Blog Archives

Among School Children, by Ian Fletcher

31/7/2018

“Sixty! Wow!” the new 7th graders say as I introduce myself, feeling like Yeats’ ‘sixty-year-old smiling man … a comfortable kind of old scarecrow.’

“But you look so young ... At least you’ve still got hair ... You don’t look it ... Sixty’s not old …” are their mollifying comments.

They comfort me not.

Indeed, I am a relic in a world no longer mine.

For I have seen generations pass, and many of my own are now dead, dropping off inexorably.

Above the classroom din, I hear their voices, much louder – yet unheard by these youthful souls – calling, calling.

Outside the Lines, by Don Tassone

30/7/2018

On the first day of kindergarten, Becky’s teacher, Ms. Williamson, handed out drawings of a teddy bear and told her students to color them.

“Be sure to stay inside the lines,” she said.

The children grabbed their crayons and got to work. Most stayed safely within the lines. A few strayed a bit.

With Becky’s teddy bear, though, every line was crossed—by a wide margin.

“Why did you do that?” Ms. Williamson asked.

“He’s jumping around,” Becky answered.

Throughout grade school, Becky got F’s in art. She never stayed inside the lines.

Today she teaches quantum physics at MIT.

re: Probes, by Reg Wulff

29/7/2018

Dear Earthlings,

Thanks for sending probes to say hello. While we appreciate the attempt to communicate, we’re troubled by some observations of your species.

Your one common denominator, your humanity, is less important to you than the color of your skin, your birthplace or deity you worship. Too often this leads to violence.

You stubbornly cling to extreme ideologies rather than seek to understand others.

To be honest, there’s no room for that in outer space.

Maybe, eventually, you can join the rest of us in the cosmos.

But for now, please stay home.

Sincerely,

The inhabitants of the universe.

Simple Dream, by Don Tassone

28/7/2018

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Are you?”

They were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, facing each other, their legs outstretched. It was a chilly morning, and they shared a blanket. She pulled it up, nearly to her neck, leaving him just enough blanket to cover his legs, but he didn’t mind.

Some men dream of fame and fortune. But for years, he had dreamed of waking up when he wanted, with nowhere to go, and sharing the morning with the woman he loved.

“Very,” he answered, smiling and sipping his coffee too.

Sanctuary, by Russell Conover

28/7/2018

Terrence was gasping for breath as he huddled inside the trash can. Not the ideal hiding place, but since the dragons had invaded so suddenly, he had no choice.

He was trembling with fear, afraid he would break down and never see his friends and family again. “This is the end,” he lamented. “Who'd have thought it would happen like this?”

His eyes hardened. “NO. Never give up. You will escape somehow.”

Trouble was, he had no idea how. But, the dragons hadn't found him yet. He could still make it. “Never give up hope,” he repeated. And he didn't.

Regrets, by Jim Bartlett

27/7/2018

A long slow sigh escapes him as he makes his way across the cluttered room to his chair. He sits, staring at the draped easel—maybe for a moment too long--before reaching down to his brush holder. He picks up several, thumbing the bristles with the lightest touch, before selecting the one with a blunt tip and wide swath. Carefully, gently, he dabs it against the palette, choosing the present, a bold opening stroke needed to form his tomorrow. He throws back the tarp, but, alas, there is nowhere left to paint, as yesterday already fills the canvas.

Joyride, by Jon Remington

27/7/2018

A hard-damaged car on a forest road. A man is sitting on the driver's side. Squeaky breathing. The car door, mauled, turned inwards - its edge into the side of his body. The mobile phone beeps. He gets mad. Seconds go. Beep. clenches his jaw. Waits for it now. Beep. Blood runs out his mouth. His vision is blurring, little by little. As it's beeping now he turns fast and looks down at it, in hate:
"upload complete" The picture: Car window open. The wind in his hair. Playful pouty lips.
His fierce stare at it, soon tired

The Forest in July, by Gordon Lawrie

27/7/2018

Considering it was now July, and the mating season was largely over, the forest was surprisingly vibrant. The warm sun had brought a large variety of butterflies, moths, bees, wasps, ladybirds, ants and many other insects; ponds were alive with skaters.

Even the odd bird could be heard. Adult cuckoos had long since flown south, leaving their eggs behind to destroy the broods of meadow pipits and dunnocks. Nor was this a swift or swallow area. But there was one persistent chiffchaff: chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff.

Suddenly there was a commotion and the chiffchaff was silenced. Lunch, thought the goshawk, tucking in.

Pyrrhic Victory, by James Revell

26/7/2018

Vulnerable kids, some violent, co-existed uneasily in the special school. Bullying was rife. On Mondays taxis (with escorts) ferried boys to school, some after weekends of crime or neglect.

One Monday, Steve was my only pupil: the rest were ‘not at home’. His refusal to remove an ear-ring seemed likely to cause a confrontation.

I changed tack and asked Steve about the latest in WWF wrestling and especially The Undertaker. His eyes lit up, and he challenged me to an arm-wrestle. I said nothing.

He rolled up his sleeve,………but then called me a ’solid bloke’ and removed his ear-ring….

Wish Chairman Mao Were Here, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/7/2018

Chris was exploring Ollantaytambo (Peru), a historic Inca habitat. Occasionally, he would notice flying red flags in front of some homes. In recent-past, Peru experienced a violent leftist-movement. Chris assumed flags were the remnants of clandestine activities. However, a youth explained they signaled that a fresh batch of home-brewed potent “chicha” (corn beer) was available that day.

He entered one such house. A joyous drinking-group was watching Peru, after a long absence, playing world-cup football in live telecast. While finishing his third pint, inebriated Chris visualized Chairman Mao, raising a red flag, was leading the citizens in Peru’s only win.

The Sun or the Streetlamp, by Matthew Roy Davey

25/7/2018

Something might be happening. Beyond the curtains. Beyond the glass. But I’d rather not know.

She brings me up a cup of tea. I give thanks.

There’s a stain in the carpet, hence the saucer.

These walls are getting closer, the wallpaper takes on a life of its own. The lightbulb flickers.

Something happens. I will it.

I’m not sure what it is just yet, but it will shatter the glass, blow the walls outward.

It might even tear the curtains.

There is a knock at the door.

Another cup of tea.

I don’t bother saying thank you.

Tombstones Aren't Forever, by Jesse Riley

25/7/2018

He’s at her tombstone when he thinks of leaving for Florida.

He places the lilies underneath her name. Somehow the thought crept that one day, perhaps one hundred years in the future, the granite will start to erode. Maybe the kudzu would get it? Tombstones aren’t forever. Okay, he thinks. I’ll go where gators snatch children from father’s arms, where families sometime whisper to each other in Spanish, where sinkholes sometimes devour backyards.

But he doesn’t pack for Florida. He goes to sleep, clutching a photograph. A lily tucked in her hair.

The same dream of fire, as always.

Twenty-One Chances, by Charita Gil

23/7/2018

“My God, Lorraine, where have you been?” The voice quivered on the other end.

“It’s Monday. You tell me. Am I like you?”

“Oh, Lorraine …”

“I’m sending money. As always. Make sure that Mother eats fresh food. She’s not getting any better.”

“The missed calls … the text—”

“Ah. Thirteen missed calls, eight messages. I don’t even want to open them. Must you always do that? I was in a meeting, for Pete’s—I know my obligations. Do you want me to thank you for yours?”

“She was also calling and texting you, Lorraine!”

“Who? Mother?”

“She’s gone, Lorraine. She’s gone.”

Descriptors, by Don Tuttle

22/7/2018

Small-minded, mean-spirited, petty, petulant, vain, selfish, crude, ignorant, arrogant, deceitful, lying, disrespectful, short-sighted, short-fused, manipulative, childish, distrustful, insecure, hollow, bombastic, tone-deaf, tempestuous, ill-advised, overbearing, rude, vainglorious, loner, garrulous, aggressive, bossy, bully, grumpy, cynical, narcissistic, tactless, thoughtless, unpredictable, boastful, pompous, patronizing, callous, confrontational, defensive, nasty, cruel, domineering, Machiavellian, sneaky, intolerant, pig-headed, impatient, unreliable, fussy, jealous, resentful, secretive, careless, foolish, quick-tempered, sullen, grumpy, touchy, repulsive, obnoxious, slimy, shallow, superficial, name-calling, intimidating, unhappy, duplicitous, non-player, brazen, know-it-all, ruthlessly ambitious, immoral, scary, uptight, authoritarian, free-wheeling, sarcastic, iconoclastic, abrasive, impulsive, destructive, President.

The Big Day, by Russell Conover

21/7/2018

Dan was at the gaming store at 6 a.m., three hours before it opened. He arrived before all other customers, ready to be the first to grab a new baseball video game.

A crowd formed around him, but he remained in front. When the doors opened, he rushed to the display and grabbed the first copy. Victory!

He sauntered to the checkout counter and paid. “Did you see our display of a similar game for half off?” the clerk asked. Dan looked immediately, but saw only “Sold Out”. He groaned, distraught.

“Better check your peripheral vision,” the clerk smirked.

Bloodstains, by Ann-Louise Truschel

21/7/2018

“Why did you kill your cousin?”

“I didn’t!”

“Then why is her blood on your sweater?”

“I don’t know.”

“She was terminal, Leo, but you couldn’t wait to inherit, could you? Take him downtown, Sarge. I’ll talk to the husband.”

“Andy’s downstairs, Lieutenant.”

“Andy, where’d you get the blood?”

“After I … uh … after she experienced the blow to her head, I did a venapuncture on her, Jack. I am a doctor, after all. Then I poured it on Leo’s sweater. I’ll inherit the whole $20 million estate once Leo’s convicted.”

“You mean HALF the estate, don’t you, Andy?”

Imager, by Ashley Bullen-Cutting

20/7/2018

There is a mirror on the other side of the galaxy and it lies. I want it. I can't bear to look upon the surface of my own anymore. The truth - fissures, blemishes and follicles - hurts too much. Stings. Besides, the world has had enough of truth. Bring me fake news; bring me renewed youth. Bring me a time when humanity doesn't have a sell-by date and regal means monarchy and not the stage in life where opportunities are lax.

Let me walk in the lines of lies, or, better yet, see differently.

The Missing Bride, by Marjan Sierhuis

20/7/2018

While the sun casts a warm glow over the beautiful countryside, the crowds are seen patiently waiting along the tree lined route to catch a glimpse. There’s a palpable excitement in the air as the horse-drawn carriage draws closer, and the spectators crane their necks to get a better look. Suddenly, everyone gasps in eager anticipation as the carriage driven by a coachman and pulled by four grey horses comes into view. The moment that spectators have been waiting for has finally arrived. But to everyone’s disappointment, the carriage is empty.

The bride forgets that she is allergic to horses.

Standing Near Precipice, by Sankar Chatterjee

20/7/2018

Jim Johnson couldn’t remember who uttered “Fictions are lies to tell the truth”. Or, was it a tag-line of a recent flash-fiction magazine?

It’s been months now that he didn’t hear back from his editor about his last submitted piece. Did all his lies paint a picture so truthful that the editor no longer believed it to be a fiction? Are all the pathetic recent lies of the supreme leader nothing but fractions of a bigger truth, misunderstood by “intellectually ignorant” global citizens?

His inbox pinged with the acceptance news. “Lies will always be lies”, Jim felt reassured in humanity.

Problems in Space, by Jane Reid

20/7/2018

“The Plutonians are demonstrating,” said my colleague Joe, who recently returned from a long stay there.

“What are they upset about now?” I said, as he clearly waited to be asked.

“Those so-called ‘moons’ of Jupiter. Pluto got demoted as a planet, but most of those are only oversized rocks. We have to bring lunar equality into astronomy. The Plutonians are marching, wearing home-made ‘Moon hats.’ They are chanting ‘Planethood now.’

“I sympathize with them,” Joe continued, “but this can’t end well. If those minimoons are demoted, their residents will be marching as well, all chanting ‘Me too.’ “

Issues, by Kim Tackett Tackett

20/7/2018

I met my wife when she was working as a bank teller. She admired the paperclip holding my statements and said she preferred clips over staples, mostly because she had commitment issues. I asked her out anyway, mostly because I have listening issues. It’s been 15 years, and we are still together, though sometimes I think she’s laughing when she might be crying. And once in a while, I mistake her going-out door sounds for coming-in door sounds. As for commitment, she stays when she remembers I am her home. So I try to be home as much as possible.

A Day Out at the Open, by Gordon Lawrie

19/7/2018

Image: golfbytourmiss

Quite a few spectators at the Open Golf Champioship were becoming ill, overcome by the blazing sun. John wasn't feeling too good himself.

Standing at the 18th green on the second day, he glanced up and saw some strange names on the leaderboard: Eric Anderson, 72; Martin White, 72; Doug Thomas, 74; Adam Easson, 77; Bill Walker, 79; Ian Bryce, 81. It wasn't the high scores that surprised him, it was the fact these were all friends he'd lost in recent years. Then the leaderboard changed and he saw his own name going up: 68.

Today was John's 68th birthday.

Nature, A Repeat Offender, by Sankar Chatterjee

19/7/2018

Past winter Cathy, a photo-journalist on assignment in Guatemala, was enjoying a late-afternoon drink on a rooftop-bar in Antigua, a picturesque Spanish colonial town, surrounded by three high mountains. Alvarez, the bartender informed they’re all historic dormant volcanoes, while focusing Cathy’s lens on farthest one:

Cathy: My goodness! It’s slowly belching!

Alvarez: Fuego, angriest one.

Cathy: Any anticipated eruption?

Alvarez: Always without notice.

Now Cathy, screaming “Fuego exploded”, woke up from a nightmare in her cozy London-apartment. She turned on BBC. Live images were streaming: erupting Fuego burying San Miguel with volcanic ash, repeating Pompeii’s fate from Mt. Vesuvius’ wrath.

Return to Dawlish Beach, by Guy Fletcher

19/7/2018

I have returned to Dawlish after a long time, cannot sleep so leave the house at six. Seagulls guard the causeway and cracks in the sky make it seem as if searchlights shine into the sea.

"Hello. What are you doing here?" my former lover inquires.

I haven't seen her for years, we walk along the beach as in the past adoring it here before noisy crowds arrived.

"You look remarkable and haven't aged at all," I say.

I turn to peer at the hole in the rock by Coryton Cove but when I glance around again she has disappeared.

Runner, by Don Tassone

19/7/2018

When Robert stopped running, he died. More precisely, he was gone in three days.

He had begun running in high school, and he ran every day for more than 70 years.

Robert couldn’t imagine not running. It was not just his priority. It was his purpose.

“I live to run,” he used to say.

But now he was ill and could run no more. He lay in his bed at home, where he wished to die.

Family members came to say goodbye. Robert looked at them curiously, as if they were faces in the crowd. He really didn’t know them.

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Since Friday Flash Fiction began in September 2013, 100-word stories have remained its 'beating heart'.

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