Blog Archives

A New Genre, by Russell Conover

30/6/2017

“Welcome our flash fiction reading! Who would like to begin?” Jim welcomed.
“I’ll go!” Penny volunteered. She stood and carried her paper to the podium. Clearing her throat, she began to read.

“The lights were low, and the music pulsed. Stan and Beverly’s eyes locked, the most primal of urges throbbing through their veins. They eyed each other hungrily, and suddenly--“

“Penny! Excuse me!” Jim cut in. “Children are here. Is this appropriate?”
“I’m just following our theme of Frisky Flash Fiction.”
Jim face-palmed. “Friday. FRIDAY Flash Fiction!”
“Oops. No wonder the proofing group gave me funny looks. My apologies.”

Hot Stuff, by Charles Boorman

30/6/2017

The red-faced man entered the darkened lounge and approached the lady behind the bar. The thermometer showed an outside temperature of 39 degrees; the radio station reported roads buckling in the heat.

Climbing out of his air-conditioned van in the carpark had seemed like stepping into the proverbial oven. He felt the heat from the pavement rising through his grey socks and sandals. Across the road, the sign hung still in the torrid air.

“What can I do for you sir?” she asked.

“Pint of lager and a bacon butty, please love” he replied; “but go easy on the Tabasco.”

Full Moon Over Coventry, by Guy Fletcher

30/6/2017

On November 14th 1940 there was a full moon over Coventry. Any mundane thoughts from the population were soon replaced by terror as malignant metal birds approached from the east.

The frightening wail of the siren sent people scurrying like ants to garden shelters, often in vain.

The old cathedral held no more sermons. God did not protect his shrine as it was reduced to rubble. Altogether 1,824 people died in Coventry's night of horror.

The view could be seen from the Black Mountains in Wales like an awful giant bonfire. The Devil laughed heartily and all Angels wept.

Wipeout's Last Stand, by Gordon Lawrie

30/6/2017

#NotInMyName, by Sankar Chatterjee

29/6/2017

He was riding the train from the capital of his country to his village. He went there to buy some new clothes to celebrate the end of Ramadan, a month-long observance of his religious faith. Suddenly a group of right-wingers, belonging to country’s main religion, starts to taunt and harass him, followed by severe beating. Before collapsing, he sent a last message “Dear Ma, I am home. “You wanted me to buy new clothes from Delhi, but fate has landed me in heaven, where you don’t have marauding mobs.….”

Stunned and ashamed India starts its new protest movement #NotInMyName.

Lord Giveth, Lord Taketh, by Sankar Chatterjee

29/6/2017

Rob picked up a cantaloupe and a watermelon from his neighborhood supermarket. While washing them, he noticed those small tags “Product of Guatemala”. His mind drifted to the time he was exploring the beauty of Guatemalan highlands with Mr. Gonzalez. As they crisscrossed, Rob noticed stretching farmlands, not far from the mountains. Mr. Gonzalez explained that many of the mountains were historic dormant volcanoes. Spewed lava destroyed nearby habitats repeatedly, while enriching the soil with minerals several miles away, thus making it fertile to farm fruits and vegetables for distant humanity.

Mr. Gonzalez then philosophically murmured “Lord taketh, Lord Giveth!”

Poor Froggy, by Fliss Zakaszewska

29/6/2017

I glanced out then did a double-take. A frog on the flat-roof? I wandered out then back to my bedroom, staring out of the window. It was still there and hadn’t moved.

“It’s fine,” I muttered going down to make a cup of tea and work on a story.

A day later, I could stand it no more. “Dan, there’s a frog on next-door’s roof. It hasn’t moved. Please shin up and see it it’s OK…?”

***********************

“Mother! It’s a stone.” My son sighed and held out his hand. I blushed but he was right. It was just a stone.

Good Morning, by Don Tassone

29/6/2017

He stopped in every morning on his way to work. He preferred black coffee. But she made the fancy coffees there. So he always ordered a triple, venti, soy, no-foam latte.

He loved to watch her move. She moved with the confidence of an athlete and the grace of an angel.

Confidence and grace. Two things he lacked.

Then one morning, he didn’t see her. He almost left but decided to grab a black coffee. He stepped up to the counter, and there she was.

She smiled. “A triple, venti, soy, no-foam latte?”

He smiled, saying, “Good morning.”

Schnitzel With Noodles, by Johann Lux

26/6/2017

Aunt Liselotte, passed away 4 years ago, leaving me her off-shore account, worth 12 million dollars. I have the account number, but she forgot to give me the password and so the money sits in a Panamanian bank.

Out of desperation and after three payments of $59.95 plus $6.75 shipping and handling, the Ghost Communicator finally arrived. The machine was up and running. I played my Aunt’s favorite song:” My Favorite Things”, hoping to get her talking- not a word.

I fell asleep and awoke to the sound of a stuck record repeating the phrase,’ Schnitzel with Noodles’.

Bird, by Don Tassone

26/6/2017

The baby sat nestled in her pumpkin seat, looking out the window.

A robin lighted on a stone wall. The baby watched it jerk its head around, then fly away. It filled her with wonder.

A year later, she stood at the same window. Again, she saw a robin.

“Bird,” her mother said, pointing.

“Bird,” the toddler repeated.

One morning, a few years later, the little girl pulled open her back door and sprang outside. The sound and sudden movement startled a small flock of robins perched in a sugar maple, and they flew off. But the girl didn’t notice as she ran next door to play with her friend.

The Reunion, by Russell Conover

26/6/2017

The arcade club had become a thing of the past, sadly. Months and years ago, dozens of people showed up to blast aliens and roll skee-balls up the ramps. All had a fabulous time, between the gaming, the food/drinks, and the interaction.

But then things went dark. No one showed up to the arcade anymore, and people fell out of touch.

Then, however, Anne held a gaming party, and many old friends returned. The reunion was splendid, and people promised to return to their ways from months ago. Only good things could come from this long-awaited gathering of beloved gamers.

One Last Look, by Natasha Cabot

26/6/2017

Mother and son parked in front of the house, and they sat silently. The car engine, uncomfortable with the quiet, tried to make conversation but its attempts at communication were ignored.

Through the curtains, he could still see his wife’s shadow hanging from the rafters, stiff – the way he found her body.

“Want to go in?” his mother asked.

“No.”

He closed his eyes, forbidding his tears to fall. The man cleared his throat, and they drove away.

His wife waved goodbye from the window, taking one last look at her husband. And then she went back to her noose.

Rat Bastards, by Tommy Tarkin

25/6/2017

The banana was dragged from the table. A large part had been eaten. But a rat can only eat so much. The peel still remained, and the last teeth marks littered the husk.

And so we arranged for electrocution. They say it’s humane. One step, and shock, the entirety of life is lost.

And he did, and his body dropped. I don’t know if he quivered or shook. I wasn’t there, but he died alone. Hungry.

Funny, when we try to survive we bring ourselves to die.

Are humans so different than the rats?

So different than those rat bastards?

Rushing, by Fliss Zakaszewska

25/6/2017

That boat was coming in too fast! The space between its bow and the jetty was closing quickly. The wailing siren in the distance crescendo’d and fell to signal its approach. The police car screeched to a halt; the coppers sprinted towards a couple of skateboarders who shook their head and pointed to a guy sprawled on a bench.

The postman rumbled his cart past as a business-suited lady dashed along with her coffee. What’s happening?

I took a sip of tea. None of my business. My day off, I live in Cornwall, my mate’s café. Me? I’m just chillin’.

The Trickster, by James B. Revell

24/6/2017

'I've seen this face in a book at school.What is it, Dad?'
We had followed the logging road west from Port Hardy,all the way to the Pacific shore-line at San Josef Bay.We had seen bears at the road-side on three occasions,but no people.
My kids were looking at a weather-worn totem pole,mantled in moss,but still standing.Beyond it was an empty beach.
I recognised the stylised features of the Raven.
'Can you see a beak,and a pair of eyes?' I whispered.
'He's watching you.Be wary...the Raven sometimes plays tricks on people...'

The Brilliant British Menu, by Gordon Lawrie

23/6/2017

Old Roses and Failing Eyesight, by Tyrean Martinson

23/6/2017

Roses wither in murky water. The rug lies overturned where she tripped. I kneel down, check for a pulse, knowing as I touch her cold, slim wrist that it’s not there. The world has changed in the last fifty years, but death looks the same as it always has. The tech-bots sweep the room for fingerprints. I search with failing eyesight for anything abnormal and I’m rewarded with a scuff mark on the floor underneath the dining table which is shifted off-center from the chandelier above. I guess an old cop like me still has use in cases like this.

Unexpected, by Amy Friedman

22/6/2017

Dear Miss Lonelyhearts:
I'm married 25 years. I love my husband and believe in my marriage vows, which I gave with a full heart. But I’m way past the point where if we were not married I’d have walked. The problems, which are looming larger and larger, are typical: money, division of labor, stubbornness and meanness (his), not feeling loved (mine). The details are probably not important. I don’t know whether staying emotionally engaged with this marriage is healthy. Some might say “Dump him”, others might say “Stay – honor your vows.” I’m on the fence. My question: Machete or poison?

Commuting Stinks, by Charles Boorman

21/6/2017

The commute stank, for a couple of reasons.

One, neighboring local authorities were digging up the road on two of the three main routes out of town at the same time.

The second reason was nowhere near as unpleasant. On the contrary, he liked it so much that he had to stop the car and enjoy it.

The forest floor was carpeted in wild garlic. The characteristic aroma was so powerful that he could smell it from inside the car; and when he opened the door, the gush of garlic was enough to send Count Dracula back to his grave.

Alive! by Bobby Warner

21/6/2017

Utterly mad Dr. Frenkinshlap snapped his fingers and gave a command: "Quick, Harvey, work the pulley to open the skylight!" Overhead thunder roared and lightning speared the night. Rain pooled on the laboratory floor.

Electricity crackled; exotic machines grumbled and moaned and clanked and sprang to life.

Dr. Frenkinshlap gingerly placed the tattered doll on the table. Moments later a bolt of lightning struck, and the doll sat up stiffly.
"Alive! Alive!" Frenkinshlap yelled, drooling.

Upstairs, awakened by the storm, Little Mizie, the doctor's 65-year-old daughter, wheezed: "Oh, Daddy. You've fixed her. You've given my little Droosila true life!"l

A Spot To Sit, by Tommy Tarkin

20/6/2017

A spot to sit. The world moving by, grounded, yet flying from a simple steamer seat. The trees bend radically as the storm swells and moves the world. Tulip leaves from the poplar trees, the ones I most hate, stream down making a disgusting mess.

I hope the coming downpour will wash them down the hill and out of my life.

I should find the beauty, but they only say to me nuisance. And it hurts.

Because yet, I have not accepted the world is not on our side.

Now the rumble as mother nature explodes, taking the tulips away.

Christmas Fox, by Guy Fletcher

18/6/2017

It was Christmas Eve, sky was a bruised hue as I stared out of my living room window. Raindrops slid down the panes like tears and I felt rather bored.

All of a sudden I spotted a fox on the verdant lawn. . This was a truly magnificent creature, white stripe, beady eyes, painted gold like a cornfield. I noticed a magpie ensconced by its ruthless teeth. Yes, this bird was doomed reminding me that Nature, although beautiful, is ruthless too.

I looked again but the fox had scurried away. There was no trace, it had disappeared as if a ghost.

Between a Window and a Hard Place, by Ruth Castillo

16/6/2017

Her phone buzzed, someone screaming, "Get outta there. They're coming." Half-drunk, she threw on her jeans, his tee shirt. Where was he anyway? Gone, along with the drugs and the money. They'd never believe her.

She froze at the window. They'd gun her down before she reached the trees. Then she heard a low soft hoot, and she ran.

The train edged along the horizon, pulling its miles of cars, taking its time, taking forever. Or at least it must seem so to them.

An Irony Keeps Multiplying, by Sankar Chatterjee

16/6/2017

Bob Graham, a strongman from current regime, is the head of the lower House of Congress in La-La Land. He got shot by a Caucasian gunman, while exercising outdoor. While surgeons were busy in saving his life, following facts started unveiling:

Recently he was the architect of a law allowing a mentally-degenerate person to buy fire-arms without additional restrictions.

During electoral process, he was photographed delivering hateful speeches to extremist white-supremacy groups.

The policewoman, chasing and taking down the assailant, has been happily married to her same-sex partner. Mr. Graham strongly condemns such union as immoral sin, punishable by God.

Him Again, by Johann Lux

16/6/2017

I spied the white-haired man seated on a bench with his eyes closed tight and both fists clenched.

A breeze touched the trees and set their leaves to dancing. Birds perched on boughs above began singing a tune; melancholy and enchanting.

Stepping quietly, I quickened my pace, averting my eyes away from his face and was 10 feet away, when I heard him say, “Now, is the time for you to make amends, as your world as you know it, is about to end”.

I responded, my voice filled with anger, “Leave me alone, you horrible old doppelganger”!

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