Blog Archives

Wisdom More Powerful Than Strength, by Sanjoy Dutt

14/7/2015

A huntsman with a gun was shooting animals at will. All the animals of the forest united to ensure a way away.
“I hold more strength and courage to defeat him.” Roared the lion and ran to kill him.
The hunter, alerted by his roar, shot the lion dead.
All animals froze in fright.
The Mr. Old fox said, “Can I try?”
“After Lion has failed?” all surprised.
Fox quietly sneaked into the huntsman’s house and stole his gun.
The huntsman fled the forest.
“How did you manage this?” all astonished.
“I identified where to produce the effort.” Fox smiled.

The Delicious Meal, by Ann-Louise Truschel

11/7/2015

“Yum! I see that dinner is almost here! And very, very fresh. That’s a requirement!

“The meat appears to be moderately low in fat and salt and high in protein. Not aged, but still, the cut should be well-marbled and well-muscled, yet tender. That means it should provide, what I call, a good “chew.”

“I can’t wait. Haven’t eaten all day. I’m STARVING, but it shouldn’t be long now. I know that the meat will be just the way I like it – very, very rare. My mouth is absolutely watering.”

The man, oblivious to the shark below, continues to swim.

Boredom, by Russell Conover

10/7/2015

“Argh! No way I can finish all this work.” Andrea sighed.

Clarence, her coworker, smiled. “Been there. But, at least you’re not bored on the job.”

“Just once, I’d like to know how that feels.”

Suddenly, the power in the office went out. Lights and computer screens dimmed, and everyone gasped in surprise.

“Well, lookie here,” Clarence said with a smile. “Did someone get her wish?”

“For now,” Andrea replied. “Just don’t let the boss see me in the dark.”

“I’ll cover ya. Our job now is to enjoy this rare moment of freedom. I could get used to this!”

By Amy Friedman

10/7/2015

What’s the matter?
My throat’s sore.
Allergies?
Dunno. Maybe it’s a cold.
You’ve been coughing all morning. It doesn’t sound good.
It’s not good! My sinuses are all drippy, my head’s stuffed up, my throat is sore and I feel like crap.
Any meds you can take?
Or maybe it’s mold. The mold count is super high today.
But mold doesn’t give you a sore throat.
I don’t know. Maybe it does.
So are you sick, or having a mold allergy attack?
Lord knows. I have no idea.
Maybe you should go home.
Can’t. Too much to do.

Babel, by Emma Baird

10/7/2015

How’s your Spanish coming along?

Very well! I can say hola, por favor y gracias. Oh, and I can ask for a glass of Cava so I think that covers most eventualities.

True… worth splashing out then on that online Spanish course?

Well worth it! It was £250 well spent. The nice lady from the course asked me the other day if I’d like an upgrade. Just another £200 will get me all kinds of useful bonuses such as “where is the toilet?”

You’ve convinced me. I’m going to sign up. Do they do Finnish lessons, do you know?

Butterfly, by Gordon Lawrie

10/7/2015

Barely a cloud was visible across the wide expanse of blue sky. In parks and on beaches, sun-lovers of all ages enjoyed the weather: twenty-seven degrees, the warmest of the year. Many had shed more clothing than perhaps was wise – they’d suffer the next day – but this was good time, time not for working but forsharing with friends and family instead. Ice cream stalls prospered.

Around six, the building heat turned to a violent thunderstorm, its rain rapidly erasing all signs of earlier pleasure.

And that was it for another year: Britain’s summer, one fine day, just like Madam Butterfly.

When Whalid Whistled, by Marlene Goldberg

5/7/2015

When Whalid whistled, it was a symphony. He could play any melody from a hollowed out stick. When the Taliban banned all musical instruments, Mama broke his flute. At dusk, Whalid sneaked away to the edge of the Whadi. His soft whistle echoed over the border where an Israeli enemy soldier heard it, entranced.

Next evening the whistle was heard again. The soldier recorded it. His army buddy, who knew Arabic, recognized the tunes.

They decided to hold a contest on facebook. Al-Jezeerah located Whalid. He was sent to London where he received a standing ovation and won the prize.

Cooking Community, by Russell Conover

4/7/2015

“Mmm--tasty recipe!” Molly swooned.

The cooking class had started off great. Lots of people came each week, and they contributed fun, nutritional recipes. Things in class were thriving.

Until people just vanished without a trace. One week they were giggling and nibbling, but the next they were nowhere to be found.

“Seriously--where has everyone GONE?” Teddy asked, exasperated.

“They’ve become lurkers, hiding under cabinets.” Molly smirked. “Or maybe your cooking traumatized them.”

He tossed a tomato wedge at her. “Like you’re one to talk! Take that back.”

She laughed. “First, YOU eat your best recipe.”

Feel the love.

A Man Of Horror, by Rejoice Denhere

3/7/2015

Sarah curled up in the corner as the darkness closed in on her. She could hear muffled sounds in the next room but there was no denying that the steps were getting closing closer and closer.

The door flew open. A man stepped into the room and turned on the light. He looked down at her with his brown beady eyes as his thin lips curved into a smile. She noticed he had dark circles under his eyes, a dead give-away that he hadn’t slept for days.

“I’ve finally finished that novel. Come on, stop hiding. Let’s go and write some Flash Fiction. It’s Friday today!”

A Friendly Chat, by Jane Reid

3/7/2015

The First Lady was trying to make conversation with her unusual dinner companion. It seemed difficult to find a topic in common.

“I’ve been reading ‘The New Wild,’ by Fred Pearce,” she ventured. “He believes invasive non-native species often actually help an ecology, adding diversity which benefits the overall environment, although sometimes replacing weaker species. Perhaps he’s right. After all, that’s the way life on Earth works. Those best fitted succeed.”

“An interesting thesis,” replied the Plutonian ambassador, and one which may have wider application than Earth alone.
“By the way, did I tell you my family is arriving tomorrow?”

Writer's Block, by Russell Conover

3/7/2015

Ray sighed. His article was due at 5, but he’d made zero progress. It was supposed to be about how supernatural creatures affect everyday life.

What a bogus topic! Supernatural stuff was just a legend. What could he do?

He heard a tapping at his window. Curious, he stood up to look, and screamed. A giant dragon stared at him. The dragon smiled and waved, soon flying up to do flips and other tricks.

Ray closed and opened his eyes. The dragon was still there.

“You can’t make this stuff up,” he chuckled, sitting at his keyboard. Deadline? Barely met!

Lightning Struck A Third Time, by Len Nourse

3/7/2015

When Gordon arrived a loud cheer echoed from the par-5 eighteenth – an Albatross; while simultaneously a lightning-bolt hit the club flagpole and the flag disappeared in a ball of fire. Play was temporally suspended even though there were no visible clouds in the sky. On the par 3 second, Gordon’s ball went straight into the hole just milliseconds before another lightning-bolt disintegrated the flag. Curiously, still no clouds, so play continued until a voice from above bellowed: “Go home fellows and spend Independence-day with your wives.” The third lightning strike woke Gordon from his dream. On his way to golf he muttered, “Bugger I’m a Scot.”

The Cook's Dilemma, by Jane Reid

3/7/2015

Sally loved cooking and had enjoyed her cooking class. But a series of events and mishaps had kept her away for weeks. A power outage, a move, delayed deliveries, the need to replace various items – the list went on and on, and her diet was almost reduced to pizza and Chinese takeout.

She had to get back in the kitchen. But what to cook?

She could fall back on that Home Ec class staple: Goldenrod Eggs, the dish former students loved to hate. No, she couldn’t stoop that low.

She sighed, surveyed her meager resources, and made another tunafish sandwich.

In The Barn, by Bobby Warner

3/7/2015

The dead man was in the barn. We smelt something, dug in the hay, saw his hand sticking up, then uncovered him. He was pretty far gone.

The sheriff came out, then it all kind of went away. They couldn't tell who it was, and figured some bad guys had killed him.

Daddy said nothing when folks started talking about how Mama took up with a stranger that passed through earlier. They hinted that that was the dead man.

Mama took us away. Six months later, Daddy drank himself to death, and Mama didn't seem to care.

The Murder Suspect, by Ann-Louise Truschel

3/7/2015

“Willie, I’m gonna level with you. Things don’t look too good for you. There’s a lot of evidence that points to you.”

“What evidence, Sheriff?”

“Your fingerprints were all over the house for one.”

“Well, I was there to do odd jobs last week.”

“Then there’s your footprints outside that broken window. Your shoe soles are pretty distinctive.”

“I painted that there window sill, Sheriff.”

“How about your blood in the kitchen?”

“Cut myself sharpening her knives.”

“I gotta admit, Willie. You seem to have an answer for everything.”

“Well, ain’t that why you paid me to off your wife?”

Retrieving Stolen Buffaloes, by Sanjoy Dutt

3/7/2015

A very cold and foggy January morning, time 5 AM. The district police force directed by the Superintendent was on red alert. The electronic media followed policemen combing everywhere. Nearby forests and villages.

“Terrorists?” I asked.

“Buffaloes got stolen from the ministers barn,” a reporter replied.

Policemen refused to take on other complaints till they were retrieved. That evening the superintendent announced his efficient sleuths have recovered them all. The thieves had fled.

Reporters came to know, some villagers were waiting for the superintendent, to complain about their stolen buffaloes.

“Who stole your buffaloes?”

“The cops!” The villagers answered.

Macaroon Masterclass, by Emma Baird

3/7/2015

Carol’s Cool Cooks was the business born of those original cookery lessons.

Carol came round to your house and taught you how to cook. She taught you the staples – bread, two sauces for pasta, poaching fish and a decent roast. Once those were grasped, the more confident cook could move onto making their own pasta and creating foams.

The adjective ‘cool’ applied not to the foods created, but rather the demeanour of the cook as he or she worked.

Carol taught them to be relaxed and believe in themselves. But did they believe in themselves enough to master the macaroon?

Love In The 21st Century, by Gordon Lawrie

3/7/2015

As daylight filtered through half-open curtains, Alison and Martin made love once more. Enjoying the afterglow fifteen minutes later, Alison reflected that practice was making her man perfect. Having him round to stay over three times weekly was working.

Suddenly, her mother shrieked from downstairs. “Alison! Time to get up.”

Quickly, she ushered a rapidly-dressing Martin out via the bedroom window and the garage roof. Alison, meanwhile, showered, dressed and casually wandered downstairs.

Without looking up from his newspaper, her father said, “Will we meet Martin some time?”

“Not yet,” Alison said. “I’m not ready for that level of commitment.”

Farewell, by Sanjoy Dutt

1/7/2015

Paul the outdoor salesman walks into the office to seek the office floor decorated.
“Hey, what’s happening today? ” Paul asks.
“Forgot? Today is Coopers farewell! ” Someone replied.
“Oh yes! The workaholic retires. Won’t he tire at home? ”
“After a few days! ” Someone laughed.
All reach Coopers chamber with a bouquet, “Miss You” card, signed by the coworkers. Cooper was sleeping, his head resting on his desk.
“Mr. Cooper!” there was no reply.
“We will miss you Mr. Cooper!” still no reply.
Someone went up to shake him up. Cooper was stiff as a stone. Dead!

Forward>>

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