Blog Archives

Lesson Learned, by Lynn Messing

29/4/2022

“I’ll bet you $5 that if you name anything — anything at all — I can
make up a story about it on the spot.”

That braggart. “You’re on. How about this pencil?”

“OK. Once upon a time this pencil was teased by all of the other
pencils because it was so dull, but it eventually got the point.”

“What kind of story is that? It’s just a punny joke.”

“The bet never said the story had to be good.”

Five dollars down and lesson learned. Now, reader, you owe me $5 for this not-so-good story.

Phew, by Lorraine Murphy

29/4/2022

Certain death seemed too high a price for eating buttered beetroot sandwiches in a damp field in April, yet Teacher led us over the gate regardless.
While my classmates ran amuck, oblivious to their fate, I prayed when the time came it would be swift and painless. I kept lookout for a shotgun-toting farmer or an electric chair but a jersey cow chewing beach grass was our sole observer.
Later, we climbed back over the gate with our lives and I reread the sign.
Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Afterwards. I learned prosecuted and executed are NOT the same thing. Phew!

Taking My Time, by Brian Maycock

29/4/2022

Time feels like it is speeding along but I am slowing down. On occasion, standing up takes a while. It requires the breathing techniques of a Yogi – the mystic kind, not the bear. And as for walking down my tenement stairs? A gymnast traversing a pommel horse shows less care. I like to pause frequently, even when nothing has happened on either side. Stirring porridge is preferred exercise to anything happening in a gym and ‘done while sitting down’ will need to be a clause in any contract I sign from now on. Yawns, stretches, smiles.

Life is a Roller Coaster, by Peggy Gerber

29/4/2022

When the roller coaster reached the apex, Ruth felt her adrenaline soar and clutched onto her granddaughter’s hand and screamed. Her daughter knew better than to tell her she was too old to ride Splash Mountain.

As the car sped down the tracks, Ruth left her stomach and her problems behind. She felt exhilarated, energized and terrified and it took all her concentration to keep down her lunch. For just five minutes her husband didn’t have cancer, she wasn’t worried about bills, and life was good.

When the ride was over Ruth hugged her granddaughter and asked, “Wanna go again?”

The Gift, by Srividya Ganapathy

29/4/2022

The coconut grove was sold to a builder. The old trees shed dried coconuts.

As construction began, kids of workers started playing there.
I noticed that they were playing football with a dry coconut. I was reminded of a time when a neighbour who had seen me playing with a broken ball, gifted me a new one.

The next day as I stood watering my plants, my help arrived with an old football. She yelled “boys”! When a few of them looked up, she threw the ball to them. They caught the ball beaming and clapped their hands in glee.

Woman Are Like That, by Sandra James

29/4/2022

She always said he never listened but women are like that, aren’t they? His dad reckoned Mum was the same. Poor old Mum. Heart attack in the kitchen. Wonder why she didn’t call out to Dad watching television in the lounge? Doctor said she’d have lived with earlier treatment.

Now, Cynthia. First he knew was the ambulance siren drowning the sound of the video he was watching on his phone. Cynthia should’ve said something; he was just across the room but she called Triple Zero.

He supposed he should pop up to the hospital and visit later. After that podcast…

Erasure, by Sue Clayton

29/4/2022

It begins on the first day. You don’t feel it happening, but it begins to steadily gnaw away.

After a while you become aware of its sharp teeth nibbling away, taking tiny bites.

Its hunger grows, and every day it begins to digest a little more, each mouthful satiating its growing appetite.

The erasure will eventually take its toll, wearing you down to a silhouette of what you were on that first day… but its appetite cannot be stopped.

Erasing will persist until the last day, when it has completely rubbed you out.

Its name is Life.

The Reason for the Return, by Ann-Louise Truschel

29/4/2022

“I have to return this can of beans. I’m sorry. My son can’t make dinner tonight.”

“No worries, Mrs. Duncan. Here’s your 79 cents back.”

Mrs. Duncan tells the store manager about her son, the things he likes to eat, and his impending visit.

The store manager smiles and listens patiently. After about five minutes, Mrs. Duncan apologizes again, takes her change, and leaves.

The next person in line complains, “I thought she’d NEVER stop talking.”

The manager explained, “Mrs. Duncan lives alone. Her son never visits. She returns goods here every day just to have someone to talk to.”

Peace Envoy, by Gordon Lawrie

29/4/2022

The President of Russia and I, the latest peace envoy, studied each other from opposite ends of a very long table. He was a man who refused to allow anyone close to him.

He stared at me. I stared back, unblinking. Slowly, I rocked my head from side to side.

“Count your missiles with me, Mr Putin. One… two… three… close your eyes, relax, imagine them all lined up.”

He closed his eyes.

“At the count of three, I will snap my fingers and you’ll wake up a nice man.”

He nodded.

“One… two… three…” Snap!

And that was that.

Spirit Journal, by Elizabeth Lorayne

29/4/2022

Every night she writes. Tears mixed with sweat, swirling in ink, overflowing the page. I try not to drown. I swim hard against the current of words, gasping for breath as I brace myself for the most epic of water slides, that moment she turns the page. Crash.
 I land with my dripping wet feet firmly on the dry and new papyrus. I look up at her face and I see that she needs to rest. She places her pen on the page, closes her eyes, and lets herself draw, reveling in our most cherished way to end the day.

In the Back of a Taxi One Day, by Bill Cox

29/4/2022

She gets into his taxi, clutching her swollen stomach.

“The hospital, quickly please. My waters have just broken.”

He nods and sets the car into traffic. He watches her in the rear-view mirror. She puffs away in the back seat. Does he know her?

“You look familiar” he says, “Have we met before?”

In between deep breaths she takes a moment to really look at him. A wry smile crosses her lips.

“Yes, we’ve met. We went out on a date once.”

“Wow, small world”, he grins, “When was that?”

She grimaces.

“Oh, about nine months ago…”

Morning Coffee, by Robert P. Bishop

29/4/2022

Mother died last night while we children slept. She left us as quietly as moonlight falling on empty houses.

Mother sat at the breakfast table that morning with the calm of one who has accepted defeat and signed a surrender written on dry parchment curling with age. Father poured coffee for her, put cream and sugar in it and stirred. The spoon made delicate tink-tink sounds against the inside of the cup.

We spooned cold cereal into open mouths and wondered at the silence surrounding us. Father whispered and Mother smiled and we waited for the laughter that never came.

The Hard Way, by Yvonne Morris

29/4/2022

Mom works late and needs to unwind, she says. I manage alright when she’s gone, but it’s not good to be left alone too often. I learned that the hard way. I know the officer standing under the porch light, haloed in early morning fog. I open the door, peer up at him.

“Hi, Leda. Is your mother home?”

“She’s at Jake’s place…probably. Why?”

“We got a call there may’ve been a disturbance here last night. Hear anything?”

“Nah.”

“Well … I’ll be back.”

I hurry to the basement. Mom’s slumped, silent.

“We gotta get Jake out of the freezer!”

A Rising Tide, by Martin Greening

29/4/2022

Miriam sloshed through the foot of water in her living room as her toes squished into the spongy carpet. She placed a few pictures from the mantle into the box she carried.

“Mom please,” her daughter called from the front door, “Time to go.”

Miriam looked towards her kitchen, her children’s bedroom before they moved out, and her own bedroom, then let out a breath. After six years I’d finally gotten used to living alone.

Masterpiece, by Mimi Grouse

29/4/2022

Clods of colour on canvas. Graham picked it up. He knew he shouldn't do this, shouldn't even consider it, but work had been so slow lately. Commissions reduced to a trickle, inspiration and will-power declining together with the offers. He had a frame somewhere in his studio. He rummaged among the clutter until he found it.
The canvas did it justice. Only one picture, that Something New his agent had been whingeing about. He carried it out to his car. Tomorrow his four-year-old daughter would make her debut into the art world - and she wouldn't have a clue.

Their Secret, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

29/4/2022

Lights on. Door opened. The next door neighbour’s terrier darted across its backyard.

“Should we tell him?” Gwen asked.

“Absolutely not!” her husband affirmed.

“The dog knows.”

“Likely.”

Other neighbours became annoyed with consecutive evenings of whining.

“What you suppose got into the beast?” one asked.

“Don’t know,” Gwen fibbed. “Perhaps it senses spirits of former residents.”

“Go on!” the neighbour chortled.

Gwen and her husband debated how long it would take for the dog to discover the truth of the sacred land it stood on.

Land wherein the remains of a beloved dog were buried by a previous owner.

The Power Of The Call, by Brian Mackinney

29/4/2022

Each day something happened to tell Lily she was feeling old. Today she had to sit on the bed to put her pants on. Up to now she could do this standing up.

Lily was feeling a bit down when the telephone rang. Her granddaughter had called her for a chat. The conversation was mostly her telling grandma about the lovely things she had been doing. Dancing. Ice Skating. Tenpin Bowling. The joy of youth in one cosy chat.

Lily felt strong again. She felt the excitement of living. No longer feeling old at eighty three.

She was young again.

Child Blue, by Carla Roitz

29/4/2022

Sam was watching the neighbors.
Her favorite window was five from the left on the 4th floor. She loved this family. She called them the Blue Family, because of the curtains.
Tonight, Dad Blue was at the dining-room table in front of his laptop, which he frowned at occasionally, also paying attention to Child Blue, aged four or five. Child knelt on a chair next to Dad, waving her skinny body around and finally sprawling her whole torso across the table, causing Dad to give up scowling at his laptop and tickle her.
Sam felt cool tears on her cheeks.

All the Wet Cushions, by Leonard Mills

29/4/2022

The monsoon took Mother when I was a little girl.

My family repaired cushions in the marketplace, next to the saree merchant. One day, heavy rain brought floods. I scrambled for high-ground, but Mother was overcome, crying, “Aditya.” Then she was gone.

I wept for a year.

Until at school, we learnt about rain.
That rivers run to seas, where Goddess Parvati soaks up the water to bless the land.

And I realised, when I feel warm rain on my face, it is Mother covering me in kisses. And I smile, as all the wet cushions soak up her love.

Jason, by Virginia Ashberry

29/4/2022

Jason leans his shoulders against the café’s brick wall. The sun has yet to crest the tall building across the street, but the moist stillness of morning air, and Jason’s desire to kill, leave him dripping sweat. Yanking the thin cotton cloth of his “wife beater” undershirt up over his shaved head, then slowly dragging it down his heavily tattooed face gives little relief.

Jason considers his prey inside, all sipping iced lattes and scarfing down pricy treats. Every one of them insulated from pain.

They are the users - he and his class are the used.

They need teaching.

Reflection, by Allison Symes

29/4/2022

Sally smiled into the silver hand mirror. The beautiful handle decoration of an elder tree entranced her since childhood.

It was right Granny left it to her rather than to her stuck-up cow of a sister, Marilyn.

Sally recalled Marilyn’s last words before becoming deathly ill.

‘The hand mirror’s cursed, Sally. Don’t look into it. Smash it. I’m ill because of it. I don’t know if I’ll recover. But I saw my reflection. Granny said that was good. It meant its evil was restricted.’

Ha! Sally thought, that’s just stupid.

Sally peered into the mirror again.

There was no reflection.

Of Mice and Musketeers, by Teodora Vamvu

29/4/2022

“What are we: mice or musketeers?“, my father asks, eyes blazing.

He’s trying to stop my frantic pacing. I’m sick and having the umpteenth panic attack that day.

Still, in my fear-induced haze, I know what he’s talking about. The Tom and Jerry cartoons. Jerry’s diaper-wearing cousin, looking in the mirror, giving himself the pep talk of a lifetime. “I’m a musketeer!“

But faced with his enemy in combat, he runs for his life. For he’s only a mouse.

And whilst I might be a mouse too, my father is a musketeer, forever fighting the scariest threat: his daughters’ suffering.

The Snake Charmer, by Sivan Pillai

29/4/2022

Life was becoming difficult for a snake charmer like me. A corrupt officer took the lion's share of what I earned, threatening me with the Wildlife Protection Act that made keeping snakes illegal. It didn't matter that my defanged snakes were harmless.
I decided to start afresh in a big city after giving all my snakes, except one, to a friend.
I had to settle an account first.
Late at night, I took my cobra with its fangs intact, never exposed, to my tormentor.
I enjoyed releasing it into his bachelor bedroom.

Dancing On One Leg, by Jim Woessner

29/4/2022

Marvin was conflicted when he heard from one of his sons that their mother, his ex-wife, was dying. Most of him didn’t care, didn’t want to care. He’d stopped loving her decades ago. But she was also the mother of his boys, one of whom had quit his job to look after her. And there had been good times, as well. He didn’t want to remember those, but he couldn’t turn them off. She had been a big part of his life. And now he felt that a part of him was also dying, especially the part that hated her.

The Bridge, by Faye Rapoport DesPres

29/4/2022

Editor's Choice

The friends ordered two bottles of cabernet, celebratory and sorrowful in turn. One couple was leaving after a lifetime in the area, another had arrived two years earlier. The third, the bridge, had lived there for a decade and introduced the others.

Jokes and laughter ensued. Appetizers arrived, then assorted dinners. Then…why not?…dessert.

The bill was settled with the leaving couple’s credit card waved off.

Hugs, an uber, a parking lot. The bridge couple walked down the street towards home, any stars above swallowed by streetlights.

They wondered about where they’d landed in life, with whom, and for how long.

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"Classic"
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Friday Flash Fiction
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Fiction only
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Include your name and a story title

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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