Blog Archives

A Lover from the Past, by Guy Fletcher

30/4/2018

It was a few days before Christmas and the endless crowds were annoying me. I hate shopping with a passion and was mumbling to myself when I heard a voice.

"Guy."

I turned around and my ex-lover came into view. I hadn't seen her for over thirty years yet she was still instantly recognisable, her former blonde locks now short and pepper coloured.

We exchanged the usual pleasantries and then she supplied her e-mail.

"I'm divorced now, " she began, "come and visit anytime. Look forward to seeing you soon."

Oh, but the magic had gone. I would not contact her.

Destiny Averted, by Adam Smith

29/4/2018

The wind-whipped water of the bay was a frothy head, but I had to make the crossing this evening. All my hopes depended on seeing Evelyn tonight. She was my love and my secret; my destiny. Had my wife known, she surely would have left me and taken my child with her. I risked everything for a forbidden kiss.

The skiff was too small to fight the storm. We went down beneath a heavy black wave. I've lost my wife and child, my treasure and my life, all for the sake of a destiny that would never come to be.

Keyboard Warrior, by Sara-lee Austrie

28/4/2018

He hit the post button with a self-satisfied smirk. His twelve hundred word blog disparaging his boss was live and he couldn’t be more thrilled.

Except, of course, when comments started rolling in, all of them in awe of his chutzpah.

The next day at work, he drowned in diffidence as his boss dumped a thick stack on his desk and walked off. He glanced at the papers and froze – were his two worlds now acquainted?

The document on his desk was classified, curiously code-named ‘Ranting Dangerous Coward’.

The Usual Routine, by Russell Conover

28/4/2018

The improv club met regularly to practice their routines and meet people from the audience. The members enjoyed performing, and also interacting with visitors.

However, some audience members always attended, but never gave suggestions for scenes. The actors wondered if they were simply shy, or if they were hiding something.

One night, the club addressed these individuals, inviting quiet folks in the crowd to shout out ideas for scenes. Most, though, just looked down and tried to remain invisible.

The show went on, but the performers missed hearing from old friends. Despite the comfortable atmosphere, only the die-hard fans contributed.

Sharing, by Claudia Andrílez

28/4/2018

Amalia reached down to caress the cat’s left ear. The animal reacted badly, scratching her hand before running to hide.

Washing the blood in the sink, she evaluated if keeping the tiny wild thing was a good idea.

Of course it was. She brought him home because he was freezing and starving, meowing desperately behind a trash can. To leave him there to die wasn’t an option.

It was her mistake to force physical contact without waiting for permission. As a woman, she should have known better.

That afternoon “Scratchy” got a name and a new home.

I'm Retired, by Ian Fletcher

27/4/2018

“I’m retired,” he wrote.

The email came out of the blue on a dreary Monday night.

It had been twenty years or so since we’d last communicated.

After university he’d gone on to practice law, becoming a top city barrister, while I’d frittered and partied away my twenties, eventually stumbling into schoolteaching.

“Retired at 58!” I thought, contemplating the uninviting prospect of toiling at the chalkface until 65.

“Though I might consider some consulting work if so inclined,” he’d added.

Yet, glad to be back in contact I sent off my congratulations, pondering an evening of marking homework and self-recriminations.

Initiation, by Gordon Lawrie

27/4/2018

The lead-up could hardly be described as foreplay. He made it clear that he was desperate and he wanted to; her consent was more reluctant.

Amazingly, he'd come prepared with a three-pack purchased from a slot machine in a supermarket toilet. Unsure quite what to do, he undressed her, then himself, then kissed her neck and breasts before she suggested they 'just do it'.

He tried to be gentle, but it hurt her. He took longer than expected, which allowed her to feel something in return. But afterwards, these two 15-year-olds had gained little in exchange for their lost innocence.

Sleight of Hand, by Fliss Zakaszewska

27/4/2018

The Mississippi delivery van pulls up alongside a brand-new car. Finnigan gets out and opens the backdoor then lugs a box out to the car.

Fiddling with an electronic device, he lifts the trunk. As he shuts it (package inside), it sticks. No one notices the event.

Half an hour later, he saunters back, fiddles with the trunk and slides a hand to open a door. He’s in. Chuckling, he primes another electronic gismo and drives off. “Sure is a great way to stop porch-thefts”, he says as he takes the car for a respray and a resell.

Before Goodbye, by Chris Ingram

26/4/2018

“Engine work isn’t really hard, if you take your time.”

She's wrapping up repairs on her packed-up Sportster, stuff I’d never learned to do. The passenger seat's scattered with shoes and little boxes, like the bottom of Santa’s bag on December 26th. She has the slack-cheeked, barely-interested look she wears when she doesn’t want to admit she likes me around.

“All you have to do is breathe,” she says, as if I ever can when she’s this near.

She hops in. It turns right over, her victory over fouled plugs distracting us both from what comes next.

Curb Appeal, by Don Tassone

22/4/2018

Mark’s yard had always been a showpiece, artfully landscaped and meticulously trimmed.

But this spring, his grass grew high, raising eyebrows among the neighbors. A few even called to make sure he was okay.

“He’s fine,” his wife assured them. “He’s just taking a break.”

By late May, Mark’s grass was more than a foot tall. The homeowners association sent him a letter, demanding that he cut it. But he let it grow wild all year.

The following year, Mark returned to his yard. But his next door neighbors put their houses up for sale, and the others avoided him.

A Pair of Plastic Bottles, by Sankar Chatterjee

21/4/2018

The black and white picture, taken by the artist in hot summer midday inside a poor tropical nation, was stunning. A homeless gentleman was trying to cross the busy main street in downtown of the capital, but froze in the middle halting teeming traffic from both directions. He was wearing a pair of do-it-yourself sandals, created from flattened discarded plastic water-bottles. Melted asphalt, acting as glue, stopped any further forward motion at that moment.

Sarah was attending an exhibition of the photographer’s art in the National Galleries. She closed her eyes, only to visualize her own shoe-collection inside her home-closet.

Seeking Creativity, by Russell Conover

21/4/2018

Oliver was depressed after being kicked out of the writing club. He thought his ideas were edgy and modern, but the group viewed them as too controversial. Therefore, Oliver was forced to explore other creative outlets.

He scoured the Internet and local fliers for opportunities. Then he found the perfect one. He met the members of a group, and was accepted instantly, touring the country and meeting new fans. He was having a blast!

Hey--when you're an octopus like Oliver, with eight arms, you're four times more productive than average on the drums. He couldn't sign autographs quickly enough.

So, What’s for Dinner Sweetheart, by Johann Lux

20/4/2018

While removing clothes from the dryer, Agnes discovered a pair of panties all tumbled up in one of her husband’s work shirts.

The undergarment; sheer and way too small to be hers, caused Agnes to erupt with rage.

“Filthy, cheating, bastard” Agnes growled then broke down in tears!

Agnes stood in the laundry room, blubbering. While trying to rip the panties to shreds, she plotted a most dastardly revenge; a poison supper for her cheating husband.

Jack entered the laundry room laughing, “The neighbors undies blew off her clothes line. I found them in our yard. You can return them”.

Fatal Affair, by Guy Fletcher

20/4/2018

The ticking of the clock drives him insane, alone deep in bedsit land. His thoughts return to that fateful evening...as they always do.

"She is half your age. How could you?"

He wishes she had been angry but she was only disappointed, rushing out of the house.

He heard the sickening screech of a car and saw her on the road like a discarded doll.

Sean laments admitting to his stupid actions but it is too late now, he has lost everything.

He slinks to the pub. Strong lager is now his only friend, at least it numbs the terrible pain.

The Bird, by Tanya Sara Fillbrook

20/4/2018

Soaring through blue heavens I could hear the soft cries of a bird alone, plummeting.

It made me forget my woes just for a while; the''spits and spats'' at home, when I realised the bird was in trouble.

I followed, racing to its sure demise as it landed in the evergreen erected in the middle of the heathland.

I tended to its wing, capping her softly and nudging her beak ever so slightly with my finger.

I was intent on making her better so she could be free once more.
She took off again, and I returned home inspired.

Sticky Pecan Pie, by Marjan Sierhuis

20/4/2018

Michelle crouches on the ground. Her knees are too old for this nonsense. She continues to wait with bated breath
.
She checks her watch for the umpteenth time. It has now been over an hour. Her back is killing her so she performs a couple of lower back stretches.

A door opens.

There is movement ahead on the sidewalk. She stands up, saunters over and discretely blends in.

A man slowly walks out of a door, he approaches the crowd and makes an announcement.

“Sorry everyone, but the sticky pecan pie is now sold out, please come back another time.”

That’s How I Met Your Mum - 2018, by Fliss Zakaszewska

20/4/2018

“And then she came crashing in from the outside…” He paused to rub the dent in his lower half. “…straight into me. And that kids, is how I met your Mum.”

“But what happened to our Mummy?” cried the littlest one.

“Huh, she went spinning off towards brighter things; having flipped Aunty Eartha out the way, she headed on after Aunty Vee.

“And then, Daddy…?”

“She went spiralling, straight into the Sun.” Mars stopped to pat his girls on the head. “And that, Phobos and Deimos is how you were born.”

(Inspired by https://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/mars-moons-formation-how-made-collision-red-planet-phobos-deimos-space-a8310911.html)

Your Only As Old As You Feel, by Gordon Lawrie

20/4/2018

"Happy Birthday, Grandpa!" Lucy the four-year-old says, bouncing into Grandpa's house. "Here's my present!" She's bears a picture that she's painted that morning. But Grandpa can tell: she's thinking.

Eventually, as they share a fifth slice of chocolate cake, Lucy says: "Mummy says you and Adolf Hitler have the same birthday. Is that true?"

"That's true, Lucy. Adolf Hitler was very bad man who's dead now. He and I had the same birthday. He would have been 129 today."

"I'm glad Hitler's dead."

"Me too."

Then Lucy says: "Grandpa, are you 129, too?"

Grandpa sighs. "Perhaps. More chocolate cake, Lucy?"

The Unexamined Life, by Ian Fletcher

18/4/2018

Here he comes, spraying breezy good mornings.

No Monday blues for him.

“Cheer up, Ian!” he says.

“Fuck off,” I think, “not at your behest.”

He’s a team player, eyeing management, proud of his 2:1 degree, his burgeoning family.

One of the boys too – he’ll have a few pints, but no more than four, to let off steam.

What is it about him I cannot stand?

Is it his wholesome smile, his overcommitment to the company, or that sense of his own significance?

Whatever. I do not share his lust for life.

Yet, I’m more alive than he’ll ever be.

Before the Dawn, by Marek Prityi

17/4/2018

The hypnotizing sound of trumpet cut through the smoky room. Humidity filled every corner and the drops falling from the ceiling landed on the heads of lost souls dancing with the demons only jazz could bring to life. The trumpeter leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, the smoke penetrating through his nostrils. With his eyes closed, he opened his soul and let the moment to fill the void in his heart. The night began to turn to a day and nobody seemed to care. The devils were dancing with the saints their last dance and the weird world rolled on.

The Wisdom of Age, by Ian Fletcher

17/4/2018

Quite the man of the world he’s become.

Been there, done that.

Career, family, house, private pension, the works.

He spouts his words of wisdom, too, on everything under the sun.

Politics, the economy, getting old, whatever.

He appears to pity my skepticism, my melancholy, my world weariness.

He has no religion, yet his faith in life, especially his own, seems ample compensation.

He’s content.

One of life’s winners.

Yet I preferred him as the angst-ridden student with whom I shared the drink and drug-driven ups and downs of youth.

He’s older, certainly, but for wisdom I must look elsewhere.

An Unfinished Creation, by Sankar Chatterjee

16/4/2018

The picture was taken in the soft morning-sun entering into her ramshackle hut. With pink-cheeks, cat-green eyes, and unruly brunette-hair, she appeared like a slowly blossoming glorious rose. Ironically, she was even wearing a pink dress adorned with yellow rose buds. And that mysterious smile on her lips! Would Leonardo Vinci paint her instead of Mona Lisa?

Two hours later, she was dragged into woods by grown-up men who took turn in assaulting and finally murdering her. That was to send a message to her religious-minority family to move out of the village.

The child was only seven years old.

The Festival, by Roland Tye

16/4/2018

As soon as I leave my building a grinning man with the build of a kickboxer pours an entire bucket of ice cold water over my head. A woman then rubs white powder on my face, making my lips tingle. Songkran has begun. The traffic is endless: motorbikes, tuk tuks, pick-up trucks, and thousands more on foot. Everybody armed with brightly coloured water guns. In amongst them noisy vendors offer everything from sugar cane juice to papaya salad. They say throwing all this water around hastens the rain. But for the next three days the only drenchings will be manmade.

A Newer Model, by Marjan Sierhuis

16/4/2018

Fred twisted his ankle when he kicked the soccer ball. When he limped off the field, his wife told him he shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

“You are no spring chicken,” Mildred said. “You are 50 years old. Act your age.”

But Fred didn’t want to act his age. He didn’t feel old. So he went out and bought a new sports car. Followed this up with a hair transplant.

When the estimate came in for a face lift, he gave it a rest; instead he traded his wife in for a newer model.

A Small World, by Claudia Andrílez

15/4/2018

“The airplane had to go back to the airport for technical problems. I won’t make it tonight, sorry.”

My husband’s call lets me shaken, the what-if-s running wild in my head.

Barely seeing the numbers through the tears in my eyes, I call ‘”home” on the other side of the world. My brother picks up after the third ring and I tell him everything.

“Stop panicking, he's alright. And the only thing to do if something like that happens is to take those kids and come here with me, we would raise them together.”

Because family is always family.

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

Normally, 100-word stories are scheduled for 07.00 BST (GMT in the winter) on the following Friday. However, where a large number of stories (more than 25) are due to be published on the same day, we publish a second batch around 10.30am.

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