Blog Archives

Retribution, by Sterling Warner

30/7/2019

Maxine never really knew the meaning of pathological—at least until she met Trudy. Usually, their conversations amounted to minutes of innocent banter:

“Trudy. I heard you mother was a Valley Girl.”

“Fer sure!” Trudy laughed—“don’t hold that against her.”

Yesterday, as they walked through a parking lot, Maxine noticed Trudy running her keys across cars they passed. “Hey Max, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to get even with someone?”

“Deflated a car tire after a guy who dropped me.”

“You should have punctured him instead!”

“Say what?” Maxine replied terrified.

“Guys dump—but never forget me.”

Home-Wrecker, by Nicky Johnson

28/7/2019

Last weekend, I fed my cousin’s cats while he and his wife were away on a camping trip. I don’t normally snoop in another’s house, but I was so damn hungry. In the pantry, I found a box of unopened granola bars. My hunger conquered courtesy, and I savagely attacked the box.

Yesterday he called to say that his wife had left him, claiming that, “He’s such a lazy slob, he can’t even close a box.” I guess it was the ‘final straw’...but what’s the point of sliding the tab into the slit anyway – they are individually wrapped.

Cuckoo and Canary, by Arthur KC Chan

28/7/2019

A canary was singing merrily in her cage.

A cuckoo landed outside the window.

“Enchanting.”

“Thank you.”

“Look, your cage door is not locked.”

“Yes. My master likes it that way.”

“Let me open it for you.”

“What?”

“I open the door so you can fly away.”

“Why?”

“Fly to the trees, or the sea.”

“I don't want the trees or the sea.”

“Don’t you wanna be free?”

“I’m well fed here, sheltered from the wind and rain. I’m very free.”

“But this cage…”

“This cage is perfect. Listen. Freedom has limits.”

The cuckoo pondered, then soared into the sky.

Graffiti, by Brian Taylor

28/7/2019

I came back to my old hometown to visit my best friend. His wife's not very friendly, though. Oh, well.

I had a bag of laundry, but their washer was broke. So, I went to the laundromat. I asked my friend to come along, but he couldn’t. Whipped sucker!

After I started my clothes, I went to the bathroom. Walls covered in graffiti, like always. Sometimes, it's funny.

Lots of 'fuck you's', 'eat shit's,' 'ur moms a whore,' homophobic slurs—typical stuff.

I look on another wall, and see 'I love...'

Dang, I forgot about that. Him.

Tears fill my eyes.

Lifestyle Choices, by Russell Conover

28/7/2019

The cat and his owner paraded into the restaurant, well aware of the dozens of cameras snapping shot after shot of them. They took it all in stride, waving and smiling as good celebrities do, before being rushed to the best table in the house and receiving top service from the restaurant staff. They downed an impeccable meal and gazed out the window at the spectacular view of the sunset over the lake.

“Does this lifestyle ever become too much?” the owner asked.

“Nonsense. We’ve earned it!” the cat declared.

Alice smiled. “Yeah. Starting Friday Flash Fiction WAS pretty awesome.”

Watch With Mother, a Murder Mystery, by Adrian McRobb

28/7/2019

Andy Pandy and Teddy were having a problem, it was Looby-Lou, she just kept on putting on weight?

"We can't fit in the hamper with her, Teddy!" said Andy.

"I know!" Squeaked Teddy. "She's much too fat for our basket."

So after dinner-time tales had finished, Andy decided to have it out with Looby-Lou.

"Looby-Lou, where are you?"

"I'm here Andy!" Replied the raggy doll.

"Where's Teddy!" Andy, now concerned...

'Uurgggghhh...,' groaned Teddy, he was covered in raspberry blood children!

Poor Teddy is hurt, but who hurt him? Was it Bill, was it Ben, was it Looby or Andy?

Strangers, by Mary Daurio

28/7/2019

I’m sprawled on his walk.

“Those shoes weren’t made for this weather,” he says holding my broken stiletto.

“Can I ask you in for coffee?”

“I never have coffee with strangers,” I say.

If I see him tomorrow, he won’t be so strange, salting his walk. He may feel like coffee, and I’ll have better shoes on. Peter Pan getaway boots if need be. You can never be too careful, take— Little Red Riding Hood. Her lesson, beware of strangers, there isn’t a woodcutter on every corner

Mustaches Are on the Bedstand, by Kim Favors

26/7/2019

The actress entertains often in her rented Hollywood bungalow, treating hotel neighbors to screenings of her 1940s films, along with snacks and sometimes cocktails.

For Marx Brothers nights, the once glamorous star advertises with early pinup posters in the hotel lobby. It’s mostly men who attend.

Of the male guests who appreciate Groucho's "Hello, I must be going,” some are later invited to private acting lessons.

Definitely rewarding. Never overnight.

Bouquet of Smiles, by Thalia Dunn

26/7/2019

“Little suns!” Annie clapped her pudgy hands.

“Look! Daddy’s favorites!” She ran to her mother sitting on a blanket who quickly brushed tears away.

“What are …? Ohhh, I know…” She ruffled Annie’s hair.

“I picked these for him. Remember?”

Mommy smiled. “He said dandelions are drops of sunshine reminding us to smile.”

Annie pointed. “Look! So many. Everyone’ll smile. Can we give these to Daddy?” she asked anxiously.

Mommy patted the stone gently as she stood. “Yes, how beautiful! He’ll love them.”

Walking away, she glanced behind. On the headstone of the young soldier was their latest gift - dandelion bouquet.

The Blue Circle, by Bruce Levine

26/7/2019

I close my eyes. I see a blue circle – varying shades of blue swimming, surrounded by a corona of yellow – spikes, like a child’s paper crown, with rounded edges. As I watch the blue circle mutates – colors change – formations appear within. The yellow corona changes too - now it’s floating as it sways, as if in a breeze. The forms within the circle change again and again – black lines appear, forming shapes within the shapes. The blue morphs, changing intensity, changing hues. I open my eyes. I see the reality of the room surrounding me. The kaleidoscope is gone.

Cooking Lesson, by Rebecca Gooding

26/7/2019

Rosie’s failure to stand up to Jeff only empowered him more.

‘You don’t know how to use that saucepan!’ Jeff shouted. ‘You’re no Chef!’

Rosie snapped, thirty years of pent up rage came out as she swung the saucepan in a perfect sweeping arc, the cast-iron pan hitting Jeff’s head with a loud crack.

Jeff dropped to the floor, stone dead. The carrots and onions from the saucepan mingled with blood and brains beside him.

Rosie calmly wiped her hands on a towel.

‘You’re wrong Jeff.’ Rosie said to his lifeless body. ‘I do know how to use that saucepan.’

Tragic Wedding Day, by D T Moore

26/7/2019

Angela died that day on the way to her wedding. Struck on the church steps by a drunk driver. Ten days after that, her husband to be, took his own life. He thought he would meet her again in the afterlife. But the fact is, there's no place in paradise for a man who takes his own life. No – not in paradise. All he can do is stare at her across the sea of souls. The irony is, the man who caused the tragedy, Bill, was a guest at the bachelor's party, and went on to marry Angela's sister.

Summer Memories, by Julie Achilles

26/7/2019

'Do you remember last summer?' she asked as she lay waiting.

'Yes' he replied, 'and every summer we shared, why?'

'its just that I know I wont be with you next summer and I want you to spend it as always on our favourite Island'.

Tony looked into his eyes and although she spoke the truth, he didn't want to hear it, didn't want to think about it.

'I know', he said, 'and I will, and you will be with me there in spirit', he replied choking back tears.

'Good' she said as she drifted away.

Fire and Rescue, by Helen Watson

26/7/2019

‘Firewood’, says Tom, as he unloads a Victorian church pew from his van onto my driveway. The wood is scratched, worn. But solid and true.

I purse my lips. ‘No, you’re wrong. There’s hope here yet’.

A hundred and fifty years ago, a craftsman smiled as he put down his plane. The pew would be ready by Christmas. His nephew was first to sit (jump!) on it at Midnight Mass, swinging his toddler legs. He held a christingle, then cried.

Chalk paint, I think. Grey? Farrow and Ball? Two coats later, it’s perfect in the hall.

The Sculpture, by K. J. Watson

26/7/2019

‘Keep your hands off the sculpture, sir,’ the museum’s curator warned.

I could not comply. I worshipped that sculpture.

‘You’re banned,’ the curator said.

I employed a plastic surgeon. Unrecognizable, I returned to the museum.

Keeping my hands to myself, I knelt before the sculpture.

‘Yes, it is nice,’ a visitor commented.

‘“Nice”?’ I shrieked. ‘It’s sublime.’

The curator banned me again.

I contacted an artist. He transformed me into a conceptual artwork. Then he donated me to the museum on condition that I stand alongside the sculpture.

There was no room. The curator put me in the basement instead.

The Sky's the Limit, by Diane Clark

26/7/2019

“My singing teacher said I need to examine my self-limiting beliefs about my singing,” Keith smiled sheepishly.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “What is she, a shrink?”

“Well, she’s right actually. I told her I could only sing up to a D, but yesterday we vocalized to an F#! Made a liar out of me for sure,” Keith admitted.

“That’s way cool! I wonder what self-limiting beliefs I might have,” Sarah puzzled.

“Well,” Keith replied, “you always say you’re not a techie, but you get around the computer just fine.”

Sarah laughed. “I can only do very simple things, nothing complicated.”

The Fall, by Guy Fletcher

26/7/2019

Max alighted from his BMW to hear a familiar voice.

"Is it you?" he inquired.

"Yes, I've fallen a long way Max."

The former tycoon was begging in a city doorway replacing the bedsheets of Mayfair hotels with a dirty sleeping bag. Max knew that Power had never recovered from the suicide of one of his employees who had accused him of bullying her.

Max could barely recognise him, he had lost so much weight reminding him of a Japanese POW.

"I'll get you sorted out," siad Max.

"No, this is my world now," he replied sadly.

A Treasure Trove, by Marjan Sierhuis

26/7/2019

There was no time to waste. It had to be done quickly or the activity might arouse suspicion. After all, spies could be lurking anywhere in these woods. For that matter, they could be watching this very minute from behind an oak tree. With a surge of nervous energy, he dug a shallow pit and hastily deposited a treasure trove of items. Perhaps his best haul to date. He then covered the pit with foliage and bits of debris. When he went to retrieve the goods in the not so distant future, he hoped his memory would serve him well.

First Lady Editor, by Rodney Drake

26/7/2019

Although most recently Mrs. Onassis, the staff at Viking Press still called her Mrs. Kennedy. It was to be expected, she guessed. In her office, she gazed out the window at the Manhattan streets below.

It was raining, a wet April afternoon. She thought about those early days in the White House, so much to accomplish. Then that dark day.

She shook her head to clear it. Back to her editing job. She slashed the copy with her red pencil. Who did this author think he was? Philip Roth? She absently hummed a song from Camelot to herself.

Pressure, by Gordon Lawrie

26/7/2019

One hundred words: it's the ultimate challenge, the Everest of short story writing, the Olympic Champion, the Final Frontier of literature. Week after week I attempt to create narratives that excite, charm, provoke or entertain; tales with beginnings, middles and endings that punche above their weight.

Each Thursday night I fret over my laptop's wordcount. I have a duty. My readers need me. Weekly, I toil unsuccessfully to condense my Nobel prizewinner into the required length.

Here I am again. I need to fit my submission into 100 words, so I've decided that there's nothing else for it but to

Canines and Incisors, by Mark Tulin

26/7/2019

While waiting in the kitchen for the supervisor, a resident wearing a white helmet abruptly approached me and stared at my arm like an appetizing piece of meat. After a few seconds, he left and returned a second time. This time, he touched my forearm admiringly.

The third time, the man wearing the white helmet clamped down on my arm with his canines and incisors, refusing to let go. Thinking quickly, I held his nose and, within seconds, he released his steadfast jaws from my forearm, leaving a red, inflamed mark on my arm in the form of a smile.

Self-inflicted Therapy, by M. E. Carr

23/7/2019

Remi scrolled through article choices some algorithm deemed worthy of his interest while coffee brewed. Followed with a shit, shower, and shave, he was ready.

In the bedroom, he opened the revolver to ensure one chamber was occupied. Spinning the cylinder, he lay on the bed. No need to cover walls with matter that once archived memory. Today’s workplace uniform or tomorrow’s burial attire hung on the closet door.

Click.

“Hundred and twenty-two.” Remi thought spitting out the barrel. “What are the fucking chances?”

He enjoyed doing the math. How sweet each day was when lived like it’s your last.

Reserved Space, by Marieke Steiner

22/7/2019

I parked my car at work in the far designated lot while my boss parked his truck close and illegally.

One afternoon I pulled a blank index card from my desk and wrote on it in black pen with my left hand:

“Please do not park in my spot again or your car will be towed.”

Then I placed the card under the wiper blade on his windshield and walked away.

The next day I heard my manager tell my co-worker, “I can’t believe someone put a note on my car yesterday.”

One cubicle over, I smirked.

Serves you right.

Dark House, by Adrian McRobb

20/7/2019

I had known this house all my life, from the twisting wrought iron gates to the raven head door knocker.

It held no terror for me, the wallpaper patterns had watched my growing years, the old Georgian fireplace where we had toasted crumpets, was an old friend.

Curving bannisters of dark wood led me upstairs to the nursery, my toys still scattered as if the years had spun back.

Crossing to my parents room I noticed movement in the garden, a young couple in strange clothes.

I opened the casement to say hello and she said "look Tom a ghost!"

The Perfect Prize, by Russell Conover

20/7/2019

“Congratulations on winning our show!” the game show host declared.

“Thank you!” Sonia smiled.

“For your prize, you have your choice of two cars. The convertible is more traditional, with a big engine and wind in the hair.”

“Looks nice,” Sonia gasped.

“But, the coupe has a mid-engine layout!”

Sonia frowned. “That could affect my trip home to Pluto.”

“Not to worry. Both vehicles have been certified by the Interplanetary Transportation Committee.”

Sonia squealed. “The coupe it is!” She rushed over and sat inside. When she pushed buttons, wings sprouted from the doors and she took off. Fantastic journeys awaited!

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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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