting for charity, perchance?”

“Nay.”

“Selling something? Looking for a job?” Greta asked, patiently.

“Nay,” the horse said again.

“Then it appears I can’t help you,” said Greta, starting to closing the door.

The horse deposited a significant quantity of manure on the path.

“My apologies,” it said. “I needed to use your toilet but I was too embarrassed to ask.”

Adversary, by Dominique Gonzaga

20/4/2016

I met him at a party in 1976.

He was the star athlete, the captain ball. I was a science girl, a wallflower. Boys like him didn’t go out with girls like me. But that night changed everything.

He talked to me. He destroyed all the barriers and stereotypes I had in mind. He made me laugh.

Tonight will change everything, too. He is bound to know of his heart condition.

I have yet to talk to him. I have yet to destroy all the barriers and stereotypes of cancer in my mind. I have yet to make him laugh.

Transitions, by Russell Conover

20/4/2016

Bob had been happy in his previous job. However, it had been temporary, and he was now at the end. Making transporting devices to and from Pluto was intriguing, but he needed something with more real-world usefulness. Then an idea struck.

Bob talked to his boss about TESTING the devices, rather than just making them, and she was gung-ho. Bob eagerly strapped himself into one device, twitching at the chance for interplanetary travel, but sadly, the machine launched him into space, losing him forever.

“Note to self,” Bob thought. “Read the job description, including fine print, FULLY before committing.”

Ruth, The Moabite, by Marlene Goldberg

20/4/2016

The sun beat strong, browning her face, as she bent gathering the grains, demurely clasping her skirts.
"Who's that woman?" Boaz inquired.
"She's the Moabite daughter-in-law accompanying the widow Naomi, who'd lost her two sons and husband in Moab."
"Let fall more grain for her to glean."
Naomi sent Ruth to Boaz, her kinsman.
In the moonlight, Boaz saw the form of Ruth laying at the foot of his bed.
When the redeemer declined to marry Ruth, Boaz assumed the right.
Soon after the birth of their son, Boaz passed away.
But their descendant King David will bring the Messiah.

Sisterly Love, by Marlene Goldberg

18/4/2016

How awful to see my big sister, Leah, cry herself to sleep when hearing, "Isaac has twin sons, Esau and Jacob, Laban has twin daughters, Leah and Rachel. So Esau will marry Leah; Jacob – Rachel."
Esau, the uncouth hunter, Jacob, studious, but muscular – I empathized completely. When Father, Laban, conned Jacob into marrying Leah, I helped her consummate the marriage. Under the bed, I relayed all the intimate signals Leah would need not to be shamed, caught deceiving. Jacob worked seven more years to win my hand in marriage. Another seven to win the flocks he'd raised.
Then we left.

A Stinky Life, by Russell Conover

16/4/2016

“Man, my life stinks.”
“Says you!”
“It's true!”
“C'mon--you're a skunk. If one thing ticks you off, a lot more than life is gonna stink.”
“Hmm. Must figure out how to use this ability to my advantage.”
“You haven't already?”
“Well, sure, but not for anything fun yet.”
“I'm just gonna step back now and run for cover.”
“What are you--a scaredy cat?”
“Yes, I'm a cat, but I'll thank you not to mention fear!”
“Sheesh. Just having some fun.”
“Forget it. We belong in the zoo.”

God's Plan, by David Siegel Bernstein

15/4/2016

Our motto at God Insurance: Pray up and be saved. We offer the most reasonable rates in creation (pending credit approval). No confession required. Sign up now. No matter what your sin is, we can hammer out the dents in your soul and repair your conscience back to original sin condition (baptism optional). Best of all, God’s comprehensive plan comes with a special group rate for Atheists, Agnostics, and Scientologists. Sign up now, so your loved ones can rest easy and stop worrying about your otherwise inevitable damnation.
Don’t be separated from Heaven for eternity. Call now. All prayers accepted.

Rogue Rules, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

15/4/2016

Rosemary had gone seriously rogue. What was so great about a society of liars and cons? Friends lie to friends, families pretend to care, and and your word, ha, that runs out as fast as money in the parking meter.
She looked around the coffee shop for her next target. No one seemed quite right. Yet. Last time, she’d set her best friend on fire but the arresting officers told a different story because she gave them a blow job on the way downtown. Whatever. Do whatever must be done. Everyone knows Deviance lays the golden eggs. The rogue rules.

Crossing Wires, by Amy Friedman

15/4/2016

“Did you see that last night?”
“Yah. She was really yelling.”
“How about him? He was pointing his finger, interrupting, trying to bully her.”
“Ridiculous. This is no way to run a presidential campaign.”
“I wasn’t talking about the campaign.”
“You weren’t?”
“No! I was talking about our downstairs neighbor yelling at the doorman, and him yelling back.”
“Well, he should get yelled at. He’s a putz.”
“The doorman?”
“Totally. A real world-class putz.”
“I don’t think so. I like him.”
“You gotta be kidding. He’s horrible.”
“And she’s not?”
“I don’t know. Anyway, women can’t be putzes.”
“Says you.”

Scandal, by Emma Baird

15/4/2016

The world waited with bated breath to hear the names of the celebrity couple who’d ordered a now over-turned gagging order on the press.

The world wasn’t sure what they’d done, but there’s nothing like a gagging order to stir up feverish interest. Across the globe, people scoured search engines, which drew curious blanks. The couple had managed to gag Google too.

At 4pm, Judge Judy appeared, a piece of paper in hand.

“Matt Megastar and Roland Rich,” she said, “are the couple in question.”

And the scandal? Nothing to do with sex OR taxes, but a mystery yet.

The Pluto Effect, by Gordon Lawrie

15/4/2016

Image: NASA/JHUAPL/SwRI

For years, scientists assumed that all matter consisted of atoms – protons, neutrons and electrons – plus ephemera like photons and Higgs-Bosons.

Then, in 2016, a small research team noticed that particles bounced off far distant objects would return slightly separated, proving that protons, for instance, were more complex than previously realised. This ‘echo’ became known as the Pluto Effect because it was first observed as dual-posting in flash fiction websites using budget servers based on that distant planet.

It was the breakthrough mankind needed. Finally, it became possible to control atom-splitting, which in turn creating safe never-ending supplies of green energy.

The Drowning, by Ann-Louise Truschel

13/4/2016

He locked her in the bathroom and began to fill the tub.

“Let me check the water temperature,” he said smiling. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

She ran to the door trying to escape, but the closed door held. In terror she fled to the far end of her prison, trembling, waiting for the inevitable.

He laughed at her distress. “It will all be over very soon.”

Then grabbed her, put her into the water and held her there. She screamed and struggled.

“I know you hate this, Kitty, but we’ve got to get rid of your fleas!”

Blood Libel, by Marlene Goldberg

13/4/2016

Once when the king got lost in the forest, he approached a hut. The Jewish couple inside prepared a meal, using what little food they had. The wife noticing a blood spot in the egg, promptly discarded it. Next morning, the king asked her why she did so. She said that Judaism forbids eating an egg with even a spot of blood.
When Jews were accused of using a Christian baby's blood to make Passover matzahs, the king summoned the accuser, demanding, "Who witnessed the deed?"
"The priest sent me, your majesty!"
The priest, summoned, was hung.
Blood libel rescinded.

The Lung Duet, by Sarah Townley

12/4/2016

My cough asserts its presence by acquiring a chorus of bass notes. My ailment creates a division of sleeping arrangements. As I settle into my heightened pillows, I hear an echo from the flat below. I suspect it is an imitation designed to illustrate how easily sound travels in cheaply converted Victorian buildings. But I have perfected an ear for an authentic cough and the neighbour's version is textured with the same glutteral chords as mine. Perhaps the floors are membrane-like thin and capable of permeating microbes in mutual directions? The night is a chamber of shared and reciprocated notes.

Computer Woes, by Russell Conover

10/4/2016

“So, you say you lost your wired Internet?”
“Yeah. Pain in the neck, but that's the story.”
“How long's it been going on?”
“Oh, right around a week, give or take.”
“Have you tried any troubleshooting?”
“Everything under the sun. Help from I.T. guys, antivirus scans, reinstalling drivers. Nothing worked.”
“Sounds like it's a pretty serious situation. Where's your connection coming from, anyway?”
“Do you have to ask? From Pluto--just like everyone else's!”
“Looks like a trip to Pluto, to fix your connection in person, is what it's gonna take.”

The Last Great Artificial Intelligence Challenge, by Gordon Lawrie

9/4/2016

After Go and chess, AI moved onto Sizzle, the board-game played with super-hot naga chillis and straight faces. Players tell jokes; opponents who laugh consume the chillis.

For the long-awaited contest with Sizzle world champion Sharon Wilson, BlueSkyThinking™ learned every joke ever told, meanwhile inventing new ones. Rehearsing, it had sent Russian star Alexei Markov to hospital with “Why did the chicken cross the motorway?”

But Wilson was ready. On move eighty-one she played a stunning eleven-chilli pentagram, throwing rhubarb pies at the computer’s face. Prepared only for custard, BlueSkyThinking™ blew a fuse. Wilson was carried shoulder-high from the arena.

Fear, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

8/4/2016

Touching his naked, goose-bumpy skin he let himself relish the silkiness of Fear. The excitement made his nipples hard and helped his brain cells purr like proud Olympians by electrifying the depravity of his lifetime learning. The role of Preyed Upon.
The Predator was on his way up. Thirty more flights, 28 seconds to go before the doorbell rang. He quickly dropped a strand of hair on the armchair. Caution was essential in this filthy business. You just never knew what Predator would come to the door.
The door opened. His nakedness shivered. The hand. Knife. Face.
Fate.
Why, Dad?

Rashomon, by Amy Friedman

8/4/2016

Part I

“How are you?” said Andi, as she slid into the booth.
“Terrible – everything’s falling apart,” Marlene said, staring at the paper placemat.
“Well, you’re here, and I’m delighted to see you.” Andi sighed. If it was going to be one of those lunches, it might as well start off with making Marlene at least somewhat happy. How did her brother put up with such a sad sack?
Marlene fished out her sunglasses and whipped them on.
“Don’t mind me – just an off day,” Marlene smiled
“We all have them,” Andi said, consolingly.
“Well, we’re here – let’s enjoy ourselves,” Marlene said.

Part II

“How are you?” said Andi, as she slid into the booth.
“Could be better, but OK,” Marlene said, staring at the paper placemat.
“Well, you’re here, and I’m delighted to see you,” Andi said.
Marlene sighed at the slight edge she detected in Andi’s voice. She knew she should have canceled the lunch, as Andi disliked other people’s miseries. Clearly, it was time for shades.
“I’m delighted to see you too,” Marlene smiled, waveringly.
Marlene’s divorce from Andi’s brother was due to start tomorrow. At least there’d be one silver lining: she’d never ever have to lunch with Andi again.

In Panama, by Gordon Lawrie

8/4/2016

It took some time to trawl through eleven million Mossack Fonseca files, working down through the politicians, the business executives, the bankers, the sports stars, the pop musicians and the criminals. Low-life beneficiaries of the British Virgin Islands’ tax-avoidance environment simply weren’t seen as newsworthy.

But the police saw things differently. Knowing it was easier to prosecute ‘little guys’ of the crime world, Interpol searched for – and stumbled upon – ordinary shadowy figures running an extraordinary shell company. It was the ultimate financial scam; no tax was paid because no one appeared to make any money in Friday Flash Fiction, BVI..

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