Blog Archives

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait, by Amanda Jones

31/7/2020

“So, I guess it’s another day in this bag, sack, sac-thing, waiting for something to happen. It’s weird. I know I’m waiting for something, haven’t a clue what it is. Oh, what’s this?”

“Ah, my nice neighbour, Jeremy, Coo-ee. Yes, still here, still waiting. How about you?”

“Really? You’ve changed some more. You think you’re nearly done? Wow! What? You think I’m changing too? You can see me wriggling? Yes, yes, I feel it! Gosh! It’s so...bright ... is that a word? Hey, are you Jeremy? Hel—"

Jeremy swallows. A whole butterfly. What a start for a young frog!

Hot Coffee, by Jonathan Hunter

31/7/2020

That bitter December chill braced me as I arrived at New Street. I had been texting cautiously since September but had never met her. Punctual was an understatement so a quick sandwich from Pret would kill some anxious time. Why was I there, what was I ordering? I met the smile of the barista and felt an unexplainable sense of warmth. On the house was all she whispered as I received a free coffee. Around tonight was scribbled on the receipt. I never cancel dates at short notice, but tonight it was beyond my control.

The Drive-Thru, by Wendy Forshee

31/7/2020

“I need two ice cream cones,” Dad yelled into the black holes under a red arrow stating, “Order Here”.

The car inched forward to the first window where a hand, wrinkled with blue gloves, forced its way out requesting, 2.65$, then slammed shut.

The car inched forward again where a gender-neutral lab tech in a white coat, goggles, face shield, and mask held two frosty white ice cream cones and was beginning to hand them out when….it sneezed. Muted but obvious from the abrupt bounce of the short blond hair.

Dad gunned it and sped away.

The Safe Place, by Mary Wallace

31/7/2020

Jenny discovered her safe place when she was only six. Chased by bullies, she squeezed inside a hollow tree. There, surrounded by the scent of wood, she breathed deeply and felt safe.

At home when the fighting started, she would retreat inside her wardrobe, her nose pressed against the wood, breathing deeply.

Today Jenny wasn't quick enough. Battered and bruised, she crawled inside her toy box, lowered the lid and breathed deeply. The scent of the wood held no comfort. She could hear him stumbling around searching for her. Jenny knew she would never feel safe again.

In The Atlantic, by J.J. Landry

31/7/2020

I look out at the water. Dark gray clouds meet the furious sea, blending into a pool of dead and dying bodies. Sailors from two German U-Boats we engaged. Our skipper took a bullet in the throat. He isn't dead yet, but the X.O. now stands in command of our destroyer.

In the distance, the top of another U-Boat emerges. Their wolf-pack is now down to one. The X.O. orders more depth charges deployed. I watch. I wait. From behind the barrels of our anti-aircraft guns, I’ve never been more ready to deal out death in the name of America.

The Tennis Partner, by Maria Tonu

31/7/2020

Delia broke up with her boyfriend. He was also a partner to practice her favorite sport every day - tennis. She wrote an ad in the tennis court that she wanted to find an adult partner to play tennis every day and left her phone number. Over fifty people called her. Ninety percent asked her what she works for, what house she has, if she has children. Ten percent asked her how old she is. But no one was interested in playing tennis with her. In need, she found a recent boyfriend who also played tennis.

Stranded in Filaments of Basketweave, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

31/7/2020

Basket. Dare I enter?

Nostalgia revisits the like. Holding decorated eggs and Easter Babka blessed by a priest. Opening mother’s woven treasure-chest wherein stack yarns destined for my wardrobe.

But within flaxen basketweave, dark threads haunt. The face of a cobra in Kolkata rises above the rim. It’s owner grins, having achieved the goal of luring my naivety to look inside.

It’s different this time. The hostess removes her basket’s checkered surface cloth. Tempts me with her smile and the scent of freshly baked rolls. I reach in.

No longer am I stranded in the weave of my mind.

Deprived, by Russell Conover

31/7/2020

“What do you mean, ice cream has been banned from society?”

“You didn’t see the announcement from the health department?”

“How can I go on, without a major food group?”

“Can’t you find more nutritious things to eat?”

“What’s life without the tastiest dessert of all--especially in the summer?”

“Have you considered others might not share your opinion?”

“Who would want to spend their days without ice cream?”

“You know you’re a piece of work, right?”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don’t you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do I bother?”

The Voice, by Mark Tulin

31/7/2020

From the muddy trenches came a voice. It spoke to vulnerable people who foolishly believed. The voice said not to listen to those of science, instead, follow the incendiary words of the voice. So the group refused to comply with the rest of the world, and especially to those with knowledge and understanding. The voice hated wisdom and those who predicted the future. Much animosity grew against the teachers of change, despite the world’s precarious nature. Soon a cult formed. They grew in numbers, wore similar clothing, shaved their heads, and saluted a strange symbol that hung over a fire.

Testing Positive, by Ed N. White

31/7/2020

“How did I do, Mark?”

“Very well, Sir. You got all the animals right. And you knew what day it was. And you were able to count backward. Yes, very well, indeed, Sir.”

“So, I aced it?”

“Almost, Sir.”

“Almost?”

“Yes, Sir. You only missed one question.”

“Oh, what was that?”

“The one about the pandemic, Sir.”

“What’s that?”

“Exactly, Sir. You can’t just write in HOAX.”

“Why not, I’m the President, aren’t I?

“You were, Sir, that was last year. I’m afraid the voters turned against you. Perhaps, you were just too smart.”

“Yes, that’s it—a stable genius.”

Pure, by V. L. Draven

31/7/2020

They sought purification, to make the world a place of good, a place where only the light would shine. But, darkness is not the absence of light; evil is not the absence of good, and as darkness can shine as brightly as the strongest sun, so evil can be as pure as innocence. They did not realise that their desire would be the end of all. They released that which was imprisioned in the void and set it loose upon an unsuspecting world. People screamed as they were consumed by impenetrable darkness that sucked away their souls; Earth became pure.

Skinning, by Teddy Kimathi

31/7/2020

“Do you know how to do this?” my father asked. His knife was steadily sliding between the skin and flesh of the goat. I nodded. My mouth couldn’t open, in the sight of a membrane holding the organs and intestines together. It was a really nauseating moment. “Son, if you face a challenge, just skin it ruthlessly. Finally, a treasure will appear beneath it!” The sun was gradually setting. I hadn’t made my first hunt.

The Elusive Offer, by Sivan Pillai

31/7/2020

The Don is surviving on twice-weekly dialysis. Being the second-in-command, I manage his ‘business’ assisted by a bunch of musclemen.

“You can have one of my kidneys,” one goon tells him in my presence.

“No, let me have that honour,” pleads another.

They all make the offer, one after another. The Don looks at me as if daring to follow suit.

I chuckle inwardly, remembering the fate of the bull, who was pounced upon by the courtiers the moment he offered himself to his famished lion-friend.

They don’t know that my blood group doesn’t match with the Don’s.

A Date with the Internet, by Sandra James

31/7/2020

After years of loneliness, my friends finally persuaded me to join an internet dating site.

“No excuses,” they said. “You’ve got time on your hands now to put a profile together and get to know someone from the comfort of your lounge room. Then when isolation ends you can meet.”

I listed my good points, hopes and dreams; found a complimentary photo.

Alas, the contenders seemed like clones! Each masked something unrelated to Covid-19. Could I trust again? I’d been hurt by a cheating liar before.

Eventually I changed sites; adopted a Cocker Spaniel.

A Feast for the Eyes, by Marjan Sierhuis

31/7/2020

She watches from a distance. A wide-brimmed hat protects her face from the powerful rays of the sun. Her eyes hide behind Aviator style sunglasses.

Powerful leg muscles pump like crazy, as the man jogs along the boardwalk. Hair, the color of salt and pepper escapes from under his baseball cap and clings to his forehead. Skin glistens as moisture exudes through the pores.

He adjusts his speed when he nears the bench. The woman smiles seductively.

Twenty years of marriage and her husband is still a feast for the eyes.

End of July, by Yola M. Caecenary

31/7/2020

Did you ever wish to be able to see the days before you? To know which path you should take, which you shouldn't?

I did! To realise that it wasn't a life.

"What would be the use of thinking and planning if you already know your days?" asked the inner me. The inner me was right, although, I barely remembered the words I said, the food I ate, or the dreams I dreamt, what's more about my thinking and planning?

I started July with a spoonful of hopes and ended it with a bag of questions, yet I still live.

By Herself, by Pamela Kennedy

31/7/2020

She sat at the cafe table in the corner. It was the perfect size for a party of one or two. Having taken out her small journal, she scribbled in her daily entry:

"Alone I sit at a table meant for you and me. But since you left, it's no longer 'we' - it's now only me."

After seeing her thought on paper, a sense of calmness ensued. Acceptance of a solitary existence just became easier for her. Life could be savored unencumbered by another's baggage, ambition, and aspirations. She was embarking upon a new adventure of discovery - herself.

Mid-August, by Jim Woessner

31/7/2020

The boy circled the house splatting black flies while open-mouthed lizards waited below hoping for a reward. The dog chased Angus calves over the brittle dry grass. And inside, the sisters danced butt naked to country music on the radio. It was the day their mother walked downriver and disappeared in a patch of woods. “I can’t take no more,” she’d said. But no one listened. No one believed in her leaving. No one paid any attention. The kids continued playing their games, and father went fishing without saying a word. It was mid-August, it took forever to get dark.

A Letter, by Swapan K Banerjee

31/7/2020

Hello Ka, do you still write poems these days at the drop of a hat? Stopping by at mysterious nooks at odd hours waiting all-eyes-and-ears for its birth with a notepad and a pencil, sharp as a quill, resting between your finger and thumb?

I know, when it happens, you don’t have to change a single word as the poem appears from the deeps, unhindered, like a leaf on twig.

You see, the pandemic has robbed me of my will to live, let alone write. I sit everyday though, like an angler looking for any slightest movement in the lines!

Marrying Wrong, by Gerald Kamens

31/7/2020

The regal woman fidgets in her wheel chair, sipping pinot grigio, her eyes pivoting from her 30-year-old son to the large window overlooking the raging seas beyond her estate.

“We didn’t raise you that way, James.”

“So don’t come to the wedding.”

“I’m very tolerant, If she were a person of color. Someone with a physical disability. Even a man. I could buy that!”

“I’m marrying” said James, “a beautiful woman, the same color as me, with no physical disability.”

“It’s a deal breaker for me. That she plans to vote for that ghastly man in the White House!”

Mean Things, by Brian Taylor

31/7/2020

You did many mean things to me when I was growing up, Dad.

From 4 to 18 years old, I remember neglect, insults, you divorcing Mom, then getting remarried, you loving your new daughter more than me; us becoming estranged.

Then 24 years later, you showed up at my door, saying your daughter died, your wife left you and begged me for another chance.

I reluctantly agreed. We went fishing. We went on long car rides. We talked, we cried. I forgave you. I loved you again.

Then you died. That's the meanest thing you've ever done to me, Dad.

The Cupboard Door, by Gordon Lawrie

31/7/2020

In a small upstairs bedroom was a cupboard. Jim and Margaret had been warned by the previous owners to keep its door locked, because rumour had it that what was trapped inside was best kept there. For over forty years they just let it be; they didn't need the space, after all.

When Jim died, Margaret decided to move to something smaller. A young couple bought her house, and Margaret passed on the advice to keep the cupboard door locked. But of course, these young folk, they just had to find out, didn't they?

They shouldn't have opened that door.

A New Home, by Hervé Suys

31/7/2020

“Hi, we’re the new foster parents. Are the little ones ready?”

The woman who opened the door has tears in her eyes.

“You’re early.”

“We were anxious to see them.”

“Promise me you’ll take care of them.”

“Um… certainly, madam.”

“I’ll get my husband.”

A man comes to the door, carrying a basket and then handing it over.

“Is everything all right with the misses? She seems a bit upset. She IS aware we will end up eating them, right?”

“Sssst. No need to remind her of that.”

“Maybe you should consider to stop giving away free tomato plants, then.”

Believe, by Sue Clayton

31/7/2020

Thunder growls through steely-grey clouds that hover above the pitching boat; white-capped waves ride the water to break against the wind-whipped foreshore of a ruined castle, foreshadowing an imminent portent.

The boarding queue is long and I shiver inside my woolen jacket…from cold or fearful anticipation?

I rush to claim a seat in the boat’s prow where I can trail my fingers through the wash, or dare to dip a tempting bare foot into the roiling black depths.

It’s a hoax, some say. But if you truly believe in the Scottish Loch’s myth, Nessy might just break the surface.

Suffocate, by Brian Taylor

24/7/2020

She's been here before. Why is she back so soon? Sadly, that's a stupid question. Everything has changed, and she's one that must pay.

But this is torture. Why? For her safety and theirs, they say. She tries understanding, but this seems excessively cruel. Doesn't she do what they want, and never show resistance? How long? Forever?? Likely. It's just so hard to breathe! She...

Finally! It's six!

She rips off her mask when she gets outside. She's sweaty and shaky.

Someone asks if she's okay. She answers she will be when she gets home... and she'll see them tomorrow.

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

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