Blog Archives

Taking Pics, by Brian Taylor

26/6/2020

Let's try this a few more times. We'll get it eventually.

*click*

No...try smiling real big.

*click*

Um...no. Try a straight face again.

*click*

Hell! Try frowning!

*click*

Ugh! Try taking your glasses off.

*click*

Move back a little bit.

*click*

Damn! A little further!

*click*

No...geez! Turn your head that way.

*click*

Shit! Try the other way!

*click*

Good God! I quit! I'm sorry, I know this will hurt your feelings, but it's just impossible to get a good picture of you!

I'm deleting all the pics I took off my phone! I guess selfies just aren't for me!

The Social Distancing Rule, by Ana Marie Dollano

26/6/2020

My husband Henry and I were running late for work at the hospital when an officer, arms akimbo, advanced towards us at the checkpoint where he suddenly flashed his large palms and motioned STOP! GET OFF THE MOTORCYCLE!

"Officer?" Henry said, stunned.

"Sir! Back-riding is NOT allowed under ECQ — Social Distancing Rule."

Ticked off, Henry engaged the officer in a fiery argument..

"Where's YOUR common sense, Officer?"

"No exceptions, sir!"

“I’m afraid you misunderstand—”

"Sir. Comply or I issue a violation ticket. Sir! You'd better hit the road, you’re holding up the line. Ma'am, I suggest— you start walking."

Their Tale, by Hervé Suys

26/6/2020

The day after they were introduced to each other, the author sent a message.
“I’m planning on writing a story about a young, talented and beautiful female musician, thousands of miles away from home. But I’ve still got some research to do. I thought maybe you’d like to help me out.”

“Is it a love story?”, she asked.

“I might just turn out to be one of the greatest love stories ever told”, he answered.

“Do you think it’ll have a happy ending? I love happy endings.”

From that moment on, they both knew her story also became his.

Spotlight, by Jim Woessner

26/6/2020

I look over and see a teenager tap fingers on the steering wheel and lip-sync to rock ’n roll. Behind him, a fat woman kisses a small white dog turning circles on her lap. I notice the weight of my judgments, her face covered in dog saliva. On the other side, a young woman looks in the rearview mirror of her convertible, touches her face, and finger combs her hair. People standing on the corner wait for permission. Behind me, a man in a suit leans forward, as though forward is the only choice we ever have at a stoplight.

First Drink, by Jeffrey Griffiths

26/6/2020

After the funeral I saw Aunt Doris smoking in the parking lot. Uncle Bert had looked fine when they closed the lid, sober for a change. I went back to Doris’ house with mom and dad in our rusty Chev Impala. All the adults drank until they loosened up enough to laugh and make some jokes. Aunt Doris slipped me a glass, “You’re a teenager now, go ahead.” I didn’t hesitate. It was my first drink. It burned my stomach. I snuck another glass and Aunt Doris winked at me. I felt smoother inside than I ever thought was possible.

Neighborhood Watch, by Brianna Autrey

26/6/2020

The silence complimented Ava’s forlorn spirit, and sapped away her motivation. The last few days blurred; did she eat, shower?

The silence was broken by incessant, lilting tweets turned obnoxious cawing. Ava followed the noise; the neighborhood quail pecked at her kitchen window.

Dragging her bones outside, she replenished the feeder. The quail remained defiantly, and attacked the window once more. Ava smiled, lips cracked. A moment later, she sat on the lawn chair and bit into a brilliant red apple.

“I haven’t fed you in a while,” Ava whispered. The quail flew to the birdfeed to dine with her.

Fit for a King, by Sue Clayton

26/6/2020

The long table groaned under a feast fit for a king; roast boar, smoked ham and sausage, salt pork, beef and fish. Fresh green vegetables from the castle gardens and newly baked bread steamed. The king had always relished a good meal but this banquet turned his stomach.

“We’re ready your majesty.” His son and heir bowed, evil eyes gleaming as his father staggered outside to the place of his beheading …an execution fit for a king. The gathered horde roared for the spectacle to commence.

Inside the courtiers devoured the king’s last meal.

Strange Girl, by Gordon Lawrie

26/6/2020

It began with a strange occurrence: a pool of vomit in the tenement block's garden. Had someone jumped over the fence? A fox, perhaps? When it happened again a few weeks later, at exactly the same spot, a few neighbours wondered, whispered, but no more.

Lynsey's room was directly above, three storeys up. A nice kid, attractive and successful, when she began wearing long-sleeved tops and jeans, where before she'd worn cami tops and skimpy shorts, no one paid much attention.

One day, she left and was never seen again. Finally, Lynsey had found a way to make people notice.

Rain, by Don Tassone

26/6/2020

He watched the rain fall. The forecast had called for sunshine.

It was the fiftieth anniversary of the day he started working. Only he remembered.

He had aspired to greatness. He wanted to become a CEO. Of what, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. He simply wanted to be in charge of something big, make a big mark, have people look up to him.

What a foolish dream. In 50 years, he had accomplished nothing of note and had so many low-paying jobs that he was still working.

He watched the rain fall. The forecast had called for sunshine.

Spent Coinage, by Barney MacFarlane

26/6/2020

“So, there I lingered,” recalled a chastened Athelstane of his disembarkation at Constantinople’s Golden Horn … “Cutpurses to the left, cutpurses to the right. Yet mostly to the rear.”

“Effendi,” his interrogator scoffed ironically, eyelids withering upon Athelstane’s tight drawstring breeches, “perhaps it was your rear that enthused them.”

Athelstane smiled, recalling the means by which he had been lightened of the bulk of the ducats brought with him from Brindisi. Yet such pair as he was to be relieved of now, on his grand tour of self-discovery, were more spherical than merely circular.

He crossed himself. And his legs.

The Bluebells, by Ian Fletcher

26/6/2020

He will walk again to the woods with their carpets of bluebells.

How his mother loved it when he returned with a bunch of them which would sit in a vase for days, symbolizing his filial love.

Ah, he was the golden boy who would grow up to bring her joy.

Yet, he had disappointed, bringing her but trouble and sorrow.

Oh, how had he gone so astray?

Yet today he will walk to the woods again, slowly now, his old back aching as he picks the flowers.

Later, he will lay them with his lost hopes upon her grave.

The Precious Dew, by Patrice Assiongbon Sowanou

26/6/2020

I have never pay any attention to a dew in my entire life until the day it saves my life.

Sailing in the calm sea to next port, run out of power with dead engine, my companion and I drifted for several days.

There were visibly no help, from the ocean, from the wind, and from heaven.

By the time thirst, hunger and dizziness knocked at our door, we were already too weak to respond.

We fell unconscious, fainted for some hours with our mouths fully open only to find ourselves awake next morning alive, energized by the fallen dew.

While She Slept, by Milo Anderson

26/6/2020

I opened my eyes when I realized my wife had drifted off. She wasn’t yet sawing logs, but was curled up on her side facing out of the bed. And she was having those little fits of shakes that let me know she was well on her way to the other side.

I slid out from under the comforter, wrapped on my robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen. I reached for the bag on the counter and pulled out a ‘fun size’ Snickers. I peeled back the plastic and gobbled away. It was the last one in the pack.

My Mom is My Girlfriend, by Maria Tonu

26/6/2020

"Hello Dear.

Maybe I will want to come back to You in 3 or 6 months or even a year or more.
Please try to understand and can I ask You one favor? Can we stay in contact, I will text You, maybe twice a week? I want to stay on friendly terms with You, it actually means a lot to me!! Again, please try to accept what I'm saying! You are very nice person!

The only promise I can make right now is, we can be friends for life!"

Why?

My mom is 88. She is my girlfriend.

Capitalism’s Moral Failure, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/6/2020

At dusk John and his Bhutanese guide Dorji began hiking toward Taktsang, a holy ancient Buddhist temple perched on a hanging Himalayan cliff near Paro. Soon the sun appeared at horizon, while colorful magpies began flying.

John noticed discarded empty packages and cans littered throughout. Dorji explained that multinational corporations, taking advantage of globalization, had been flooding his beautiful poor nation with unhealthy snacks. However they provide no funding for disposing their products’ waste.

At the monastery, Dorji requested empty sacks from the caretaker. During return, the international duo combining their senses of moral responsibilities collected the waste for recycling.

The Aftermath, by Mark Tulin

26/6/2020

Their father died in the line of duty three years ago, and no one recovered. Their mother went off the deep end, in and out of rehab. There were only three teenagers who ran the house—or what was left of it. They hardly went to school, spent time playing video games, smoking pot, and drinking beer. They stayed up too late and never followed rules. They tried to have fun, but they were always angry and had tears in their eyes. The neighbors never complained about the noise because they understood. A dead father never leaves his family quietly.

Rumination, by Diane Clark

26/6/2020

Thursday I visited Mackinac Island. We took the bus to Mackinaw City and the ferry to the island. The lilacs were in full bloom. We enjoyed lunch at the Grand Hotel and bought fudge at the shops. I bought a sweatshirt, as it was unexpectedly cool.

On the bus ride home, I sat with George Lamar, a former colleague of my husband. We are both widowed now. He has a head of beautiful silver hair and a great sense of humor. He plays cribbage at the Senior Center where I play Mah Jongg. I wonder if he will call me.

Maybe in Another Lifetime, by Adnan Saqib

26/6/2020

"My heart is too weak to fall in love with you," Saima replied to Adnan's proposal.

Saima and Adnan could have been approved lovers; if they had been born in a different universe, the parents would not have been at war with each other. Saima remembered the once-innocent Adnan who had grown into this extremist Shia. They could not imagine loving each other as both of them belonged to the arch-aggressive Islamic sects. Saima wanted to burst into tears.

She murmured before fainting, "Maybe we will belong to the same faction in another lifetime."

A Helping Hand, by Russell Conover

26/6/2020

Ronald was walking back to work after lunch, when he noticed an elderly lady having trouble crossing the street. He approached her. “May I help you?”

She smiled. “That would be lovely.” Arm in arm, they crossed the road together.

“Thank you, sir,” she said once they'd arrived. “My son used to do this for me, but he's ... ” Her voice caught. “He's very ill, and I'm not sure when he'll recover.”

“That must be very difficult,” Ronald replied.

“It can be.” She looked at him, smiling and looking thoughtful. “But during tough times, we all benefit from a helping hand.”

The Bells, by Andrew Gabriel

26/6/2020

I hear the bell. Thank God, I hear his bell!

Somewhere in this part of the cemetery. I knew he wasn’t dead.

Damn disease, sometimes it doesn’t kill, just makes someone seem that way. That’s the reason for the bells. Someone might hear them and be able to dig them up before suffocation.

But I hear the ringing. He’s alive, if I can get to him! I’m coming baby!

I stop midstride. Surrounded by gravestones, the sounds of ringing bells deafen me from all around. Brass instruments ring from nearly all of the headstones.

Oh God, I’ve lost his bell!

Mrs. Dalton, by Pamela Kennedy

26/6/2020

She placed the call.

"Hi! Honey, I balanced the checkbook today. Took me a while. Perhaps I need a new calculator....I miss you, too......"

"Mrs. Dalton, the doctor will see you now."

As the door closed, the nurse continued, "We're sorry for the loss of your husband...."

Every day Mrs. Dalton would carry on a phone conversation with her late husband, assuring her that Mr. Dalton never really left her.

No one ever suspected she was talking to his spirit for surely they would have thought her daft.

But only Mr. Dalton knew that for certain.

Therapeutic Notes, by Swapan K Banerjee

26/6/2020

Trotting along the winding by-lanes with my friends in Varanasi, I suddenly strayed from the group. Strain of a morning raga drove me to a hole in the wall. My eyes misting up, I met an American flautist there.

Finding a kindred soul he opened up: “Years ago, when I lost my child, I couldn’t stay at home. Hitch-hiking, I landed here quite unplanned. One morning, feeling disconsolate, I heard someone playing Shehnai. Slowly my stone-heavy heart melted away. I then immersed myself and got dissolved into it. Now just the sight of this instrument acts as a balm …”

Eternity Waits, by Rod Drake

26/6/2020

After your reconstruction surgery (a complete rebuild from the cellular level up, truth be told), you’re as much plastic, metal and wires as flesh, a true hybrid of woman and machine. A new “Eve,” the first chrome and electric female, immortal beyond imagining.

So I ask, respectfully, as you reboot yourself eternally, a supercharged icon of technology unleased, what will you do with your eternity? I, and all your friends, family, will pass quickly as millennia roll past you like stopwatch seconds. Will just you (and God) be here when the Big Bang finally contracts back into nothingness?

Words, by Stephen Taylor

26/6/2020

The words on the page draw you under their spell catapulting you deeper into that depraved world the same words that guarantee there's now no turning back.
The words send you spiralling down into that dark forbidden existence into the room where she is bound with the rope that cut the flesh with every movement. You have to stop this debauchery stop it now before it goes any further.

The choice is no longer yours, the words compelled you to continue if they hadn’t you would have stopped reading before now.

'The Formula', by Nikki Williams

26/6/2020

She changes the baby again, convinced it's the formula, cooing him into your arms. Swinging him round the patio, you stroke mazes into his mane wishing your winding fingers would manifest innocence into the stripping space. Wishes and beggars match perfectly; you know horses love riding but hate being paired. Stallions bolt unbridled towards better or worse while the lovely lady lassoed at home smiles at you and her sleeping son.

Tonight you'll lie to yourself, blame his formula too, wait on change. But today you're alone again before the door that neither blames nor shames:

"Knock loudly and wait."

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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.
Recently, we've welcomed a lot of newcomers and found that even two batches doesn't cover them all. Wherever that happens, we'll simply be publishing 'as and when' during the course of the day.

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