Blog Archives

As It flows, by Mariana Rukina

29/7/2023

Teeming neon flooded her body. She resounded with every tune. Thousands of people have been dancing with the beat, singing chores, screaming, experiencing almost religious ecstatic happiness. Her chest was overfilled with joy and crystal deep satisfaction that spilled over the edge of her soul. She felt so high, so alive.
Her phone blinked. Odesa. Protected historical center destroyed by missiles. She opened the United24 website and donated an amount of morning matcha. Her sight slipped down from the phone. Pink feather stuck in the laces of her Converse. The guilt from being happy raised. Again.

Checking Out, by Carolyn R. Russell

29/7/2023

When I’d knocked on Carson’s door this morning, it had been swung open by a hotel employee with a clipboard and a camera. It had only taken a glance at the room to understand why. It looked like it’d been ransacked by raccoons with a taste for vodka, sausage pizza, and drywall. The drapes had been shredded, and there was broken glass on the bed. I had backed out quickly before they could ask any questions. During the free breakfast buffet in the lobby, I eliminated the name from my list. I hope I’d had a good time.

King Herod, by Gerald Kamens

29/7/2023

Taking an acting class, between his two marriages, over a half century ago, he was trying to portray King Herod, in Oscar Wilde’s play, Salomé. Still lithe and limber back then, he was told, repeatedly by the director, that he should walk much more stiffly, slowly, like an old fellow.

Today, when he awakens each morning, grateful to still be alive, he descends very carefully, slowly, and creakily, from his bed to the floor below. He looks back on the bed, but, alas, no unveiled Salomé rests on the other side. Nor does a crown rest on his bald head.

No Shoes No Shirt No Service, by F. Spencer Loomis

29/7/2023

As I was checking out the cashier was young and had difficulty making change when I added a dime to prevent almost a dollars’ worth of retuned change. I smiled and said when I learned using the register in 1960 I had to count change without the register’s help. That drugstore was across the street from a pool. Another new cashier was ringing up a sale of a teenage bikini clad girl buying a 99 cent can of hairspray. He rang the 99 dollar key. The next day the owner posted a sign; No Shoes No Shirt No Service

Fire Down Below, by A.M. McCaffrey

29/7/2023

“You have a trust fund, Eve.
“You do not need my inheritance, and I intend to change my will.”
“The state-authorized euthanasia potion for Aunty is the merciful solution, Doctor.
‘Express Delivery,’ please.”
Wheezing steam pistons on the newfangled iron bedstead jolted me upright.
I jammed the safety valve on the boiler and turned the control to maximum pressure.
The explosion killed both of us and eleven others.
“Look what you did.”
“You made me do it.”
“This is a hell of a time to start an argument, Eve.
“Stoke the furnace.
“Nick wants more heat.”

Gettin' Gone, by Marley Ramon

29/7/2023

It’s nothing like the pictures y’know: train hopping isn’t glamorous. It takes commitment. You won’t make it the first time. Or the second. You’ll doubt, slam your chin, bust your lip, feel rail tie like braces. You’re dirty, and bloody, and your hands are ripped raw and wood filled, but you can’t go home. Wait for the next train; stand like a matador. Some descendant that still has the need to stare at death in every cell. Your lack of ticket a waving red cape, your bull approaches. Be patient. Trains are a lot longer than the movies too. Jump.

Home Alone, by Carol Caffrey

29/7/2023

She was Margot Fonteyn dancing along the sand-blown path to the sea, marram grass whipping at her ankles. She was Billy Jean King, arcing a backhand over her shoulder, winning the Juniors.

On the student magazine she stopped the presses just like Ben Bradlee then graduated into Annie Nightingale writing about the night spots around town. She was seduced by it all.

In the good patches she published her novel. It didn’t take. Her second overdose was an accident. Bastard landlord.

She swore off the stuff again and again.

She was three days dead before they found her.

The Carnival, by David Sydney

29/7/2023

Now that both children were old enough, Cheryl and Charlie took them on Saturday night to the carnival. The next morning, Cheryl's mother called.
"So how was it?"
"It was cotton candy and sodas."
"But did you win any prizes?"
"In the shooting gallery, I won a teddy bear for Kim. Charlie missed a lot of his shots. So I played again and won a bear for Carl. The kids liked the Ferris wheel best."
"You don't win anything for that, do you?"
"No. But they did get to see their father throw up when he got to the top."

Nature of Life, by J. Iner Souster

28/7/2023

Allia cherishes her development and growing understanding of the world because it gives her a strong sense of accomplishment. On her journey back to their ancestral trees, she envisions a future where she reclaims her strength. The mushrooms she planted flourished, providing warmth for her during the winter while preserving her new home from decay. She shares her triumph with her loved ones, recounting her encounters in a different forest, portrayed as dark but inviting. With the old giving way to the new, she recognizes the cyclical nature of life, agreeing that transformation brings beauty and warmth to its existence.

Casting Stones in Glass Supermarkets, by Sandra James

28/7/2023

Express lane, what a misnomer. Woman ahead searches for her loyalty card. Must be hundreds in her purse. No, on the floor. On her knees, she gathers them, finally locating the right one. Why bother? She only spent $3. OMG.

Next guy, wants a price check. Wasn’t it on special? We wait. No. Face contorted, he ponders - buy or not. OMG.

Young woman’s card won’t work. She searches her bag for change. OMG.

Finally, my turn.

‘Sorry, sir, you’ve nine items. This lane is eight items or less.’

OMG.

Waxing and Waning, by Naomi J. van Haaften

28/7/2023

Another settlement has failed. Again. What started so auspiciously has ended in chaos and disillusionment. Tears that I didn’t even know I was crying fall onto the paper in front of me, forming puddles on the rough wax portrait I’ve been doodling. It’s her face I always long to replicate whenever the shadows close in. I grip the crayon tighter, as if transferring all of my sorrow into the narrow magenta Crayola. The oxygen will run out, and my lungs will burn in protestation. And still, even though death is on it’s final approach, I can’t help but draw her.

Battles and Transformations, by Alyce Clark

28/7/2023

I watch her transform in a matter of seconds. From adult to playmate. Cares of the adult world left behind. Responsibilities fade away. It only takes one word: “Grandma!”

Seeing her beloved grandchild brings pure bliss. A smile, a hug, and a kiss later, she’s on the floor playing games- toys strewn everywhere. Laughter, giggles, even an occasional squeal- not sure who’s the loudest.

Pizza under a homemade fort. Rules don’t apply here. These co-conspirators hold out for milk and cookies. Plots of extending bedtime already underway. No doubt they’ll be successful. Rumor has it, they’ve never lost a battle.

Desiderium, by Cheryl Snell

28/7/2023

When they were newlyweds, Dad would entertain Mom by swallowing live goldfish. He amused her as well as her mother, who challenged him to arm wrestling matches and declared herself the winner. Dad would entertain us kids by dropping down stiff and straight in front of us, breaking the fall with his palms as he hit the floor. It thrilled me with a complicated fear I still don’t understand any better than the kind I’m feeling now, watching Mom slyly smile at the man who’s pulling open a can of sardines and letting each one go right into his mouth.

Class, by Teri Wright

28/7/2023

Miss Spencer pointed to the image on the interactive whiteboard as the pupils parroted her ‘b’, ‘b’, ‘b’ sounds. “Can anyone tell me what this is?”

Heads were scratched, noses picked. Miss Spencer sighed. The pupils at the inner-city school on her previous placement had known the answer immediately.

Rupert’s hand shot up. “It’s a Bermuda sloop,” he exclaimed.
“No, silly,” stated Theo. “It’s clearly a beach catamaran.”
“Not so!” another boy shouted before insults were hurled.

Miss Spencer minimised the photo of the boat and considered moving on to ‘c’ for car.
“Quiet reading time!” she declared instead.

Opening Move, by Paul A. Freeman

28/7/2023

Old Mr Smollett and Old Mr Davies sat at their usual table in The Crown. The widowers scowled over the chessboard between them. Occasionally, they grumbled about the loudness of the jukebox, or the noisy youths playing pool.

That night, Mr Davies died in his sleep.

The routine of his daily chess game gone, Mr Smollett gazed, rheumy-eyed, beyond the chessboard, at the empty chair opposite.

The jukebox was quieter, the youngsters less rowdy. One of them put down his pool cue and strolled across to Mr Smollett’s table.

“I’m Terry,” he said. “Do you fancy a game of chess?”

Fresh Scar, by Brian Taylor

28/7/2023

I picked a bad time to visit my daughter and granddaughter today. Vicky and Jessie were arguing, and both were crying.

"Dad, she's been cutting herself," Vicky said, almost shouting.

Jessie, thirteen, looked furious at her mother.

"Oh," I said awkwardly. "Sorry, I'll come back another time."

Before leaving, I told them, "I'm here for you girls."

Neither answered me.

When I returned to my empty house, I took off my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. Nobody ever wonders why a 70-year-old man always wears long sleeves.

The old guy's just cold, they'd think. It's his blood.

Sizing Up the Terrain, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

28/7/2023

They advanced towards him en masse. Hundreds of them, clad in black and red.

The landscape from where they sprung— barren, hilly, void of the lush greenery it was once known for.

He stood still, observing with trepidation. It would’ve been difficult had he not made the right moves.

He lunged forward, weapon in hand, spraying the enemy with full force.

A few aimed for his legs in a counterattack. Luckily the protective clothing he wore intervened.

He was able to complete his job of eliminating a field ant infestation so that picnicking families could return to the city park.

Lost and Found, by Lisa Williams

28/7/2023

Half a century I’ve been married to Jim! He’s been good to me; he sorted ‘find my phone’ in case I ever mislaid my mobile. It’s been invaluable really.
Quite accidentally, five years ago, I found out through the app that he was having an affair. Since then, at every weekly shop, I’ve taken twenty pounds out on his card and bought myself premium bonds. I’ve been quite lucky.
I’m leaving him today: I’m going to post my phone at his lover’s house then just disappear. Shame I won’t be around to see his face when he works it out.

A Quiet Life, by Tom Baldwin

28/7/2023

Single by choice, Della enjoyed her quiet life, with a job she loved, a few close friends, her books and a glass or two of wine.

Then she started getting ‘friend’ requests on social media from people she had never heard of; a few at first, then dozens.

Soon she found the AI-generated video of her face on another woman’s body, doing things she would never do, and naming Della.

She never found who was responsible.

It was a quiet funeral, with just a few close friends, her favourite poem and a glass or two of wine.

They Bite! by Bill Cox

28/7/2023

The campers arrive in the Highland wilderness with rucksacks and tents, confident of their mastery over this world. The bear, the lynx, the wolf, all once roamed these glens and mountain tops, but their calls have long since vanished, thanks to bow and spear and shot.

The campers settle in and in the gloaming other creatures waken and set about their business. Like a symphony, the attention of the midges builds to an unbearable crescendo of discomfort, itching, pain and red welts on the skin.

The campers flee, humbled, their mastery of the wilderness, though long claimed, proving illusory.

The Red Pump Shoes, by K.G. Song

28/7/2023

I had to take a social dance to graduate from university.

Having been born with two left feet, the idea of social dance terrified me. Yet, I needed more units and the only class available was the social dance class.

So, I spent three long months dancing waltz, tango, and fox trot, mostly stepping on my unfortunate partners’ feet.

Only one person volunteered to partner with me. She wore pretty red pumps. She became my girlfriend and then my wife.

Later I learned that her shoes were steel toed when she kicked me in the shin for cheating on her.

A Ray of Hope, by Sankar Chatterjee

28/7/2023

Jane’s flight from Phoenix was encircling over New York’s JFK-airport. She was escaping month long excessive heat along with water shortage, while visiting parents in the city. From news, it appeared the entire world was on fire, from Sicily in Italy to Siberia in Russia.

Soon, the plane began final descent. Jane looked outside the window. A smoky haze engulfed the city. It traveled all the way from the wildfire of pristine Nova Scotia, Canada.

At horizon, a thinly-veiled orange full moon began to rise, fronted by the glowing lamp of the Statue of Liberty, offering a message of hope.

The Roadmap, By Bud Pharo

28/7/2023

"You have a guardian angel—someone who passed away on a very significant day for you!" This sounded like some fortune-teller spiel aimed at convincing me she was legit. Then she told me something I’d never forget: "I see a roadmap with handwritten notes about places along the route."

It had to be Grandpop. While I was home on leave, we'd methodically planned this trip together. After I returned overseas, he died of a stroke on my 21st birthday.

"Oh, and there’s something else—he'd like you to complete the journey! He said he'd be with you all the way."

Eulogy to the Misunderstood, by Stephen Goodlad

28/7/2023

Editor's Choice

This reads like fiction until you understand that it's actually a wonderful tribute to a truly wonderful singer who overcame so much to give so much. Technically, it's therefore ineligible, but I haven't run FFF for ten years without being allowed to bend my own rules in exceptional situations.

If you've never heard Sinéad's famous cover of this Prince song, do not ignore – Editor.

What could anyone say? She was a force of nature, like a hurricane or wildfire, burning with the flame of injustice.

The Catholic treatment of children and single mothers and cover-up of sexual abuse. Women's reproductive rights, the fight for a united Ireland, the British treatment of peasant farming victims, and the famine never compensated.

All I remember was a near-constant sense of intellectual fatigue. I just wanted to hear her sing.

Thirty years later, I feel ashamed that she exposed what everyone ignored as the views of a heretic are better understood now it’s too late.

Also – there's a poem from Guy Fletcher which you should read here. But he was Editor's Choice last week!:)

Rhino, by Teddy Entwisle

28/7/2023

Go rhino, go! – Editor

Head down, concentrating only on his next mouthful of vegetation, a magnificent White Rhino grazed his way slowly across the landscape. He heard a distant jeep closing in, never good news, so the rhino headed into bushes close by.

The poachers stopped not sensing his presence. They sauntered past his bush nonchalantly so as to answer natures call. The rhinoceros, seeing them unarmed, moved between man and vehicle turning the tables on those nasty poachers.

The rhino scuffed his mighty paws scaring the earth, head down, horns pointed straight at them. He was fast, very fast. The hunters became hunted.

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"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

So that our judges can make their own minds up, we've switched the comments off until voting ends.

Friday Flash Fiction
Rules

Kinda obvious, really...

Fiction only
Stories of 75-100 words only
Don't be nasty or cheat
Include your name and a story title

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.

Recently, we've welcomed a lot of newcomers and found that even two batches doesn't cover them all. Wherever that happens, we'll simply be publishing 'as and when' during the course of the day.

Each week we pick a story or (occasionally) a poem as 'Editor's Choice'.
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Editor's Choice

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