Blog Archives

Morona Morona, by Gordon Lawrie

26/4/2024

Morona – not her real name – had signed up for newsletters from an internet flash fiction publication, but never bothered to read them. Notwithstanding clear instructions to the contrary, she submitted a crude, tasteless story, full of grammatical and spelling errors and effectively a sequel to a previous submission. Just before the deadline. Furthermore, she saw no reason to not to switch off her laptop’s VPN.

Some basic detective work revealed that Morona was in fact a male convicted sex offender. Rather than reject his work, the editor chose to bury his story deep down in history for anyone to see.

Hot Springs, by Linda Sanche

26/4/2024

We lounge by the craggy rocks that cradle the thermal pool, the steam softening faces and my mood. I watch a plump woman in a two-piece swimsuit unsteadily descend into the hot springs; a grin spreads across her face, then mine.

“She shouldn’t wear that,” whispers Jared. My smile turns upside down. “What?” he asks.

I push away from him and slowly paddle around the pool. The plump woman joins a jowly man with a sunburnt face. He whispers in her ear. She giggles and kisses his cheek. My smile returns.

I circle back to Jared. “We need to talk.”

Fifty Dollars, by Sandra James

26/4/2024

‘I could give you fifty dollars,’ the dealer shrugged.

She’d hoped for more, that Gran’s vase would pay the electricity bill and fill the pantry.

That night she fed her husband and kids, told them she wasn’t hungry, and turned on the Antiques Roadshow as her stomach rumbled.

There was the dealer with a tall blue vase.

‘Ten thousand,’ said the expert, ‘but it would be five times that much if you had the matching pair.’

She looked up at the mantlepiece and smiled.

Her gut feeling had been right.

Just a Matter of Time, by Alyce Clark

26/4/2024

Gracie knows she’s loved. It’s how she survives dark times.

Jonathan left. She’s jobless and back at Mom and Dad’s.

Initially ashamed, but her childhood home becomes a safe haven.

“It’s just a matter of time,” she tells herself, “Before all is well again.”

Nurtured and supported, she puts herself out there. Meets people. Tries new things. Applies for jobs she hasn’t considered. Says yes, instead of no.

Mother’s hugs and Father’s laughter are healing. A date with Craig feels promising. A call back for an interview.

She’s right, it’s just a matter of time before all is well again.

Anarchy, by Tom Baldwin

26/4/2024

‘And now,’ said the DJ, ‘please welcome the happy couple to the floor for their first dance.’

Everyone applauded as Tracy and Mick walked onto the floor. A Sex Pistols hit blared out and they pogoed around each other, purple mohawks bobbing, and ripped, safety-pinned clothes hugging their bodies.

‘I can’t believe Mum kept those,’ said Jess. ‘Is she ever going to grow up?’

‘If she hasn’t by now I guess she never will,’ said Luke. ‘I suppose she’s just reliving her youth now Dad’s gone. He never approved of that phase in her life, did he?’

Huck and Pray, by LaVerne Planden

26/4/2024

I am standing in my skis, tips sticking over the edge. I know the things you can do to me. You are not a straight-down-fall-to-your-death kind of drop. You are an evil trickster hidden behind soft snow, a welcoming smile with a knife tucked behind its’ back. Down there is where the ligament tear will happen. The snow bunched up just the right way, under a ski turned just the wrong way. I wonder for a moment how I might avoid you. I slap myself in the face. “Huck and pray.” That’s what my daughter would say. I slide forward.

Order in the Court, by Sherri Bale

26/4/2024

The defendant’s legal team objected to every potential female juror. The plaintiff’s lawyers objected to every male juror. There could be no impartial jury to try Mr. Jones, accused by his wife of three counts of leaving the toilet seat up.

“How long have the defendant and plaintiff been married?”

“75 years, your Honor.”

The judge would have to decide the case alone.

“On their next anniversary, the Defendant will gift his wife a toilet seat that lowers automatically.”

That was easy. But now on to the next case, a wife who had refused to cook dinner on her birthday.

Invigilante, by Teri Wright

26/4/2024

Mrs Hunt’s footsteps echoed around the sports hall. The former primary Headmistress strode along each aisle checking the desks.

“No chewing!” she screeched, offering a tissue to an acne-ridden boy. His cheeks reddened as he spat out the gum.

“Only transparent pencil cases allowed!” she yelled at a girl in glasses, before confiscating the item.

She loved this job. £12 an hour to invigilate high school exams. Three hours of intimidation bliss. Seeing students deflate as she muttered, “That’s wrong!” whilst pretending to read their answers.

Perfect opportunity for revenge on those who had misbehaved during their primary school years.

First Raindrops, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/4/2024

(Image: Sinjinee Chatterjee)

Indian millennial Ritu Singh, on a business-trip was in Pondicherry, a picturesque coastal town. For several weeks, the temperature had been running unbearably 42-45oC. In July of last year, the UN Chief, on the advice of the climate-scientists, coined the term “Global Boiling”, discarding the clichéd “Climate Change”.

After day’s work, she took shelter under a beach-umbrella, murmuring “But, it’s only April.” An orange sun turned the nature mysterious. Her smartphone flashed the news of an unprecedented Mid-East flooding. Suddenly, she noticed a few floating black clouds.

Soon, she felt the soft touch of first raindrops of a new monsoon.

Wishful Stones, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

26/4/2024

They could’ve been for her: words or pictures of hope painted on stone.

She read as many as she could, walking by, swallowing tears. “You can do it, don’t lose hope, love you forever…”

She paused at those for grandparents, remembering her own; the long-distance commutes to visit them, Grandma waiting outside for the family’s arrival, dinner aromas pulling them indoors where Grandpa sat, cane by his side.

She wondered how many, for whom the messages were intended, had survived their illnesses…

as she passed the bed of stones by the entrance of a cancer centre, for her own treatment.

Scattered, by Penny Rogers

26/4/2024

Julia admired the tulips in her blue glass vase. ‘I’m just going to peg the washing out. Drink your tea, it’s cool now.’
When she returned, red, purple, yellow and pink flower heads jewelled the beige carpet. Stems and leaves littered the furniture, a puddle of water seeped from the upturned vase.
‘Darling! What have you done?’ Julia surveyed the devastation and forced her voice to stay calm. ‘Have you hurt yourself? Thank goodness my vase isn’t broken.’
Kenneth looked at her, his sad grey eyes bewildered and uncomprehending. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t smack me Mummy.’

The Hare And The Tortoise The Sequel, by Brian Mackinney

26/4/2024

“Hello,” said Henry the tortoise to Pip the hare. “Fancy another race?”
“Sorry. I’m too busy collecting pronouns. They’re very nourishing.”
“How many have you got?”
“30 so far. The County ambassador has asked me to spread them swiftly and I have found that as I do I collect more.”

Pip became so full of pronouns she choked on them. When she came round she was a witch.
“Hello,” said Henry. “Have you seen Pip. She’s collecting pronouns?”
“It’s me. I’ve changed. I’ve put all my pronouns in the fiery cauldron. They didn’t suit me.”
“Oh good. Fancy another race?”

Famous, by Sue Clayton

26/4/2024

“Did you make some new friends at school today, Enid?”

“Yes, Mummy. I met them when I went to the library.” I’d gone there to hide, to lose myself in a book, after the kids in the playground pulled off my glasses, pushed me to the ground and laughed when I cried.

My newfound friends were kind, not bullies or cruel.

“Ignore them,” I could imagine Julian, Dick and Anne giving advice. Hot-tempered George would want to set Timmy onto them.

One day, when I became a famous writer, I’ll write books about my five friends.

Memory Loss, by David Luna

26/4/2024

He stood inside the room, looking around and trying to recognize anything. They had told him to examine it, so maybe his memory would come back. Nothing was familiar. It was a girl’s room. Pink walls, dolls on shelves, and a dresser with a mirror. He opened the top drawer. There was a diary. The owner was Danielle Baker. Then, all came back rushing like a cold flood. The accident, the blood, the terrible agony at the hospital. His daughter was dead and he wasn’t. His soul sank in a bottomless darkness and he wished to lose all memory again.

Legacy, by Bill Cox

26/4/2024

The Great Emperor Susuhanan ruled over the known world. As he reached a certain age, an obsession took over his waking moments. He became concerned about his legacy and how the world would remember his glory.

He would look out from his great palace and see the monuments to past rulers, each grander than the last, each built by armies of slaves.

The Goddess Amira came to him in a dream one night. When he woke, he understood how he would secure his place in history, so that his name would echo down the ages.

“Free the slaves!” he commanded.

Bandits, by C. J. H. Dickens

26/4/2024

There were three of them, dressed all in black, sauntering aimlessly around a hundred yards away. They shouldn’t have bothered me, but I committed the mistake of making eye contact.

Very gradually, they began to approach me. Their unblinking eyes never left mine. Silently, threateningly, they circled me, seemingly at random while drawing inexorably nearer. I was about to be robbed, but was powerless to do anything. The tension was unbearable.

Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valour. Unable to stand it any longer, I fled, leaving my fish supper behind as the crows swept in for their swag.

Collegiality, by Daniel Hybner

26/4/2024

Subject: Rats

Mr. Jones,

I have been informed by one of our shared students that you made them "digest rats" in class today. I believe it to be quite callous of you to require your biology students to digest rats, and you should be ashamed of yourself. Please kindly consider not having your students digest dead animals in class ever again.

Your Colleague,
Mr. Smythe

RE: Rats

Mr. Smythe,

It took me a minute to dissect what you’re saying, but I got it. Best email ever! Thanks for the laugh! I needed that after today’s lesson.

Still chuckling,
Mr. Jones

Trespasser, by Glo Curl

26/4/2024

Gordon's Choice

On the northern edge of the forest, a wolf howls. The fire crackles and spits as I sit crosslegged staring into the flames, hunched and shivering. A twig snaps, then another. My heart begins to thump so hard it must surely be heard by whatever is approaching. A shuffle of leaves close behind; I pull my hunting knife, ready to thrust it home. A gust of wind whips up the flames as I turn to face the unfortunate intruder. Piggy eyes lock onto mine. ‘Oink, oink,’ I mumble. He blinks and trundles onwards, snuffling softly, until the darkness swallows him.

The New Bed and Breakfast, by Dawn Knox

26/4/2024

Lisa's Choice

He studied his wife’s face and then his son’s. The family were sitting at the kitchen table, and the atmosphere was gloomy.
“I’m not sure this experiment is working,” he said, and his son nodded vehemently.
“Let’s not be hasty, love,” his wife said. “We agreed to give it a few weeks. It’s only been a couple of days.”
“But setting up a Bed and Breakfast was supposed to make life easier.”
“We’ve only had one guest so far, love. Others might be less of a problem.”
The door opened and Goldilocks strode in. “I have a complaint,” she said.

Bottled Death, by Samantha Van Der Brink

26/4/2024

“Hurry Witch.” Gavin growled at Lenora, making her shrivel into herself. From her moth eaten petticoats she procured the bottle, her keen eyes raked over the patrons save they hear his accurate but unwelcome personifications.

Damn the church and their ignorance towards her livelihood.

“Bury it the North garden.” She ordered.

“No tricks then Witch? It works?”

“Aye.” She told him as cheers burst up from the nearby table. Fetid fingernails scratched at his wicked smile and Lenora shrank away even further.

“Tis fortuitous.” Gavin sneered.

“What is?”

“I told Father Peter that he need not clear the pyre.”

Conditioned, by Don Tassone

26/4/2024

Ivan awoke at 6:00 to the sound of his alarm. Once he forgot to set it. He woke up at 6:00 sharp anyway.

He was tired, but the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee perked him up.

In his bathroom, Ivan’s electric toothbrush beeped when he’d brushed for two minutes.

When his watch vibrated, Ivan knew it was time to leave for work.

In his car, a ding reminded him to buckle up.

At work, Ivan checked his phone whenever it buzzed. The smell of french fries somewhere nearby made his mouth water. Lunchtime, Ivan Pavlov said to himself.

12 Seconds Every 2 Minutes (Whilst Moving), by Lisa Williams

26/4/2024

I didn’t really know anything about vans, but I’d watched Top Gear back in the day. I kicked the wheels again and asked if he’d go any lower.
He wouldn’t.
I was stuck. I had to get to work tomorrow for 6am. I needed space for my tools. I knew it was fit to be scrapped but it was the only solution I could afford. Greensleeves played as I drove off.
My wife wasn’t impressed. My neighbours less so.
“Jesus, Paul, an ice cream van’s bad enough but can’t you turn the music off?”
I lowered then shook my head.

The Lucky Buck, by Tony Covatta

26/4/2024

Autumn. Pre-dawn workout completed, Frances and Ray motored down the narrow lane from the gym. Too late, Ray glimpsed a shape hurdle from the darkness, slam onto their grill and hood, twisting antlers scraping the windshield. The gray, furred, somersaulting hulk thudded on their roof, bounced off the boot, lay motionless on the pavement behind.

“Damn. I’ll have to kill it.” Ray reached for his wrench set. Coming to, the woozy buck twitched, wobbled onto his hooves, found balance, vaulted into the woods.

Frances: “What happened?”

“Hunting for hot—”

“Disgusting.”

“I wish him luck.”

“You men. All the same.”

Caught in the Act, by Liam Kerry

26/4/2024

My lounge has two TV screens. One displays footage from the CCTV surveillance of the roads encompassing my corner house.

I settled in for an afternoon watching football, occasionally checking my second screen.

A family entered the screen. Their little girl licked a cornetto, holding her mother’s hand. A few doddery steps later, she’d fallen, dropping her treat. Tears ensued.

From out of shot, an old lady emerged, crossing the road to hand her a Calippo. The girl’s father thanked her wholeheartedly. Re-taking her mother’s hand, their daughter smiled.

It suited my compilation perfectly—evidence of love in this world.

Mars Eve, by G. Lynn Brown

26/4/2024

I overheard a couple old-timers reminiscing about the days when birds soared on high and airplanes took to the skies, back before kings vied to be gods, and I looked up into the vermillion sky.

I wish I knew if it was sunrise or sunset. But ever since those megalomaniacal kings set the earth on fire, obliterating each other's thrones, there is no sun, only blood-stained heavens above.

Tomorrow, relocation begins. Those young, healthy and virile enough will board space shuttles, destination Mars.

I'm a bit nervous, but excited. I can't believe my baby will be the first native-born Martian.

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