博客存档 - Friday Flash Fiction

Rainy Day Gathering, by Rod Drake

28/6/2024

Sudden rain trapped us in the used bookstore.
Sal Paradise was no longer On the Road; Oliver Twist wanted some more (I gave him a Twix bar); Huck Finn hid, figuring his Pap wouldn’t look for him in a readin’ store; Atticus Finch studied a Perry Mason mystery; Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes conferred on the Zodiac Killer case; Holden Caulfield and several of The Outsiders figured it was all just one big phony joke; and Hamlet contemplated moving from being in a tragedy to a comedy instead.
Then the rain stopped, and everyone went their own way.

Money on the Table, by Robert P. Bishop

28/6/2024

Death came into the coffee shop and sat at my table.
“No!” I shouted.
“Relax,” Death said. “This isn’t your time. It’s his time.” Death pointed to a man sitting at a table by the window. The man stood, clutched his chest, groaned then crumpled to the floor.

Death turned to me. “I know what you are thinking. Fleeing to Samara or Baghdad won’t save you. Your appointment with me is set. You cannot change it.” Before walking away, Death put some money on the table. “Enjoy another cup on me.” Then she smiled. “It could be your last one.”

That Sinking Feeling, by Bill Cox

28/6/2024

The Man from the Transport Ministry looks at his watch. Thirty minutes since the anti-fossil fuel protestors glued themselves to the road, grounding traffic to a halt.

With his phone, he sends a signal to the experimental road coating. Suddenly, the protestors find themselves sinking into the tarmac. Panic is painted across their features as they steadily descend into the road. Three minutes later their screams are silenced as they’re consumed completely, their lifeless bodies buried beneath the surface.

The Man from the Ministry deactivates the road coating. Traffic restarts. Sometimes, he reflects, one’s job can be so satisfying.

A Woman About the House, by Tom Baldwin

28/6/2024

It was the day after Cliff’s funeral and Marion had eaten her evening meal alone for the first time. She cleared the table, washed the pans, plates and cutlery, then made coffee, usually Cliff’s jobs.

Earlier that day she’d changed a light bulb, mowed the grass, put the rubbish out and, shaking, removed a spider from the bath.

As she lay in bed that night Marion reflected that perhaps her husband hadn’t been as useless around the house as she’d thought.

The Epiphany, by Peggy Gerber

28/6/2024

Claire was one of those people that worried about everything. Unsurprisingly, she even worried about how much she worried. One morning, feeling exceptionally frazzled, she headed to Starbucks for a little coffee therapy.

Sipping a decaf frappe-chino, Claire noticed a spill on the floor. “So dangerous,” she muttered. As she got up to tell the manager, a behemoth of a man slipped in the liquid, skidded five feet and landed squarely on top of Claire, snapping two of her ribs.

Lying on the wet floor, Claire had an epiphany. “Life is unpredictable. You can’t possibly presume what to worry about.”

Drawing Parallels, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

28/6/2024

She staggered down the aisle in semidarkness, grasping the edges of seats for support. Red-lighted words blinked all around.

“Sorry!” She didn’t mean to pull someone’s hair, or almost fall onto a fellow’s lap. Did anyone hear her?

She found her assigned seat, strapped on a seatbelt, closed her eyes and prayed for the return of calmness to their flight.

A similar pleading she had once made for one abandoned by others of the same kind.

She watched the crow circle over her garden, cautiously approach, teeter-totter in landing, with one foot folded underneath, the other hopping to find stability.

Public Relations, by David Milner

28/6/2024

Nico would visit Mighty O’Riley after sundown. He liked the idea of freedom for all, but Nico couldn’t be seen as freakish, not with an election looming, and not in this town.

“Step into the light.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tell the people who you truly are.”

“Ah, well… yes, in principle….”

“You come here for guidance.” Mighty O’Riley smiled.

“I’m missing that… Extra something.”

“Follow me to the river.”

“Yes! …I like that line.”

“Come…” Mighty said, rising to his feet and offering his manly hand.

“You mean… literally to the river?”

“Allow yourself to trust me.”

“Oh dear.”

Secrets, by Peter Wilson

28/6/2024

When I was a kid, I learned I could hide plenty of bad habits in between the cushions of the living-room couch. Every bitten fingernail—every picked booger—could be shoved between the cracks and forgotten about.

I've continued this practice of secrecy into my adulthood, but a reckoning is coming. I can feel it.

Soon, my wife and I will lift up the cushions to move the couch someplace else, and all the filth of my past will be laid bare.

Garden Jungle, by Stephen Goodlad

28/6/2024

Gordon's Choice

I made No-Mow-May about a year too long. I now have a jungle of native species. Looking out of the upstairs window I wondered if I was brave enough to enter. I could see Lily of the Valley wearing a fox’s glove. The bergamot was wild, running circles around the roses. Dogwood was barking keeping the herbs at bay. Black-eyed Susan flirted with the Teasels.

My wife with a stronger constitution than I ventured forth with shears. That was a week ago and she hasn’t come back yet, but hopefully when she does, she’ll have found the mower.

I Remember You, by Allison Symes

28/6/2024

Lisa's Choice

‘Remember me?’

‘Course, Danielle. Must be…’

‘Twenty years. Last time, Jane, was at the Belvedere reunion. You remember. Gary fought Ian, as they did at school. Chairs went flying. It was only because they left the police weren’t called. I pitied their embarrassed wives.’

I never attended Belvedere. Its reputation wasn’t great then. It’s in special measures now. I’m trying to think where I met Jane recently.

Oh yes. I stopped her shoplifting last week. She said she’d forgotten to pay. Nobody believes that. I am wondering now.

I’m also realising something else.

People don’t recognise folk out of uniform.

House Wine, by Brian Mackinney

28/6/2024

John was invited to a BYO Party on a caravan site in France where the guests brought the food and the wine but there was twist.
They had to take off the wine label to disguise the winery. John gave three descriptions to the host who read them to the guests who had to choose which one fitted the wine he had brought. One was the real description, one was the description of another wine and one was a spoof including the lines: ‘Trodden in the streets of Loughborough’ and ‘They do not Mackem like this anymore’.
The spoof won.

The Moon Goddess, by Lisa Verdekal

28/6/2024

No one saw her but the boy.
On deck, as his parents exclaimed delight at the setting sun’s fiery display, the boy saw her lunar ladder drop to the ocean. He watched wide-eyed as she climbed down the silver stream. His parents didn’t notice the sleek back of a dolphin rise from the water’s surface exactly at the moment she let go. Leaning over the rail, the boy followed their progress until the pair vanished in the dark.
The boy looked up at the moonless sky and smiled. So, that’s where the moon went once a month.

Winning a Big One, by Ed N. White

28/6/2024

The pitcher wound up and fired a high inside fastball.
“Steeerike two!”
The batter glared at the umpire with a mug shot that would go viral before the end of the day. His orange face contorted with rage.
The pitcher looked the runner back to first base. Then toed the rubber, reared back and fired again, low and outside.
The batter pumped his lead foot and took a mighty swing.
“Steeerike three!” The umpire faced the batter’s rage and did not waiver. He threw up a thumb, directing the scornful batter off the field.
Final score—thirty-four zip. Democracy wins.

Simply the Best Perspective, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

28/6/2024

In two years I have really learned a lot.

First off, I know that the world turns around me and I know everything about the world.

For example, my papa has a beard and so every man I see with a beard must be a papa.

Next, about toys! My toy room is upstairs, so every house with stairs has a toy room- and I know where to find it.

Of course, I certainly know who my mama is, because every time I call “Mama, Mama” she shows up.

What more is there to know?

Just wait until next year!

What's on the Menu, by Sherri Bale

28/6/2024

She had apple cheeks and lips red as cherries. Her peaches and cream complexion set off eyes the color of ripe blackberries. Lemon-yellow hair cascaded over sugar-white skin.

The giant Gogmagog’s mouth watered. He was in the mood for a sweet fruit salad and this maiden would be the perfect snack.
Two bites and she was toast. And not the kind with butter and jam.

Gogmagog yawned and lay down for a pre-dinner snooze. He awoke to the smell of an Englishman climbing the beanstalk. Fee, fie, foe, fum!

Wife! Put on the stew pot. Dinner is at the door.

The Initial Visit, by David Sydney

28/6/2024

Was that a cry? A call for help? Sitting uncomfortably in the Waiting Area, Ralph couldn't tell.

How could he concentrate on a magazine? Behind a sliding glass window, sat Sheila, the dental receptionist, chewing gum and studying her cellphone.

Ralph tapped on the glass.
“This’s Dr. Bromberg's office?”
“Right.”
Another shriek? From the treatment area? Did Sheila notice? Or were Ralph's nerves to blame?
“Dr. Bromberg, who advertises painlIess dentistry?”
“What?”
“It's my first visit. Your website says painless dentistry.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sheila paused. Had she, too, heard something just then? She grinned. “Dr. Bromberg? Sure… Painless, really painless.”

Jonah Needs Water, by C.S. Michelle

28/6/2024

The lakeside pulses with a rhythmic beat. Dead reeds crumble as waves lap the bank. Something lurks deep within the basin, a herald of toxicity rippling orange, glowing waters.

Many places glow, now. To the south, green rain falls from the sky. Jonah would know. He escaped that lawless place, where clean water reigns as currency, and roving bands of madmen pillage for it.

Jonah’s backpack weighs heavily upon his drooped shoulders. He stumbles onward.

The road is marred by parched earth. He searches for a place untouched by civilization. Somewhere water doesn’t glow.

To Be Beside the Seaside, by Sandra James

28/6/2024

Oh, the feeling of warm sand between toes too long trapped in sensible work shoes. Bliss. The sun high in a brilliant blue sky with only a few powder puff clouds dotted around the horizon. I revel in its radiance as it kisses my pale skin.

A bird in the distance calls to its mate. A song of love and freedom.

Children laugh as they play.

And the sound of water… then I remember where I am.

I race from my toddlers’ sandpit and inside where the forgotten running tap has filled the sink and splashes out to meet me.

Noise Pollution, by Ruby Rose

28/6/2024

The noise has started again. The laughing, shouting, screaming is driving me insane, disturbing sleep. I’ve asked for help but no-one will take me seriously.
“Oh dear, that sounds terrible.”
“I’m not really sure what to do about that.”
Well thank you very much, you’ve been very helpful.

Nighttime is worst. Shrill, laughing, screaming, piercing my eardrums, a rapier through my brain.
Rapier. Rape. No-one is listening. No-one will help.

A copper pot about to boil over. The rattling and clattering of the heavy lid enraging the voices still further. For now, I can keep the lid on.

For now.

Sunflower Fire, by Haley DiRenzo

28/6/2024

When we moved in, I plucked the sunflowers in the backyard, their sprouted stocks greeting us waving in the breeze, and set them in tiny glass vases around the house. We went steps outside our door and saw the foothills sturdy but somehow breathing in the distance.

Now we dust the remains of ashes from our windowsill, worry about the chemicals in the soot, the scent thick like an everlasting fog, and keep our dog from the bones of the houses on our old routes.

Everything feels different. The sunflowers do not return.

Better Things, by Patricia Pease

28/6/2024

After Mama died, twins Moon and Boo Culpepper avoided Juvenile Detention Center by boarding a Trailways headed north. The bus driver narrowed his eyes at the seventeen–year–olds. Boo shifted in his seat. "I can't go back”, he whispered.

"Yeah," agreed Moon, "You done messed up bad."

They watched the scenery change from dry brown grass to clean white snow. They'd never seen flurries before. Boo released his tight fists and laid his head back. Moon thought snowflakes seemed magical. “White sprinkles," he murmured. He slowly relaxed his shoulders and hoped this wonderment was a sign of better things to come.

Gourmet Dining and Wining, by Jennifer Duncan

28/6/2024

Every weekend Vivienne invited friends over for a gourmet meal. Her menus followed the Mediterranean diet. Desserts were fresh fruit. She was pleased that she was feeding her guests healthy food. She always served organic wine from a small vineyard. No beer, no hard liquor and, definitely, no soft drinks.

During the week, she bought, drank various specialty wines so she could determine the perfect pairing for the food.

When she began to feel ill, she saw her doctor. The shocking diagnosis was cirrhosis of the liver.

"Alcohol is alcohol, no matter how pretty the packaging," the doctor said sadly.

Sometimes You Have To Play Dirty, by Andy Hebb

28/6/2024

There should be a law against taking someone's salted caramel ice cream.

I can put up with sneaky slices disappearing from cakes (that you “never eat”) and I'll turn a blind eye to mince pies vanishing at Christmas (that you “never eat”).
But, please, not my salted caramel ice cream.

Do you want a retaliatory strike? I could look in the understairs cupboard and gaze at your gin bottles.
Or that bag of "'clothes for the charity shop" at the back of your wardrobe: I wonder what hidden treats I might find there?

Are you ready to negotiate?

Edith, by Mimi Grouse

28/6/2024

Edith lay on her deathbed, listening to the familiar neighbourhood sounds drifting in through the window. She wished someone would visit her. The couple whose daughter she'd saved from moral ruin; the men whose ways she'd tried to correct. The divorcee whose brewery-owning admirer she'd managed to chase off. I've helped so many people, she thought, Yet nobody cares that I'm dying.
Her eyes closed around tears.

After her funeral, the neighbours held a wake in the pub. 'She'll be spinning in her grave,' laughed the landlord, raising his glass. 'Here's to a future of live and let live.'

Dad, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

28/6/2024

I was working like a Trojan for the competition at my school. I would be the youngest celebrity, if I won. While going on stage, my dad's words rang in my ears, "Contests are like battles without bloodshed. To win, be a soldier."

Outside the auditorium, I saw my dad. I ran to him with the trophy in my hand. “Look, dad, I have won,” I shouted in excitement. He turned back to face me. What? He was my driver wearing my dad’s most favourite coat. He said, “Your father gave me this coat just a day before his death.”

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