Blog Archives

Break It To Me Gently, by Ann-Louise Truschel

20/7/2017

“What did your beta reader say?”

“Not convincing.”

“What was ‘not convincing’? The plot? The characters?”

“Everything. She hated everything. According to her my writing has no redeeming value. I should give it up. She said the only way to make my manuscript better was to burn it!”

“Man, that’s harsh! She really knows how to hurt a person. What are you going to do now?”

“Give it up. I’m really discouraged.”

“Why don’t you get another beta reader. Someone who’d want to help you improve. How about your mother?”

“Who do you think told me to give up writing?”

Lucky Strike, by Charles Boorman

19/7/2017

“When are you going to fix the table?” grumbled his wife as he left. At work the caretaker started the tractor and set off across the golf-course. Overhead, the sky darkened.

The hiker lifted his leg over the fence and hoped the short-cut would get him home before the thunderstorm struck.

The caretaker found the body spread-eagled on the fairway of the thirteenth hole. Before leaving his seat he stared for a moment at the scorched corpse and rucksack.

Back home, his wife liked the repair to the wobbly table. The police wondered where the deceased’s transtibial prosthesis had gone.

Nature’s Painted Canvas, by Sankar Chatterjee

18/7/2017

Photo: Cathy Bowen

Traveling in US, Australian Todd Lewis arrived in Flagstaff, Arizona to head towards famous Grand Canyon. That’s when, he learned about the existence of narrow “slot canyons” near the town. These canyons, significantly deeper than wider, were formed by the wear of water rushing through sandstone and limestone. Next day, Todd entered one such canyon around high noon to experience the effect of sunlight on the hidden beauty of the place.

He was not disappointed. From entrance, the interior reflecting different colors while bathed in sunlight, appeared more like a magical painting of a layered flower of Late Georgia O’Keeffe.

Letter From The Future, by Johann Lux

18/7/2017

Image: author

A message from the future arrived; hand written in pencil on plane white paper and unexpectedly in the form of a letter.

The letter mentioned that light speed had been exceeded and inter-dimensional travel achieved, thanks to the unification of fields.

Climate stabilization: the future planet Earth is completely temperature controlled and there’s a kind of immortality, via the transfer of organic consciousness, making up a thriving future population of sentient robots.

Just when the future seemed unimaginably bright, the letter stated human beings became extinct, as all species of life eventually do.

“Take care Grandfather” the letter closed lovingly.

On The Move, by Amy Friedman

17/7/2017

“Guess what?” he crowed, grinning.

She looked up. “What?”

“I got it!” he said. “We can leave this shitty little city.”

“Where are we going?” she said, mouthing a smile.

“Atlanta!” he said. “You won’t have to work anymore – I’ll be making enough for both of us.”

“That’s great, honey,” she said. “When do they want you there?”

“In two weeks!” he said, striding into the kitchen.

Swiveling back to her screen, she whispered a sigh. “He’ll probably be out of work again in a year,” she thought to herself. “Wonder if he’ll be willing to move there without me…"

Final Thoughts, by Don Tassone

16/7/2017

She lay in her bed in a half sleep, neither fully conscious nor fully unconscious, as if she were suspended between the real world and a dream.

She looked around and glimpsed the faces of her loved ones. Then she closed her eyes and saw her birth, her growing up, her marriage, her children being born, her aging, her dying and her life beyond. She saw everything and everyone, together at that very moment.

If only she had known sooner. If only she had known that nothing is separate, that everything is one and that all is joined in her.

Loss, by Chloe Ford

15/7/2017

The sand was warm between my toes as I made my way back to where I'd left him.
His cries of pain tore through me, the first aid kit in my hand suddenly feeling inadequate.
Tears ran down my cheeks unbidden as I broke into a run.
"Hold on Max" I whispered, "hold on".

I couldn't save him.

How do you say goodbye?
You were my link to the world Max, my partner in all things.
There will never be a greater guide dog.
Sleep well old friend.

Temptation, by Russell Conover

14/7/2017

The cakes, pies, ice creams, and other desserts were all delighted to be the naughty pleasures in which people indulged after the main meal, since all the calories and sugar combined into irresistible treats for all, even though their nutrition value was so lousy that diners would be better off eating sugar from the bottle, except for the fact that these desserts satisfied a craving that could only be fulfilled one way--by throwing caution to the wind and diving face-first into all the succulent sweetness, which is totally worth it given the culinary delight and the always-enjoyable post-food coma.

Truth, Universal, by Sankar Chatterjee

14/7/2017

Prof. Rajat Sen heard the latest revelation on radio. The eldest son of strongman got caught and forced to admit his past collusion with the foreign agents for his father’s electoral win. He remembered his early student-days in the country. Like him, most of his new friends were also international students. A similar scandal involving a trusted aid of then-president broke out. He sold arms to a sworn enemy, while channeling the profit to death-squads in Central America, all illegally.

Next day, his friend Abraha from Ethiopia mentioned his African wisdom “A fish always starts to rot from the head.”

Not Now My Love, by Gordon Lawrie

14/7/2017

"Not now, my love."

She had her back to him. His gentle fingers stretched out towards her and stroked her neck, working their way down as far as they could reach.

"Not now, my love."

He withdrew his hand. But not for long; soon, she felt the hand caress her head, her neck, her shoulders. She liked his touch, but...

"Not now my love."

Once more he desisted. But temptation was to prove too strong. Reaching out again, he tickled her neck gently. This time...

"Not now my love. I'm driving. It's dangerous. Sit back in your seat."

"Sorry, mummy."

Caged Bird, by Guy Fletcher

13/7/2017

The caged bird seems content after a feast not hunted for. Its space is denied but does it dwell on freedom in the early hours? But surely we suppress Nature yet are like the caged bird too: commuters trapped in vehicles, daily routine with invisible bars.

We muse on the wonder of tropical islands where the caged bird's ancestors flew but if had too much time for reflection instead of scurrying like the ants would we go mad like King Lear without greed, petty woes.

With freedom we can reside in Hades yet some smile ... from a bleak prison cell.

Faded Image, by Adrian Slonaker

13/7/2017

The photo was so fragile it could have disintegrated in my palm.

The blond, pale woman's eyes were tired, but saturated with adoration for the two equally blonde, equally pale daughters in matching sundresses on either side of her. One girl, around seven, was focusing on a handful of chocolate. Her sister, about two years younger, hid bashfully under the protective arm of her robust Teutonic father. Nearby, a wolfhound lazed in a puddle of explosive sunshine.

The handwriting (translated into English) on the back read “Colonel Jürgen Knoblauch and family, recently arrived in Asunción. January 1948.”

Ask First, by Charles Boorman

11/7/2017

He could never say “no”. Not when she invited him in after their first date. Not when she asked him to marry her that cold February in leap year. And not when she announced they needed to build an extension to the house.

But when her mother and dog moved in the frustration finally spewed out like barbecue sauce gone bad in the bottle. “You could have asked me first” he told his startled wife.

Now he lives alone in the big house with just the dog for company, which he feeds on the meat that fills up the freezer.

Daymare, by Andrew Schenck

9/7/2017

Scales glimmered as the serpentine bodies writhed above my bedsheets. Intermittent flickers of lightning exposed the creatures, making me want to bolt, but the darkness that followed cemented me into place, leaving me with no clear way out. Just as the slimy beasts slithered near my pillow, I opened my eyes. It is great to be alive!

A short stop at Starbucks and a mocha latte sweetened my morning, then I walked to work.

Jimmy superglued his friend’s hand to the desk, the nurse discovered Chickenpox, and Mr. Flibbergast never even showed up.

I wanna go back to sleep now.

A Writing Solution, by Russell Conover

7/7/2017

Hunched over his computer, Troy groaned. “ARGH! I just CANNOT think of a Flash Fiction topic!”

Selena frowned. “But you always write such great ones.”

“Thanks.” Troy smiled. “But, I have zilch today.”

“Here. Try this.” Selena grabbed a weird multi-colored hat and placed it on Troy’s head.

He saw a flash of light, and was suddenly sailing through the air! He saw explorers, lizards, islands, unicycles, kumquats, and other random items. In moments, he was sitting at his desk again.

“Whoa! What was that??” Troy’s head was spinning.

“My personal thinking cap. You’re welcome for the inspiration.” Selena grinned.

Dad Jokes In Latin, by Barbara Gliddon

7/7/2017

My late father used to say. “Tempus fugit as the monkey said when he threw the clock at his mother.”
Let’s parse that shall we?
Why the original language?
Apart from his school motto, probably it was the only Latin he knew.
Sorry, don’t know.
Why a monkey?
Not a clue
And a clock, not a watch?
See above
Finally: the mother. Dad’s mother. She of the bridge games, snooty friends and distracted air.
Aha. A clue?
Perhaps.
Tempus fugit indeed.
However, tempus fugit, non autem memoria.
Well, not for dad.
Gratias pater.

Pelt, by Amy Friedman

7/7/2017

She wound gauze around each appendage slowly, making sure every millimeter of skin was covered. She knew it would take layers upon layers to soak up the ointment covering her blistered paws.

Hands, she said to herself. They’re hands now.

She shifted her gaze to her front limbs, silently mourning the golden fur that once covered them, and went back to wrapping her hands.

Glancing at the mirror, she saw a tawny fall of hair atop her head. Large greeny-gold eyes looked back.

She turned away, growling. Damned wizard. She’d make him pay once she got her lion form back.

21st Century Marketing, by Gordon Lawrie

7/7/2017

Dedicated to Waitrose. Oops.

Keen to make an impression as head of marketing at Lemmings Superstores, Mike Maxwell decided that he should lead a sales drive to coincide with the end of the school session. He ordered that each branch should devote a large display of wine, chocolates, bath salts and flowers. Beside it he had signs displayed:

In no time, the sign had been snapped on iPhones across the country and went viral. Maxwell resisted all calls to take them down until the national press had picked up on it, too.

Sales went through the roof that month. Mission accomplished.

NB – "Gift's For Teacher's" count as three of the words in the story. Total word count usual 100.

Call It What You Like Then, by Johann Lux

6/7/2017

The diner is unusually busy, this Tuesday night.
Seated at a booth by the diner’s egress doors is a fat man reading a newspaper, that went out of print three decades ago. My bet; the fat man is a ghost and not the first I’ve seen in this diner.
A young woman spots the ghost and shouts out,” Hey are you seeing this”!
The ghost disappears. The lady, hysterical, approaches me.
“That guy just vanished,” she stutters.
“Ghosts, they come and go; Its supernatural “I smile
“That’s insane” she protests!
“There’s no chicken in chicken fried steak” I point out.

To Hell With The Neighbors, by Charles Boorman

6/7/2017

The movement caught the man’s eye as he mowed the lawn. When he knelt down for a closer look he spotted another kobold near the wall. This side of the garden got most of the sun, which was probably why they were there. The sheet of corrugated black plastic lying in the ditch also provided warmth and shelter from predators that are often left with just a wriggling tail in their claws. The man decided to let the grass grow tall, to hell with the neighbors. For the rest of his life he claimed that Leprechauns lived in his garden.

Reward, by Sankar Chatterjee

6/7/2017

During a journey from Philadelphia to Norfolk on the back-country roads dotted with rural hamlets, also known as thorps in olden days, Paul arrived in Snow Hill, a historic town from colonial times. While strolling inside town’s only museum, a bright yellow poster caught his attention; the announcement partially read:

REWARD

Runaway from the Subscriber

Negro Man named George, 5-feet-10-inches high, dark complexion, plays well on the violin…..

If said Negro is taken, brought to this county so that I get him, the above reward of $1,000 will be promptly paid.

J. Means

“There lies our original sin,” sighed Paul.

The Huntress, by Chloe Ford

6/7/2017

She draws the bow string back to her ear in one smooth, practiced motion.
Her eyes are closed as she takes in the sounds of the surrounding forest, listening for her quarry.
Her face is serene, her thoughts calm.
She blends in.
She belongs here.
A twig snaps off to her right and she swings towards the sound, her arrow loosed before she even opens her eyes.
Whistling through the air, she follows the arrow to where it lies embedded between the eyes of her fallen prey.
Sinking her teeth into the stag's neck, Artemis drinks her dues.

Teacher, by Don Tassone

5/7/2017

From his earliest days, he was drawn to the woods. To him, they were more inviting than any classroom, more exciting than any game, more interesting than any book.

When others left for college, he headed to Montana, where he found a place deep in the wilderness. He built a cabin there and spent his days and nights there, exploring, fishing, drinking from a stream, picking berries, sitting on a fallen tree, hiking through the snow, cutting wood, building fires, watching moose, listening to owls.

He lived his life in the woods. He never left, and he never stopped learning.

Where Are You? by Don Tassone

3/7/2017

“What do you think it was?” she typed.
“I don’t know,” he typed in response. “Maybe Facebook. Maybe the iPhone. Maybe the Internet itself.”
“They were supposed to bring us together.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s the irony.”
“I still can’t believe it. How could we be on the brink of extinction?”
“Well, when you don’t need to see anyone anymore, when you forget how to talk with people, when you forget what it’s like to look into someone’s eyes, it’s kind of hard to reproduce.”
“I guess you’re right.”
They both sat still, staring at their screens.
“Where are you?”

I Hear Them Talking, by Ann-Louise Truschel

3/7/2017

“There’s someone in my house,” the old man says to himself. He listens carefully. “Sounds like more than one of them. I hear them talking.”

The old man looks around his bedroom for a weapon. The only thing he can find is his cane.

“I’m alone. There’s no one here to help me.”

He charges out of his bedroom, swinging the cane at the intruders, striking one man. The rest scatter.

Later, the doctor talks with the man’s daughter, “The caroler will be all right, but it’s clear that your father’s Alzheimer’s is progressing. We’ll have to increase his medication.”

<<Previous

Forward>>

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories