Blog Archives

True Love, by Sandra James

28/5/2021

My family are convinced my new husband only married me for my money. They’ve always been overprotective and I love them but this time they’ve got it wrong.

Matthew loves me and is completed devoted to making me happy. He hardly ever asks for anything but he’s always doing things for me.

Tonight he prepared a romantic candlelit dinner to surprise me on our one week anniversary. Mushroom risotto, my favourite. He even fed me spoonfuls as he gazed into my eyes.

I feel so lucky to have found him. And mellow. Sleepy. I can’t focus…

Jamie-Lee, by Mary Wallace

28/5/2021

The scholarship allowed Jamie-Lee to attend a private school and dream of a better future. Her uniform helped her blend in and although she kept to herself, inviting no one to see the hovel that was her home, they could tell she was different anyway.

Back home she was ridiculed for attending a "posh" school. She belonged to neither world and the loneliness and effort to find her place proved too much.

Few people came to the funeral; fewer still shed tears. "Every chance" and "wasted potential" were murmured with bitterness. It was hard to understand someone like Jamie-Lee.

The New Alien Slaves, by Russell Conover

28/5/2021

Narool and Worzneek gazed with delight at the new crop of slaves before them. A dozen new humans, zapped from Earth to the alien planet, were about to be forced to do immediately whatever the aliens saw fit.

“Should we start this group off easy?” Narool asked.

“No.” Worzneek shook his head. “They must suffer for disrespecting our leader. Have them trim the greasy body hair from our fellow aliens.” The eyes of the slaves widened in fear and disgust.

The extraterrestrials reveled in their power over the lowly slaves. They couldn't wait to make life miserable for their victims.

The Piano Players, by Sue Clayton

28/5/2021

In the dead of night they steal me from my bed. Piano fingers play along my spine, evil grins embellishing their faces, as they bear me aloft towards a cold open hearth in the bedroom nook.

My silent screams wake me before the chimney breast swallows us whole.

These nightmare visitors, adorned in red and green pointed hats, persistently invade my childhood dreams.

“A gift for the garden,” a housewarming guest beams.

Festivities concluded I grab a hammer from the shed. Silently screaming I batter away the evil grins on two clay-faced gnomes, resplendent in red and green pointed hats.

Negative Space, by Joseph Ramey

28/5/2021

The woman had been looking in the department store mirror for over ten minutes when Nathan finally noticed her. On instinct, he went to offer assistance, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"Can I help you find something?"

Finger to her lips, she shushed him. Her hand trembled.

Nathan peered into the mirror to see what she was looking at, but to no avail. "Excuse me, ma'am, is there some kind of problem?"

She nodded, beckoning to him, and whispered, "Do you see?"

Nathan leaned in to have a closer look. His face paled. The woman beside him had no reflection!

Cheating Death, by M D Smith

28/5/2021

Dave confronted the figure on his doorstep.

“I didn’t expect you yet.”

A boney finger pointed at him.

“Me? Now?”

Think.
Dave withdrew a deck of cards from his jacket.

“You’re a gambler.” Dave shuffled and fanned them in his hand. “High card wins?”

A nod at the waist. The game commenced. The stranger drew a king, but Dave plucked the ace of spades.

“You lose. See you in fifty years.”

Dave grinned. I hated to cheat with the notched ace, but the stakes were too big.

Dave grabbed his chest and collapsed. Guess you can’t cheat the Grim Reaper.

Not All Quests, by Bill Cox

28/5/2021

The people of the ground (worms, snails, slugs, crawling insects) all feared the foot. Its passage frequently claimed many an innocent victim. When, one day, the foot squished the family of Soleo Slug, he vowed to go on a quest to seek vengeance. Gathering others with him, this fellowship set out to end the tyranny of the foot forever. Unfortunately, while crossing the tarmac desert, the whole fellowship was crushed under the wheels of a passing vehicle.

A thin organic paste on the surface of the dark tarmac serves as a reminder that not all quests end in glory.

Sleepers, by Tom Spooner

28/5/2021

I hold my daughter's hand as she walks along the railway sleeper.

Negotiating a rusted bolt, she teeters momentarily.

My hand is clammy in hers - it’s too warm for the time of year.

A bramble swings for the skin above her red wellies before I can stamp it down.

She trips and I pull her into the air. My daughter dangles: ligaments stretching, time too.

I lower her back to the sleeper.

Her steps are more purposeful.

She dismounts, beaming. I sense it rather than see it, tears blurring my vision.

We are here now, walking in step to somewhere.

Misdirection, by Bruce McNair

28/5/2021

Detective Jones retrieved from the victim a card that read: I stole the money. He handed it to forensics and walked over to the witness.

“Id?”

Jones inspected the driver’s licence. “Mr Malefactor, what happened?”

“The guy fell.”

A forensic’s officer whispered to Jones.

Jones turned to Malefactor. “You’re under arrest for murder.”

“But, I didn’t do it.”

“Your fingerprints are on this card.”

“I can explain…”

“And the photo on this licence looks wrong.”

Malefactor shrugged. “It’s due for renewal.”

“So ten years ago, you looked older?”

Red-faced, he said, “Revitalising cream is magic.”

“And landed you in jail.”

Routine, by Rekha Rajgopal

28/5/2021

The doctor comes in every week.

“Let’s see how you are doing this week Martha,” he will say and pore over the nurse’s notes.

He will then check my blood pressure and shake his head in perplexity.

I will give him a big smile, which will make him blink his eyes rapidly and start rummaging his medical kit.

As always, I will not tell him, “My dear Thomas, noticing my lipstick and appreciating my dress will not make you disloyal to your dead friend. It may do wonders for my blood pressure that confounds you week after week after week.”

New Beau Blunder, by Elizabeth Mayers

28/5/2021

My phone alerted me Beau’s birthday was soon. Being a good girlfriend, I threw a party for my new Beau. I’d lucked out having back-to-back beaus named Beau. No bungled names. Especially in the boudoir. I’d called old Beau, Boris, for too long. Understandable, I think.

When new Beau entered the party, we yelled surprise and sang. He was speechless. Someone hollered, “That’s not Beau!” unaware old Beau’d been replaced. Later, Beau said the party was unbelievable, but wasn’t his birthday. I checked my phone. I’d botched it.

I’m looking for a new beau. Preferably a Zachary or a Montgomery.

Breaking Through the Clouds, by Swapan K Banerjee

28/5/2021

He’s at war with himself.

What the deuce have I been doing here in this wilderness past few days trying to summit the eight-thousander? I can’t hang tough and brave the elements anymore, he thought.

Bone-tired, his oxygen bottle close to empty, he fortuitously discovered a mountain hollow well-protected from snow and storm. He went deep inside, and blacked out.

When he regained consciousness, he could hear the muted roar of the blizzard outside. In front, near a burning diya, someone was chanting “Om Mani Padme Hum”… The more he heard it, the more he felt equipped to face anything.

Millie, by Jim Woessner

28/5/2021

Millie put “free stuff” at the curb, schlepped bags of clothes to Goodwill, and sold much of what she owned on eBay and Craig’s List. Her most precious things went to family and friends. All the leftovers went to the dump. The neighbors thought it was a sign of old age, perhaps with a bit of dementia. Some worried that it was cancer. One friend suggested she might take her own life. When I asked, Millie told me that for the first time in her life she felt free, unburdened. After her house sold, we got a postcard from Tahiti.

No Going Back, by Jennifer Duncan

28/5/2021

Linda admitted that she had a crush on Bob. They didn't move in the same Grade Seven social circle, but they sat next to each other in class. She let him copy her homework, and he teased her with smiling eyes. Every day they had a friendly little chat, although sometimes he seemed worried.

One morning in the classroom at the beginning of recess, he held her arm asking her to stay.

When the others had gone, he said starkly, "My brother was killed. Shot by a drug dealer."

She stared at him, stunned. Pain screamed in stricken silence.

That Time William Wordsworth Mistakenly Bought a Smartwatch, by Elaine Thomas

28/5/2021

All I wanted was to celebrate the season … beside the lake, beneath the trees … But oh no, your unceasing demands, like those of a nagging spouse, push me out of reverie and into crowded streets. Stand. Move. Walk. How can I wander when you track my every step? No vacant or pensive moods for me. No blissful solitude. You monitor and measure my blood oxygen and instill a fear that more than pleasure might fill my heart. I have decided to pound you to smithereens with a hammer. It’s spring. I choose to dance. Then go lie on my couch.

Pierceless Ears, by Janice Siderius

28/5/2021

“It is so great that we can now go out for our anniversary dinner at a restaurant. Wearing a mask is a small price to pay for a night out. Last year we had to stay home and celebrate.” Monica says wistfully. “I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

“Hurry or we’ll be late.” responds Tom.

Monica rushes to put the final touches on her outfit. She goes to her small jewelry box and pulls out her diamond studs. “Perfect!” she exclaims.

When she goes to insert the earring, there is no hole. She sighs, “Just another Covid issue to fix.”

The Pendant, by Emma McEvoy

28/5/2021

She squints and stares at the blank onyx pendant; recalls the sensation of running her thumb over its polished stone. It's been missing for months, and she’s avoided telling him. It belonged to his grandmother, or so he told her when he gave it to her.

Over the years, there have been many gifts and many tales. Now, she wonders if there was truth in any of them.

She moves her eyes from the pendant which now hangs from her friend’s neck. Her eyes lock with his. She squints and stares: signals to him that his game is up.

Mist Covered Mountain, by Archibald Hobbs

28/5/2021

Driving home, across the mountain, from a kilted occasion, Hamish's tartan blood pulsated when the gas indicator light started bleating. Already past midnight, and shrouded in mist, Hamish knew that the nearest service station waited many miles down the long winding road.
Slowly, he drifted to an unforgiving halt.
Headlights from passing cars periodically rose and fell, but no driver stopped for the kilted man emerging from the mizzle with arms aloft.
Resigned to his cold vigil, Hamish seized his bagpipes and kept himself warm playing a sorrowful lament.
By dawn's light, sightings of the Highland ghost dominated social media.

Assumptions, by Allison Symes

28/5/2021

Mary decided she had a talent for art. Only she thought so. She ignored discouraging remarks and spent most of her time creating “exquisite” landscapes.

The fact she had no sense of scale was lost on her though not on those “lucky” enough to receive her gifts. Who would refuse a 85-year-old?

Most wouldn’t. Nor would they ask questions about how she paid for materials. Mary was only on her State pension yet had no trouble paying in cash.

Nobody asked where Mary’s talent did lie.

It was forgery.

Producing money when needed had never been a problem.

Bus Stop Blue, by David Milner

28/5/2021

Tried to revive him. At the bus stop, where he fell. Opened his shirt, revealing a surprisingly smooth, hairless torso that belied the weathered years suggested on his face.

Nursery rhyme rhythm, steady in syllables, CPR… my fingers laced striving for an ordinary miracle.

People gathered. To watch, I guess, in imitation of a Greek chorus.

“His name?” I asked. And added, “Anyone?”

“Begs by the Chicken Shack”, the chorus replied.

Ambulance is on the way, on the way, the chorus now getting into stride, an ambulance on the way…

I applied more pressure and felt a rib crack.

Mine, by Daniel Aceituna

28/5/2021

He broke the bottle over my head as I kicked him between the legs, buckling him to the floor. Half dazed, my blurred vision searched for an object, but he swung his right leg, knocking me off my feet. On the floor I grabbed his left ankle and bit hard, causing him to knee jerk his right foot to my stomach. After several moments of cussing each other through the pain, we exchanged blows to the face until his face looked worse than my fist. He spit out a tooth and surrendered. I won. The last pizza slice was mine.

Epistle to the Pie-us, by Bill Sells

28/5/2021

Can Dough say to Sauce, 'I have no need of ye?' Nay. Does Onion say to Garlic 'be gone?' Nay. Can Mushroom thumb its noses at Black Olive? Nay.

I knew they had more than one.

Now, Anchovy, I know you feel disfavored, but casting aspersions does not bake well in my oven. Where was I? So, can Green Pepper say to Red Pepper, 'Yellow, how are ye?' Nay, I say....

Boy, he's really fired-up today, like the second-helping or something.

Yeah, who does he think he his, Cheesus? Did he say 'rise again?' Can we 'double-cook?'

Lucky Irons, by John Hayes

28/5/2021

Eddie’s not a praying man, he’s experienced too much death and destruction to put his faith in Deities.

Instead, he mutters a blessing under his breath to his “Lucky Irons” before every meal.

He’d been walking towards the mess hut along with other air crew when he realised he’d forgotten his “irons” – the cutlery he’d been issued with when he arrived at the RAF base in Malaya.

After collecting them from the barracks, he’d set out to catch up the others, just as a lone Japanese bomber dropped its payload on the men and blew them to smithereens.

Orange Slices, by Elaine Mead

28/5/2021

I softly tear the pieces apart, enjoying the sensation on my fingertips as they yield. Slowly strip the excess, gauzy pith away. Slide one, two, three pieces onto my tongue. Bite down and feel the citrus tang spray against the inside of my cheek, the back of my teeth. I offer you a segment, as you stare at me. Disgust knots itself in the curl of upper lip. Your packed bags waiting silently in the hall.

Different, by Lane Topher

28/5/2021

While some people prefer to stay in, 7-year-old Gail wanted to see what a zombie would look like. Being exposed to several zombie movies at a young age was looked down upon, yet the little girl's parents weren't known to be the most careful.

"Gail!" her mother cried. She was way too far, and Gail was several blocks away. The mother should've been warier.

The girl, blinded by curiosity, continued with her little feet. Jump, skip, jump! Gail was so excited!

Suddenly, she heard a groan from behind. It looked different from the movies. Gail could only scream.

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"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

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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