Blog Archives

Traversity, by Indra Chopra

31/5/2018

Sound cloud of arabesque music… swirling silk drapes, sweet odor of Bokhur…a flamboyant interior.

A needle prick. A veil of perplexity. The ICU. ‘Relax. Your heart surgery is successful’.

The night nurse informed that blood donors were diverse, including Arab nationals from neighboring Middle East. Patients have to replenish the hospital blood bank with same amount used by them.

She drifted back to her never-land. Tents pitched along an oasis, camels and horses ruminating and waiting. A figure…the fourth wife of a stroppy Sheik, gazing lasciviously at the flowing golden sands.

She had traversed the sand dunes.

Invisible, by Justin Wall

29/5/2018

I always despised Amelia Robinson. Last week she claimed the interest of my potential suitor, but that's not the real issue. To feel humiliated is bad enough but being ignored is unforgivable. Unfortunately, for Amelia, everything was about to change.

Two days ago, she was involved in a car accident. According to a mutual acquaintance, she died this morning. Oh well. Finally, years of watching my father repair cars has paid off. I had no idea it would be so easy to manipulate the suspension on her car!

If only she hadn’t ignored me. We may have even been friends.

Unconventional Ray, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

28/5/2018

“I need to take another X-ray,” the doctor said.

“Why?” asked the patient.

“Not ‘Y’. ‘X’ as in X-rated.”

“What is X-rated?” The patient was awakening from post-surgery slumber.

A nurse entered the hospital room. The doctor left.

“So, how does it look?” the patient asked the nurse. Realizing his covers were off and she was peering down at him below the waist. “I mean, my ankle.”

The nurse funneled her eyes through his. Her full lips smiled at the corners. Giggling followed.

“You’re on the mend, Ray,” she said. “Dr. Hoo just wants to take one more X-ray.”

“Who?”

In the Bedroom, by Zane Castillo

28/5/2018

She crept slowly into the bedroom as Tom slept in the twin-sized bed. Her eyes darted back and forth between Tom’s sleeping figure and the drawer where he kept his money.

Her footsteps were quiet on the floorboards as she cautiously moved to the drawer. She opened it, dug under the t-shirts, and grabbed the wads of cash. She stuffed the money into her jacket pocket and walked slowly backwards.

“Angie,” Tom muttered in his sleep. The sound of her name made her freeze in place. Tom rolled over onto his side and snored softly. She quickly exited the room.

Fame, by Don Tassone

27/5/2018

From the time she was a little girl, she had dreamed of being a famous singer and songwriter.

She constantly listened to the most popular songs and imagined herself writing and singing them. She walked around her house with headphones on, singing. She sang in variety shows and competed in talent contests.

At 23, she won a Grammy for a song she had written and recorded about a girl in search of fame.

It was her first and only hit. In pursuing fame, she had forgotten to live and never learned that life, not fame, is the stuff of song.

That Smile, Robin LeeAnn

26/5/2018

I always spotted him down the aisle at work. He dressed too stylish to work here with a few of his buttons opened and tattoos covering his arms. He had a step to his walk, a pattern.

“Ana!” he called out as I got close. I knew he had already noticed me a while back. He just chose to speak now. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing good. You?”

We passed each other already, but he still answered. “I’m doing good!”

And that was the extent of every conversation. But that smile. It could light up the world.

The Big Moment, by Russell Conover

26/5/2018

Adjusting his helmet and goggles, and checking his parachute, Joel gulped as he gazed out the plane window. “What was I thinking?” he thought. “I can't do this!”

He approached the instructor. “Sir, I'm having second thoughts. I--”

Without warning, the instructor opened the plane door and pushed Joel out. “Good luck! Have fun!”

Joel couldn't even speak before he soared through the air. He grabbed anything he could, looking for his parachute but certain he would die. He found the cord and pulled hard.

The. World. Stopped.

Joel gasped at the beauty below. Terror had gone, replaced by awe.

The Longest Distance, by Traci Mullins

25/5/2018

They told me I was really going places.

That was before I stuck a needle in my arm.

Here are the places I went from there: a rehab, an asylum, a jail cell where a guy named Angel told me he looked forward to catching up with me in prison. We’d celebrate my eighteenth birthday, he’d said, his lewd gesture a warning clue about why I should get myself turned around.

But as they say, the longest distance is from the head to the heart. I never got there. So I’m here, going nowhere. I hear Angel’s looking for me.

Rex, by Marjan Sierhuis

25/5/2018

Chloe enjoyed a quiet siesta on a park bench, got up and once again strolled along the board walk.

On this warm sunny day she couldn’t help but feel she was being watched. While she bent over, she pretended to tighten her shoe laces and discretely tilted her head from side to side. But nothing peaked her curiosity.

Perhaps her paranoia had to do with a sixth sense inherited from her great aunt Gertrude, or an overactive imagination.

Suddenly, she remembered. She forgot to walk her dog Rex who now waited at the end of the boardwalk with his leash.

An Evening Walk, by Sankar Chatterjee

25/5/2018

At sun-down, Lyme Regis on southern-England coastline turned pitch-black. Rollie and Poly, two surviving dinosaurs from that explosive meteorite-crash on earth, came out for some fresh air.

Poly: For how long humans are going to search for our fossils here?

Rollie: As long as those ivory-tower professors at Harvard and Oxford get their research-grants!

Poly: But past is over. Won’t they be smart enough to spend the same fund to disrupt global warming, control over-population, and minimize obscene wealth inequality?

Rollie: Huh! Not when three richest Americans own more wealth than poorest 170 millions.

Poly: So, what for dinner tonight?

So Much To Share, by Fliss Zakaszewska

25/5/2018

“Hey, Dad, guess what? I’ve got my new BMW!”

“You already HAVE a new BMW, Poppet.”

“It’s three-years-old. It went back yesterday. Gotta NEW new one.” He’d raise an eyebrow.

“And how’s work going?”

“Better. The system I designed’s been built and we’re storing data on it; and my stories are being published; not making a fortune… YET. And I’ve got a website. I’ll show you next time I’m here…”

“You’ve done well, Poppet,” he would’ve said.

I shake my head at the silent house.

But if you walked on earth today, those are the things that we would say.

HWSSCMECBGRESO, by Gordon Lawrie

25/5/2018

Just a little cynical here...

Has it escaped your notice that new government regulations came into force yesterday?

All computer databases must now store the following information: an individual's height, weight, shoe size, chest measurement, eye colour, birthplace, gender, religion, ethnic origin and sexual orientation. Known as HWSSCMECBGRESO recording, its purpose is to monitor inequalities and discrimination in all walks of life.

Failure to request the information, or failure to supply it, is punishable by long prison sentences.

The changes have brought immediate results. Who would have guessed that brown-eyed bisexual men with 40" chests and size 9 shoes are more likely to be Buddhists?

The Priest, by Andrew Miller

24/5/2018

We all saw the officer coming around the corner, knew he couldn’t see the kid in the shadows, wearing a hoodie, something long and black in one hand. The priest didn’t hesitate. He raised the Glock, fired, hit the kid square in the chest and knocked him flat.

“Why’d you shoot?” The guy in front asked.

“Thought he had a gun,” said the priest.

They reran the video.

“It’s an axe—he’s splitting wood.”

Everyone could tell the priest felt foolish. No matter. We got on the bus and rode to the shooting range. The 50-caliber rifle demo was next.

Early Evening Daze, by Ben Quejada

23/5/2018

The two are loitering in a half-empty cafe when Kane notices: the early evening sunlight peeks through the window, shining on David’s face. It drags like a golden veil, catching on the man’s fine features and drawing his gaze. It’s a tableau he could almost call radiant.

There’s a pang in Kane’s heart, a flush crawling up his face with a feeling he doesn’t have a name for yet. His head stirs with the beginning of an answer.

As the light sinks below the window, he discards the half-finished thought, though David’s sunlit image stays stubbornly burned into his memory.

Vivaldi and a Boy, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

22/5/2018

Vivaldi, a well known philanthropist and business magnate, funded the poor boy’s education. The boy’s brilliance attracted many companies and businessmen with offers of lucrative jobs. The boy accepted one. His initial emoluments were likely to be more than a million pounds a year. His employer asked him to sign a deal which required him to steal some secret information related to his benefactor’s business. The boy agreed. Someone leaked the deal. Stung by the deception, Vivaldi withdrew his support to the boy. Perhaps, a proverb could have saved the boy!

Mama Says, by D. J. Valentin

22/5/2018

Alone on a cold and quiet night, I walked along the Seine.

Among the city’s sparkle, a dim figure appeared. He was handsome, in a mysterious sort of way.

Unconsciously, an inviting smile appeared upon my lips; my naive heart vaguely anticipating a night of wild adventure. He returned it, and extended his hand, which was wrapped in a black glove of the softest and finest leather. I laced my fingers into his and followed blindly.

I forgot my mother’s warning never to talk to strangers, and didn’t notice the sharp silver razor that stuck slightly out of his pocket.

Souvenirs From Chichi, by Sankar Chatterjee

22/5/2018

Rakesh, born and raised in a post-colonial third-world county, arrived in remote Chichicastenenga (Chichi to local Guatemalans) accompanied by spouse Rekha. Chichi’s historic Sunday-market was already buzzing. Suddenly, one strap of his leather-sandals broke off. But Rakesh continued walking.

Rekha (ashamed): Aren’t you going to buy a new pair?

Rakesh (smiling): Being a poor nation, must be a cobbler somewhere.

A merchant pointed towards nearby one who stitched it back. With a friendly-smile, he declined to accept any fee for such a “small-repair”.

Rekha (hunting handicrafts): No souvenir for you from here?

Rakesh: Just collected; this gentleman’s kindness and smile.

The Art of Plastic Surgery, by David Croll

22/5/2018

The doctor studied the face of the anxious woman. She was not accustomed to anyone staring at her so intently.
“I can make you a work of art,” he boasts.
“Really?”
He grabs his marker.
“All I have to do is raise your eyes here and your nose like this.”
“Just like that?” she asked.
He smiled comfortingly.
Whether it was her vanity or his reputation, she agreed.
“Great, my nurse will schedule your procedure.

A new patient walked in and smiled at the doctor.
“Hello, my name is Helen.”
The doctor extends his hand.
“Hello, I’m Pablo Picasso.”

The Greatest Fight, by Thomas Genevieve

20/5/2018

She let her bucket fall into the darkness of the well. And although she didn’t believe in the magic of prayer, its unrequited response always exasperating her disappointment, she slackened the rope as if the bucket would soon take on weight. Ignoring what she knew, she pulled the bucket off the bottom, listening to it scrape along the well’s walls, accepting resignation only after she grasped the bucket by its handle. Under a cruel blue sky, she would try again tomorrow.

How Do Birds Keep Pests from Their Nests? by Martin McConnell

20/5/2018

They don’t. They will endure meager annoyances, knowing that a few mites is better than freezing to death in a storm.

Songbirds will often construct their nest in a single day, without care or regard for procedures, or illusions that it could last forever. After the chicks have flown, it will be abandoned, and construction of the next can begin. Their home is a temporary fortress, and immediate protection from the elements supersedes the idea of building something that will outlast them. They don’t let a few parasites rule their outlook on life.

A Different Generation, by Fliss Zakaszewska

18/5/2018

The letter was official, but not ‘Taxman official’. Curious, I opened it.

‘…writing on behalf of a friend searching for her family. Her grandparents were Betsy and James Tucker…’

Shocked, I stared. My grandparents? Stopping, I counted off the cousins on my fingers. Nope, all accounted for. Holy crap! One of my aunts had a love-child! I gazed at the paper as realisation hit me – was she my sister?

I answered the letter (of course). Dad HAD been a good boy, but Aunty Alice…? Really? And such a silly reason to have deprived us of cousin Erica for so long.

The Emergency Response Service of the Future, by Gordon Lawrie

18/5/2018

Struggling, she managed to grab the telephone: dialled 999.

"Welcome to the all-new one-stop emergency service," the automated voice said. "Press 1 for ambulance, press 2 for fire, press 3 for police, press 4 for coastguard, press 5 if your call is not urgent, press 6 to hear these options again or please hold to speak to an advisor." Then: Vivaldi.

Pressing 1, she drifted in and out of consciousness. Blood from her stomach knife wound coursed all around her.

"Thank you. Press 1 for gunshots, 2 for road accidents, 3 for stabbings, 4 for..."

But she heard no more.

Pictures of Her, by Zane Castillo

16/5/2018

He sat down heavily in the chair and looked at the various pictures of Megan in his mobile phone. Her smile lit up each photo as she gazed happily at the camera.

He could still remember her last words to him. “It’s just too soon,” she had whispered before disappearing from his life.

Her clothes still lingered about, and took up half the closet. The sheets still had her scent and he wondered if he would ever wash them.

A picture of them kissing caught his eye to which his hand began to shake violently. The phone slipped from his hand.

Rockets Were Raining Elsewhere, by Sankar Chatterjee

15/5/2018

Mark was waiting for a passenger-ferry on the bank of Irrawaddy River (Myanmar). Suddenly, a flock of local poor children surrounded him. Perky Maya, paralyzed below waist from childhood-polio and on a movable wooden-platform grabbed his jeans.

Maya: You must be an American money-ball to buy our handicraft dolls.

Mark: American, but not a money-ball. OK, here’s a $10-bill for some. Make sure to share.

Maya: Don’t worry. I’m the leader. I’ll cover everyone.

The ferry took off, when everyone heard a rolling noise. Maya, raising her right hand, was shouting “Hey Mr. you left your wallet on the bank.”

That Horrible Freedom, by James Owens

15/5/2018

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Alan said.
“They take everything off?” Mary asked.
“Everything,” Sue said.
“You adjust quickly,” Joe added.
Mary read the sign. “Ultimate Nudist Camp?”
“The new owners renamed it,” Joe said. “We were unsure but it brings such freedom.”
“But … my penis …” Alan stammered.
“Their nudism is completely non-sexual. No erections here,” Sue said, getting out and undressing.
Alan and Mary stared at the nudists - there were no men, women, boys, or girls - all were blank.
“Come,” a naked Joe said, minus clothes and privates alike, “let us set you free."

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

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