Blog Archives

The Woman’s Tree, by Brooklyn Anderson

24/6/2022

The elderly woman looked around her yard. Her extended family had come to help her “clean up” the yard.
As much as she loved her family’s company and appreciated their help, she hated when they came to do yard work. They’d been doing it for twenty years, ever since she’d turned seventy. The year Marv had passed.
She turned to look at a kitten that her great granddaughter was showing her, then turned back to the commotion in her yard.
They were taking away so much.
“No!” she gasped as looked ahead. They had cut down her favorite tree.

Rookie Award, by Justin PB Villanueva

24/6/2022

Lloyd and I joined the team around the same time. But even though we shared the same college degree and age, work was never really fair. It started when I helped him understand our first deliverable—an individual task assigned to each of us. We both completed it, but Lloyd was the one who received the Rookie Award.

Lloyd continued to get nominated for awards despite his tasks requiring more revisions than mine.

What was I doing wrong?

Weeks later, a few giggling ladies asked me for his Facebook. That’s when I realized work was more than just the job.

Possibilities, by Bill Cox

24/6/2022

You’re late for the meeting! Stress! Hail a taxi. “Uptown, fast as you can.” “Sure, no problem” replies a deep voice. His lovely, soft, blue eyes twinkle in the rear-view mirror. Flirty chat, his rugged shoulders, his hearty chuckle. The taxi becomes an oasis of calm, of possibility. You arrive Uptown, reluctantly exit the vehicle. The meeting is chaos, a room full of blame and recrimination. Now you’re late for the next meeting. Stressed again! Hail a taxi. “Downtown, quickly please.” “Sure, no problem” replies a familiar deep voice. You forget the meeting and decide to explore the possibilities instead.

Starting Over Again, by Padmini Krishnan

24/6/2022

Serena felt hands trying to touch her through the skin veil. She could hear her new mother’s pride, father’s joy, aunt’s envy and brother’s confusion. She floated around the fluid, wanting to go back to her old life and the children she left behind. Serena opened her mouth, but could not scream. Her kicking legs hardly reached beyond the fluid. When she was taken out, Serena let out a last cry for her past life. Then she blissfully forgot everything. She was now ready to start a new life as a boy called Adam.

Nightwatchman, by Barbara Wheatley

24/6/2022

The wristwatch is barely visible at night-time, all dark face and black leather strap. Everyone’s asleep, lids firmly down in a darkness of their own. Whoever they are, whoever they’re lying next to, the black dog lies between them, noiseless.
The watch had been gifted when the mantle clock stopped the eve of Granddad’s funeral. People came and stayed from further afield or as close to home as next door, whose burning smells penetrated every window.
Their acrid consecutive burning this particular night causes a reaction in the wristwatch; but it cannot alert the sleeping that they are already lifeless.

Victory, by Gautam Sen

24/6/2022

Only 50 metres left, and I’m headed only for silver. The racewalker 15 metres ahead is going too strong. But wait – he falls, is he passing out? As I press forward ... he isn’t in trouble, is he?

I know the CPR steps.

But the gold!

I turn. The third walker’s some 10 metres away. I can do it!

But where’s the trainer? I trot up to the fallen athlete, feel his absent breath, lay him on his back ... Mr. Trainer’s here!

The athlete behind struts past me, and as my man regains his breath, touches the finishing tape.

Naming Rights, by Sandra James

24/6/2022

The line snaked forever, moving at snail’s pace. Mandy sighed. Customer service? What a misnomer!

She advanced one step, checked her watch. She needed to get home, make dinner for the family, and finish her story for the evening writing group.

‘An Evil Character’ was the prompt. She’d written the story but still needed a name. Nothing seemed to fit and she didn’t want to offend friends or family.

Finally, she reached the counter. The assistant couldn’t have been less helpful but Mandy smiled as she walked away.

I’ll call my character ‘Sandra’, she thought, recalling the assistant’s nametag.

A Breath of Life, by Sue Clayton

24/6/2022

Breath weaves through the trees pursuing new life, its former host having exhaled its last.

Time-honoured distress cries from a distant farmhouse draw Breath out from the forest.

‘Maaah,’ a ewe bleats mournfully, trying to lick her cold, inert lamb into existence.

‘Why isn’t it crying?’ An anguished mother implores, as a midwife tries to feverishly massage warmth into a newborn, slowly turning blue.

Breath’s former host’s heart had stopped, but the lungs last gasp was robust.

The lamb mewls feebly, raises its head.

Weak but stable, the newborn wails.

Breath had been bestowed with sufficient life force for two.

The Opportunist, by Pamela Kennedy

24/6/2022

For so many, gloomy and dismal days lie ahead as if the past few years haven't presented them enough challenges.

Challenges...umm...I, too, am presented with them, but I also present them and am quite fortunate in this regard.

My success is attributed to the fact that I take advantage of every opportunity, and I do mean every opportunity. Unemployment? What's that? Some people just don't understand, but some people do….With a very good track record, my future is still promising…

You see, I kill for a living...I am cancer.

Under Attack, by Megan Foster

24/6/2022

I stand there, unable to move. I try to, I want nothing more, but I can't. I'm frozen. Frozen by the fear that lives so deep in my mind.

One of my wet palms is pressed, hard, against my stomach, willing the pain to stop. The other is clutching the weapon. The threat.

My heartbeat quickens until it's beating so fast I start to fear it might burst out of my chest.

I'm going to die.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady it again. It's not real. I push the phone up against my ear. I'm okay.

"Hello?"

Letting Go, by Sivan Pillai

24/6/2022

I was a bit late for the rendezvous.
The weather had turned hostile. The wind shrieked furiously, agitated by the rushing dark clouds that changed their bizarre shapes every few moments. The darkening twilight was momentarily bathed in light by the series of lightning, followed by peals of thunder. Suddenly it was raining heavily.
If she had come, I would have known it by the whiff of scent from her body. And the howling of dogs.
Was she letting me go on her fifth death anniversary? Setting me free to start a new life instead of clinging to the past?

Giving Peace a Chance, by Sankar Chatterjee

24/6/2022

Arriving in Tangiers, Morocco from Tarifa, Spain, college roommates John and Carlos entered into a mint-tea shop inside historic medina. The place was packed with locals watching a live-streaming on a large TV.

It was the final match between Liverpool (UK) and Real Madrid (Spain) in Champions League. The Moroccan crowd was equally divided supporting either team, but the Spaniards won the trophy. The owner brought out some local sweets, distributing free to everyone for a great game.

Carlos commented to John “For the sake of peace, if the world could have arranged a similar match between Ukraine and Russia!”

Wait It Out, by S.Tierney

24/6/2022

On the fifth day, it hits me:
I've grown lighter.
Evaporation. The buffer between skin and muscle, lost to the angels.
But this is a good thing. With it diminishing load, my raft maintains buoyancy.
And yet...
It springs.
As does the discoloured sweat from my pores.
We'll remain afloat. Another day, at least.
Yes! I wake on the sixth, to blue, contention validated
The seventh, and the gannets howl their derisions.
Day eight. My raft develops a hiss.
Day nine, my lungs.
Wait it out, I tell myself. Until the tenth.
By then, God willing, I'll have floated away.

A Hot Summer Evening's Dinner, by Gordon Lawrie

24/6/2022

The evening meal was simple to prepare, perfect for a hot summer evening. In a large pan, I warmed two finely-chopped chillis and some sliced garlic in a little butter. (I find butter works better than oil for this dish.) I set some peeled prawns and chopped parsley aside for adding later. When the water in the separate pasta pan was boiling, I added 8oz of linguine and salt.

Weary from my exertions, I flopped into a chair. I yawned and rubbed my eyes. The pasta would take eleven minutes.

Then I discovered that the chillis were very, very hot.

Elaine's Knitting, by Mimi Grouse

24/6/2022

At first, the pullover was meant for Tim's sixth birthday, but Elaine kept getting sidetracked and somehow she never managed to finish it. She unravelled it, added more wool, started over. Maybe for his twelfth? His sixteenth? Not his eighteenth - that would be ridiculous. She eventually completed it for his thirtieth.
'Thanks, Auntie,' he said, unsurprised at the contents of the parcel yet unable to hide his tears. 'Dad's pullover revisited,' she overheard him whisper to his wife. 'I wish she'd just given it to me straight after he'd died instead of mucking around with it for all these years.'

Sunday Lunch, by Jenny Logan

24/6/2022

The waitress takes my menu, her smile lights up her face. I watch her bounce back to the kitchen.

“She looks like a woman in love,” I say to John, “she seems really happy.”

I imagine her swapping numbers. Maybe he’s already called to check she got home alright. That’s how it starts—gestures that say, ‘I’m thinking of you’.

I want to shake her, tell her the truth. Soon he’ll be leaving his wedding ring on the side of the bath and frequenting the Snooker Hall where ‘women aren’t allowed’.

Instead, I drink my wine and hold John’s hand.

Come On, Let's Twist, by Rosie Wee

24/6/2022

One evening my aunt related a hilarious incident at the cabaret. The dance floor was packed, and the singer was belting out, "Come On, Let’s Twist." Bottoms started gyrating. Her boyfriend was twisting so vigorously his denture popped out and landed on the floor. Stopping abruptly and picking up the object would have drawn attention. So, this quick-thinking guy twisted his way to the dance floor, picked it up and popped it back with alacrity. Deftly, he twisted his way up. He would have carried on had it not been for my aunt who just could not hold her laughter.

He, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

24/6/2022

I saw him in the hospital. It took me a few seconds to distinguish him from a fearsome skeleton. He had come there for the treatment of his acute liver cirrhosis. He was waiting for a donor. A good match would save his life, his attendants hoped. But it was a question of time. His only child, a 10-year-old motherless daughter, was suffering from a rare incurable neurological disorder. His worry for the daughter and his need for alcohol grew unabated with time. He became doubly alcoholic. Eventually, he died from want of timely transplantation, leaving his daughter doubly hapless.

Nerves, by Tom Baldwin

24/6/2022

Lee Mason stood in the wings, guitar slung round his neck, his nerves jangling. ‘You can do it, Lee!’ said his girlfriend. She kissed him.

He felt sick. Could he really do it? He tried forming a chord, but his hand shook and he wasn’t sure his fingers were in the right place.

The band on stage had been playing a storm, the audience cheering and clapping. How could he follow that?

They left the stage and the MC’s voice echoed round the packed stadium: ‘And now, please welcome the greatest rock guitarist in the world today! LEE MASON!’

Ready or Not, by Alyce Clark

24/6/2022

She awakens in pain, covered in bruises… Trauma keeps her from realizing in time. The look on the doctor’s face confirms her fears. Pregnant. She’ll be forced to have this child. (Only her uncaught rapist has options. His rights secure.)

Alone. Poor. She wonders, will the government help with hospital bills? How will she afford child care? Can they make it alone? If adopted, would her child be loved- abused? So many questions. Not enough answers. Just a knowing that everything’s about to change and more fear and hope than she’s ever experienced. Ready or not, she’s a mother now.

One Million Tanks, by Malvina Perova

24/6/2022

This story comes with an example of the sort of art Malvina creates in her day job.

(Image: Malvina Perova)

Jolly hullabaloo greets me at the shelter. Children run around, shrieking with laughter as if the war never tainted their innocent minds.
“Guess what’s in the bags?” I say, and they rush towards me, beaming.
“Chocolates!”
“Muffins!”
“I want juice.”
I notice five-year-old Mila is missing. Absorbed in drawing, she stood indifferent to all the fuss around lunch.
“She drew tons already,” one boy points out. “And never stops.”
“Hey,” I come up to Mila, “let’s have a bite.”
She shakes her head over a lopsided tank on paper. “No, I need one million more to bring my home back.”

Note from the editor: Malvina wants us all to know that our support is much appreciated, but please bear in mind that Ukrainians are currently being advised not to leave their mobile phones switched on, because Russian drones use them to seek out targets.

Aeroplane, by Dave Rees

24/6/2022

Ling wiped sweat from her reddening neck and stepped backwards into the tree shade. She gawped at Bai, her classmate, berating Mr Zhou’s teaching methods. Mr Zhou had watched them grow from giggly days of pretend play to high school history.

“Why’s it so bad pretending to be an aeroplane, Sir?” Bai was aware of the impertinence. Ling felt her heart quicken and her insides fold.

“P-p-please –“

Bai cracked Mr Zhou’s head with the stick. He yelped and sobbed, his tied limbs causing him to collapse onto the baked earth in what the Red Guard called ‘The Aeroplane’ pose.

A Picture Paints A Hundred Words, by Allison Symes

24/6/2022

Gemma had to possess the portrait. The old lady wouldn’t miss it, given she owned hundreds, as she told her carer.

A week later, the old lady died. The family never demanded the picture back. Gemma knew they knew only she could’ve taken it.

The landscape, those brilliant blues of sky and sea, strayed into Gemma’s mind and stayed put. If only she lived there…

Gemma screamed on realising her wish had come true. She screamed again on realising nobody could hear her.

All they would see was a girl with a peculiar expression staring out of the mahogany-framed picture.

Motivation & Accelerants, by Todd Mercer

24/6/2022

Maguire himself was in the dining room, touching tables. He had lots of jokes, but he sincerely wanted guests’ steaks done how guests wanted them done. He cared, yet was steadily drowning in debt. This was months before the incident and the arson investigation.

He reached us, said friendly hellos. “Hey—do you know how to buy a restaurant and retire with a million bucks?”

Indeed, we did not know.

He clapped me on the shoulder like he used to when I cooked on the line. “Start with two million bucks!”

He had jokes. He had fuel, fire, oily rags.

Identity Crisis, by Jamal Sarwar

24/6/2022

Upon hearing cry of the new born all pain vanished into pleasure of bliss. Word quickly spread about the beautiful being my mother had given birth to. I was a star the day I was born. I was a new addition to the family and pampered a lot. Lo and behold when I was to be admitted to school, I did not have a name. I had been called by various names like cutie, sweetie, but it did not occur to anyone that I needed an actual name to be recognized. Tony Anderson was finalized. Finally, I had an identity!

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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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