Blog Archives

A Sweet Strategy, by Katie Wright

26/7/2024

A forlorn slender-faced girl is hurried along by her frustrated father. She sobs into her government sanctioned sugar-free jelly worms. The new sugar rations are supposed to tackle rising obesity.

Metres away, behind closed doors, illicit colourful gum drops, cherry lips and cola bottles, devoured openly among loud jowly chatter, inflated bellies and entitled cackles.

The Health Secretary has overindulged. The sugar rush is too much today. He stumbles to a back exit. Door flung. Vomit flies.

Newspapers for recycling catch his puffy eyes. All bent up. Thick black vomit-splattered ink reads: A SWEET STRATEGY: SUGAR RESTRICTIONS ARE A SUCCESS!

Clarity, by Scott C. Holstad

26/7/2024

It took one time for Jordan to see reality.

She’d been nodding off frequently, uncontrollably, but knew it was just temporary. Except that it’d been happening when driving, twice nearly wrecking.

Now the unthinkable – stopped on train tracks during an episode. Startled by the train’s blasts, she watched as it bore down, trapped. Impact made her pee herself amidst twisted wreckage, but looking up, she saw the car was fine. It was actually two feet from the tracks – she’d never been on them!

Jordan was gifted a new perspective and things had changed. Taxis would become her new best friends.

Loose Change, by Anne Webb

26/7/2024

I hate it when I put clothes in the dryer and stowaway change, a quarter or dime or maybe a penny, though it could be a nickel too, slips out of our pockets at the first rotation and relentlessly pounds the metal drum and when I open the dryer door I have to throw the still-wet clothes on the floor — your brand new jeans tangled with my not-new sweatpants — to retrieve the shiny pounding noise-makers all because I don’t want to know what I’ll find in your pockets ahead of time.

I have trouble breathing.

The Lullaby, by Angela Carlton

26/7/2024

She sits in the rain, watching it fall in sheets, on a park bench in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t matter where, no, her world flipped.

She lets the rain roll off her face, trickling down-down to her chest. Her blouse is drenched. Still she begins to hum, hum-hum. It's the glorious lullaby her mother sang to her as a kid, a time when her mother was in-tune, of sound mind. It’s a song about the pearly moon, and the beauty of all the endless stars.

It’s the song she sang to her mother, before they took her away.

A Walk in the Sun, by Bill Cox

26/7/2024

From home, I walk the half-mile to the old Quarry, abandoned some five years ago now. I could drive, but it’s a nice walk, past the drooping lilac heads of the Budlea and the berry-full Raspberry bushes.

I arrive at the pond, formed from one of the old Quarry pits and unpack my rucksack. It’s torso day today – the limbs all went in last week.

I sip on a flask of tea and watch the weighted bag sink below the water. A Song Thrush sings nearby, a joyous melody.

Bit by bit, I’m getting her out of my life.

Transported, by Rebekah Lawrence

26/7/2024

We stop again; I look out the window. Sheep, hills, and more sheep. No station in sight. I assume we are waiting for another train to pass, but the only thing that passes is time. No announcements, no staff to ask what is happening. Just silent tracks, and sheep, and hills.

Apparently time flies past when you’re the driver of a train. But I’m just a passenger, so that obviously doesn’t apply.

I look around. Strangers smile uneasily at each other when eyes meet, but never exchange words.

Returning to my book, I continue my journey. Who needs a train?

The Progress We Made, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/7/2024

Professor Dunn of Harvard entered the renowned museum of a nearby picturesque town. In one gallery he faced a stunning painting, depicting a little black girl being escorted by four white policemen to her school. The graffiti “Nigger” on the wall could be seen as well as the tomato thrown toward her.

Professor remembered the event from the civil rights era. Little Ruby Bridges was the first black child, admitted to an all-white school, just desegregated. Defying white-mob violence, she attended daily.

Professor’s smartphone pinged. A black woman just announced her candidacy to be the next President of the nation.

Civilization, by Cheryl Snell

26/7/2024

They’re setting up a circus outside the restaurant where we go to talk things out. Tethered to a steel stake is a baby elephant. Children taunt him, and run away. A tear is trickling down the side of his face, and I look first at one long-lashed eye, then at the other. How to comfort a weeping baby? We circle him the way his family must have when the humans came with rifles. We protect him the way we should have protected one another. When the baby hugs me with his trunk, I pull you with me into his embrace.

The Clincher, by David Lowis

26/7/2024

It wasn't the reason she decided to leave him – at least not the sole reason – but it was the moment.

They were on their way to his sister's thirtieth birthday weekend (something she hadn't been looking forward to). She was at the wheel as he'd had 'a few drinks with the lads' the night before. He'd bought a burrito at a service station to ease his hangover.

Back on the road, snorting and slurping drew her eyes to his masticating mouth. Burrito juices seeped onto his bristled chin and dripped onto his T-shirt. That was it. The moment. The clincher.

Sleight of Hand, by Sandra James

26/7/2024

Victor thinks of everything. Looks after me just like my father did. Organises all my banking and bills. And, last week, he took out a huge insurance policy. ‘Just in case,’ he said. ‘To make sure the kids are okay.’ We don’t have kids yet but with rose petals strewn on the bed, candles and soft music, I know he has plans for that, too.

He pours me a glass of my favourite wine. I sip, I cough. He smirks. I laugh… as he falls to the ground.

Dad was a master magician.

I switched the glasses.

Daydream Paddlers, by Laura Turner

26/7/2024

Gordon's Choice

Our destination: the small island with its boulder jump-off.

We shove off from the beach. The start is rocky, we tack between waves. They slap against the red canoe. “Mush!” You laugh and steer our vessel, push starboard, and it rights our course.

I am in front like an Olympian – mushing. Soon, we slice through currents heading due west, our haven comes into view. We move into the cove, drag our vessel over rocks.

“Any motorboats?” You scale up, hands cupped over eyebrows, and peer about.

“All clear!” We climb higher, shed our clothes, hold hands, and plunge.

Nobody's Fool, by Dawn Knox

26/7/2024

Lisa's Choice

Once upon a time, children respected their elders – and the tooth fairy.
But not nowadays.
Brunhilda shook her head in dismay, mouth pursed in displeasure.
Here was another boy who thought he’d get something for nothing.
As if anyone would mistake a single white Lego brick for a tooth, even in the dark.
Let young Peter have his laugh. She dropped the brick into her tooth pocket and, pulling out her purse, she peeled off two five-pound notes.
Never let it be said a tooth fairy didn’t pay the going rate.
One Lego brick for ten pounds of Monopoly money.

Hereafter, by Sugga Vanish

26/7/2024

Soil turned, enclosing the last thumbed creature on Earth.

Within the warrens, corpses rot for sunrise to raise the next species’ reign. Evolved, free from boundaries, skin that never limits, just anchors your soul for nights of soundless slumber.

They’ve won, unfettered by frail human conditions: no more addictions, what’s jealousy? Forget syndromes of imposter to dusted disorders of personalities.

The opposable thumb a primitive design now, bested by the newest protruding tail jutting out the spine, all the rage in New Earth. Wait when it’s common knowledge the fossils used to grasp things with their thumbs…huzzah! And walked upright?

Delivery Day, by Sue Clayton

26/7/2024

“Blue, brown or green eyes? What do you think.”

“We’ll know soon enough, Elise.”

I’m so excited, and scared. Our lives are about to change.

“I’d like a boy.” Dermot muses.

“We’ll love it whatever it is,” I sprout the age old cliché.

Delivery day arrives. Our nerves are taut as violins’ strings.

Dermot got his wish. Our boy’s adorable. I’m already beguiled by deep brown eyes.

We fasten him into the back seat of the car ready for home.

Toby drools Labrador rescue kisses as the Battersea Dogs’ Home disappears into the distance.

Courtly Love, by Alan Moskowitz

26/7/2024

I explained to the Judge that I was hard of hearing but since I didn’t have a doctor’s note he named me juror number twelve on a murder trial. I fumed with annoyance until I saw the defendant.
Accused of stabbing her lover, she covertly stared at me the whole trial! The seductive movement of her sensuous lips signaled future delights.
I hung the jury.
Alone together, I told her how, though unsaid, I knew what she had been telling me. “You mean, ‘you’re next’?” Exactly! The swish of the knife told me how wrong I’d been.

Hair Do's, by Lynn Kristine Thorsen

26/7/2024

From the moment I was born, my hair was the bane of my mother’s existence.

It was red and curly and wild. She tried to tame it. She pulled and tussled with my tangles. There were braids and straighteners. Curlers that I wore to bed, smelly hair gels that left it sticky.

Cut short, left long always, “Why can’t you do something nice with your hair, like your sister?"

So, it came as quite surprise when she whispered to me after my third chemo treatment that she’d always loved my hair.

An Apple a Day, by Fergus Reid

26/7/2024

"Sit down, Mr. Jones,” said the doctor.

I looked around. Small desk, shelves, computer and two chairs. I took a seat at the desk. The doctor coughed, then sat across from me.

“This is bad news, isn’t it?” I said, looking up from the journalism on-screen.

“I’m really sorry Mr. Jones,” said the doctor. “There’s no easy way to tell you this.”

“It’s okay doctor,” I said, picking up a bitter pill and swallowing it. “I can take it.”

“Okay, Mr. Jones,” said the doctor. “The thing is, you see... I’ve been sleeping with your wife.”

The Greeting Counts, by Brian Mackinney

26/7/2024

You could tell when she opened the door with a smile that this consultation would be different.

Mary was dreading the visit to Margie, the surgical therapist. Her manner was awful. Any little difficulty proved too wearisome to solve leaving Mary’s patience tested. When the consultation was completed Mary had to wait weeks for the prosthesis as Margie dithered with the order.

As soon as she entered the room Mary warmed to Colette’s easy manner as she took great care with the measurements and had many samples to choose from. Mary felt pampered and cared for. As it should be.

A Dog's Life, by Jennifer Duncan

26/7/2024

From the time he was a young puppy, Marshall was in training. Marshall had to obey his owner: no chasing cats, no jumping on people. He always came when called. His owner gave him fun things to do: searching for objects, playing frisbee, navigating obstacle courses.

From the time she was a young puppy, Molly did whatever she wanted. She chewed shoes, pulled on the leash and never came when called. Her behaviour meant she rarely played with other people or dogs.

One day Marshall found a lost child.
One day Molly ran into the street as a car came.

The Final Sleep, by Sivan Pillai

26/7/2024

A full moon shone from a cloudless sky. A gentle breeze blew, taking care not to disturb the sleeping creatures. The silence took him past his house, reminding him of the years spent with his late wife.
He was to shift to the old age home in the morning. Knowing his adamant nature, his sons hadn't tried too hard to change his decision.
The familiar scent told him his wife was nearby. Then he saw her, all smiles, beckoning from behind a tree.
He felt her hands gently stroking his head in her lap.
He never woke up.

At the Olympics, by Gordon Lawrie

26/7/2024

Olympic Games, Paris, 2024.

As at every Games, all sorts of new(ish) sports feature: breakdancing, skateboarding, surfing, kayak cross, artistic swimming and flash fiction.

The flash fiction events range from the 2500-word marathon to the crowd-pleasing team relay. But the blue riband event is the 100-word sprint. Judging is tough. A missed comma or apostrophe – or inaccurate capitalisation or wordcount – means instant disqualification.

The overwhelming gold medal favourite is the veteran World Champion storyteller. Audiences crave his work, chant his name.

But on the eve of the Games, he’s sensationally sent home for cheating: it’s revealed he’s a politician.

Tantrum, by Anne Georg

26/7/2024

The father, behind a whirring Super 8 camera, directs his children to dash into the dining room. Dickie, smallest and only boy, is elbowed out of the coveted starring role (fake answering the phone) by his two sisters. Again.
“My turn!” Dickie howls, flings himself onto the hardwood floor, air-kicks sturdy-sandalled feet, gnashes his fist, wool sweater perspiring lamb musk under spotlight’s saturated glare. His father filming, laughing; sisters snickering.
Mid-kick—jolted by their mockery—Dickie rises. Puffs out his chest. Casts an evil eye as he strides off the set.
“Now that’s star material!” His father shouts. “Take two!”

Princess Leah, by K.G. Song

26/7/2024

Matt rehearsed the line incessantly, but no matter how many times he repeated it, his anxiety and panic remained undiminished.

He met Joan while they camped overnight on Hollywood Blvd. for the premiere of "The Empire Strikes Back".

Her charming smile and quick wit immediately led to a brief, passionate romance that ended when Joan abruptly disappeared without a word.

Recently, Matt received a letter from Joan about his daughter.

Standing at the door of a modest house, he knocked gently. A pretty, petite woman opened the door ajar.

Matt whispered haltingly. "Leah, I'm your father."

The door slammed shut.

Life Dreams, by Allison Symes

26/7/2024

Penelope selected life dreams nightly - now, past, future.

She’d fled her planet.

Becoming a librarian had perks including exceedingly good cakes.

What Penelope wanted most was dreamless sleep, but her kind needed dreams to communicate. Her old world would catch up sometime. Then…

She’d dream of many books to muddle signals. Last night she’d dreamed about Dracula. Tonight she’d dream about Pride and Prejudice, thanks to recommendations by many of the library’s lady visitors.

There was safety in numbers. Oh yes. She must watch the adaptation of Jane Austen’s finest where Mr Darcy went shirtless.

That should help too.

Moving On, by K. P. S. Plaha

26/7/2024

Grandma kind of sprung it on us, and we laughed so hard, it should be tagged #ROFL.

We had returned after laying Grandpa to rest among the bush and the earth he so loved to commune with, and Grandma was reminiscing about their five decades worth of journey with moist eyes.

We got a glimpse into the man; the husband, the father, the soldier, and friend. A life lived with gusto, and zero regrets.

“So what now, Grandma?” someone asked.

She replied like a catapult snap:
“I am getting a bloody electric blanket first! He never let me buy one.”

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"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

Friday Flash Fiction
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