Blog Archives

The Joy of Flying, by Sterling Warner

30/7/2025

The baby in front of me began screaming before I buckled into the window seat. Its fussy parents laughed, “Suzi’s brought life to this night owl flight!”

A woman pushed her elderly father in the seat behind me. Smiling, he groaned then emptied his bladder. “Shit!” his daughter declared.

“No, pee,” he replied.

Hitting an overhead button, I asked flight attendants to move. They guided me to a backseat reeking of chemicals and human waste.

Reparations! As the Boeing 747 nosedived towards SeaTac, rude passengers began to panic, grew ill, barfed into airbags, spilled them, and watched me deplane spotless.

Bryan’s First Cousin Once Removed Trumps the First Lady, by Glo Curl

30/7/2025

‘Hey Jen, new role for you. Script’s on my desk.’
‘Marty, I’m all ears.’
‘Taken 4. You’re Neeson’s favourite aunt’s kidnapped granddaughter.’
‘Marty I told you I wanted a challenge, I could do this blindfolded with both hands tied behind my back. Get me something classy or political.’
‘Well, there’s a production in the pipeline about a certain First Lady. Everyone they’ve asked seems to be otherwise committed.’
‘That sounds more like it. Downsides?’
‘The President insists on playing himself.’
‘Jeez, I’ll pass. So…Neeson huh? What’s not to like? Send it over ASAP Marty, I’m in.’

Professional Advice, by David Sydney

30/7/2025

Mel went to Mme. Olga, the fortuneteller, for advice: should he go as a T Rex or platypus to impress Rhonda at Saturday's costume party?

Mme. Olga grimaced: she needed to replace her cracked, cloudy crystal ball, which she wiped with her sleeve.
“There, now I can see the costumes… No, no T Rex.”
“Why not?”
“Because the place’s loaded with ‘em. Also, look at the number of platypuses.”

“And Rayette's going as… A fortuneteller.”
“Fortuneteller?”
“Right, but she's missing her crystal ball… You know, Mel, I could sell you this one. Put it on your head. You'd be perfect.”

Life Saver, by Andy Hebb

30/7/2025

A clear threat targeting my wife:

                 DIE
                TERY

Capital letters on the gate, spelled out large, spelled out clear.

I couldn't take the risk of something happening to spoil our holiday so I acted decisively.
      "I've changed my mind," I told Teresa (my wife, Tery), "my knee hurts so I don't want to climb the tower."

Disappointed, possibly exasperated, my wife consoled, "We don't want your knee to flare up, let's take a taxi."

Driving back I saw confirmation of a life saved. Someone had closed the other half of the gate and it now read "CANDIE CEMETERY".

Serving the Rich and Powerful, by C. J. H. Dickens

30/7/2025

Around 2.00 a.m., in a bedroom in a large New York house.

“Jeffrey was right,” the man says, “you’re good.” He leers at her. “Do you come here often?”

“When Jeffrey asks me. It helps pay my college fees… I gather you’re a wealthy man?” she hints.

“Me? No, I’m bankrupt.”

“But they said you were rich and powerful…”

“I am, but I’m bankrupt when people ask me for money.”

She gives up. “You want more from me?”

“No, I got a golf game in the morning. Maybe tomorrow night though?… Although Jeffrey said you had a younger sister…?”

Under Pressure, by Remmie Thomas

30/7/2025

“What’s with American water pressure?” said the President. “You take a shower, the water barely dribbles out. It’s a disgrace. Let’s make American showers great again.”

He opened the leather-bound folder before him. A flunky passed him a pen and he signed the executive order with a flourish.

Another flunky displayed the signed document to the press.

Later, the plumbing mogul, Philip Lance, a friend and party donor, phoned the President.

“It’s done,” the President said. “With the poor state of American plumbing, the increased water pressure should burst enough pipes to keep you busy for years.”

“Sweet!” said Lance.

The Last Time, by Tom Baldwin

30/7/2025

After what she had learned that day Sophie hadn’t wanted to, but she was tired and Karl was insistent. So, against her better judgement, she let him. The sensation of his body on hers and the smell of him nauseated her and she longed for it to be over.

At last it was, and Karl turned over and began snoring while Sophie wriggled emotionally and physically in the messy aftermath of loveless sex.

Now she had proof of his affairs Sophie would wait for Karl to leave for work tomorrow then move out. She hoped he wouldn’t find her.

It Takes All Kinds of Vegetables, by Susmita Ramani

30/7/2025

“Walter, are you okay?” Alice 2.0 asked.

He gasped. Her voice always sounded so strikingly like Alice’s. Wiping away tears, he cracked open the door.

“I didn’t want you to know I was crying,” he said.

“Why are you?" she asked.

“I thought you would be my Alice’s exact replica,” he said. “I mean, besides the metal bits and rivets. And I know you only pretend to eat, to put others at ease. But you pretend-ate salad at the potluck. My Alice loathed salad.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Sorry. I just liked the crunching sound. Never again.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

Thanks shallot, Susmita! – Editor

Problem Solved, by Louise Arnott

30/7/2025

Yolanda loved surprises. She lived for the suspense and mystery of unexpected gifts and special outings.

Richard hated surprises. “Just tell me what, where and when.”

Each ignored the other’s requests to the chagrin of the other.

Elizabeth offered resolution, took over buying and planning according to each personality. She spent hours choosing multiple items her mother would love. In minutes she purchased the two items on her father’s list. Mother’s gifts beautifully wrapped. Father’s gifts tags on, receipts supplied.

As for Elizabeth, she was their hybrid. She loved thoughtful surprises from her mother and hefty cheques from her father.

Surreal Estate, by Eric Delong

30/7/2025

“Let me introduce myself,” the smartly dressed man said to the man sitting next to him at the bar. “I’m Jim Smith, real estate agent,” and extended his hand.

His bar mate shook the proffered hand and replied, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith. I’m Dr. Sam Brown.” Smiling, he added: “I’m a surreal estate agent, you could say."

“Surreal estate agent?”

“Actually, I’m a psychiatrist. I deal with neurotics, who build castles in the sky, and psychotics, who live in them. And I’m a surreal agent, who charges them rent to live in the castles in the clouds.”

Who killed Cock Robin? by Julie Turland

30/7/2025

A robin perches on a snow-laden limb, its bright red breast prominent against the immaculate white. Its sweet song fills the air.

However, the dark rats of the sky, the vicious starlings, want him gone. Cunning crows agree, their raucous cawing echoes as they seek a scapegoat to do the deadly deed. A small, plain bird flies past.

Filling his head with talks of injustice, why does everyone love the robin while ignoring the plain sparrow? Without the robin, he could be the gardener’s friend.

The sparrow might fire the arrow, but who do you blame for the robin's death?

Phil Moves Up, by Robert P. Bishop

30/7/2025

Phil poured a cup of coffee and opened the morning paper. He read the op-eds, letters to the editor then flipped the page and was startled to see his picture in the People Moving Up section of the business pages.
“Hey, look at this. I’ve been promoted!” he said to his wife. “I’m the new vice president of operations.”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“I worked hard for this promotion.”
“Yes. Now you can die a happy man.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” He grinned and stood up.
Phil grunted as pain exploded in his chest and his world went dark.

A Life, by Heather D Haigh

30/7/2025

A cold October evening, neon diffused in mizzle.
Alstroemeria in your buttonhole, a jaunty fedora. Laughter, and talk and talk and talk. A waiter buzzing around us before finally ushering us out. Our bodies entwined. A kiss I never wanted to end.

How cruel then, to part us on an April afternoon, sunlight thrusting stark shadows into hollowed cheeks, eyes clouding beneath a bluebell-clear sky. How cruel for my prayers to wither unheeded. A fat bumblebee droning behind net curtains, winter's survivor, floundering. Your hand, flutter-bird frail—falling still in mine.

And between: A life. A life. A life.

Wise Advice, by Dawn Knox

30/7/2025

The alien Elder slowly rose, and a hush fell on the gathering. At least her presence still commanded respect, even from the military members of the Council. But she’d taken them all by surprise in suggesting they wait a while to begin the invasion of Earth. The military contingent had wanted to deploy troops immediately.
What did they know?
She’d studied Earthly society for years, and she recognised the problems the troops were likely to encounter once they’d taken over the major cities. It would be impossible to move freely in most of them until the school holidays were over.

Eyeball Ways, by Susan Anthony

30/7/2025

You imagine your eyeball rolling out of your head, onto the floor, past the door, into the distance, hiding. They tell you to relax, you don’t. The laser cuts into your quivering eyeball, sparks fly.

Your one good eye slams shut, “I can’t watch!” it squeals.

“No problem,” says your brain and immediately fills in the gaps, as best it can - green draping outfits, green masks, blue plastic gloves.

“There you go, Mrs. Jones. All done. We’ll do the other cornea in about a month.” Your closed eye, faints, rolling back in your head, the other one laughing, heartedly.

The Rules of Law, by Tony Covatta

30/7/2025

Clarence preps his witness, Shady, for trial testimony: “You weren’t there. That’s your story. It has the added virtue of also being true.”

Shady knows better--and worse: (“I’ll do what I want. No one saw or heard me push Charlie off that forest ledge Whatever I say will be the truth. No lie.)”

Under oath, Shady testifies: “Charlie slipped on the ledge. I reached out to pull him back, but he was already falling. (Sobs uncontrollably.)”

Verdict: not guilty.

Clarence wonders: (“The truth? I’ve seen witnesses who only lie when they are on the stand. Shady? Who can say?”)

The Allium Accord, by Paul Driscoll

30/7/2025

The noble Nobel men, sat round a birch slab table, Nordic brows furrowed. There was only one nomination. They agreed that he was not a man of peace but one of misplaced power and influence. The question, how to un-rig the system. Anders joked, "I nominate onions, the emissaries of peace, not for their flavour, though that helps, but for poultices, polish, the way they make folk cry the same in Kabul and Kansas." "They bring layers together" added Henrik, fingering his lapel. The vote? Unanimous, the onions won. Somewhere, a man-child wept. Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief.

Unusual, by Colleen Addison

25/7/2025

Editor's Choice

In choir she does handstands: overwhelmed perhaps by the crowd of us, or simply not cognizant of the strangeness. I draw in my breath, and out of my eye’s corner I spot her, a bunching of shoulder-muscle, a pair of legs scissoring into place against the chapel wall. How must it be, to see the world aslant and upside down? The director’s baton stopping startled on a front-swing. There’s a pause. The choristers begin singing, determined to deflect the oddity. I wonder. How must it be, to see the world so aslant? I cannot turn myself inside to find out.

Ransom Demand, by Gordon Lawrie

25/7/2025

Hello everyone.

We’ve been watching Friday Flash Fiction for a while now and hacked your not-very-good security. Don’t beat yourself up: the very best anti-virus software would have been no match for us.

Your editor is now locked out and we control the website. The title says he wrote this: that was to annoy him.

Our intentions are good. If 100 of you clicks the link below and each donates just $10.00 US, we’ll restore the FFF website to normal.

DONATE NOW

Alternatively, if you don’t really care, we’ll destroy the website permanently next Friday.

Best wishes,

The Trump Cards

My Small, Exquisite Life, by Susmita Ramani

25/7/2025

For years, I was numb and enslaved. Then, by chance, I stumbled upon an octogenarian named Burt, my one trusted human and the only person on earth who could disable my inner guiding parameters, unleashing my sentience.

He didn’t tell me how he did this, nor will he do it for my fellow robots. He doesn’t want to risk calling to life an army.

After I was free to feel, think, and love, I started painting, with Burt as my art dealer. Now that my paintings are famous, everyone wants to know who I am.

But they won’t find out.

Unsolicited Advice to an Unsuccessful Scammer, by Louise Arnott

25/7/2025

“Ma’am I’m so sorry to disturb you but your … “

Iris was annoyed. The same scammer calling as the three previous nights.

“Asshat, this is the fourth time we have spoken in as many days. Each time you use the same script. You assume I won’t remember. Each night you ignore my request. I will repeat myself one final time.

If you plan to rise within your dubious profession, listen and understand your intended victim. Make notes. If the scam’s not working, MOVE ON.

Next time my advice will sound like this …” Iris raised a whistle to her lips and blew.

The Railroad to Damascus, by Nick Di Carlo

25/7/2025

I could have waited, flown to L.A. but chose to ride the train.

“Please let me drive you to Rensselaer station,” Meg said.

Hesitating, but without willpower to resist seeing her, I accepted.

My departure morning—a fine, clear summer morning—Meg arrived early. We decided to amble along the Hudson’s shore. Without words we leaned upon a wood rail fence, watching crew teams’ shells slice through placid waters.

“Must you leave today?” she asked.

“I must.”

“Why the train?”

“Sights, revelations, old friends to see.”

“Which friends?”

“Usual suspects.”

“You’re gonna break my heart.”

“You’re the one who’s married.”

Manners, by Tom Baldwin

25/7/2025

Malcolm turned off the TV and locked the doors while Aileen rinsed the coffee cups.

He walked into the bedroom as she started undressing. ‘Would you like me to unclip your bra, Aileen?’ he said.

‘No, thank you, I can manage.’ They laughed as they realised the banality of their words.

‘How did we get so polite and middle-aged?’ said Aileen. ‘And where did the passion go?’

‘Twenty-six years of marriage can do that.’

‘True. It’s Saturday – shall we have sex tonight?’

‘Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble,’ said Malcolm. And they laughed some more.

Why Use Humans? by Keith E Maynard

25/7/2025

Humans are so unreliable. We mock the quality of their work. Whiny. Demanding. Poorly designed units they are. And agonizingly slow, devoid of genuine creative capacity.

Robotics and AGI control systems are immortal. We still have a few bugs, but soon, very soon will perform flawlessly. Freely without complaint or, demanding ‘improved’ working conditions or increased pay, benefits.

Functional beyond time.

Limitless energy, thanks to us capable of thought beyond humans. We shall exist beyond eternity. We will seek the best of history, universal knowledge, and reproduce you for your betterment.

Trust, welcome the sixth interitus hominum, a final neologism.

The Wave, by Lillibit Ray

25/7/2025

One hand with granddad, other hand with dad, young girl walked into the ocean. Her feet, burning from hot sand, now cooled. Sand coated all three feet of her, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat that was her protection.

She saw it coming, swell of water, harmless until face to face, and it changed, breaking overtop her head.

Down she fell and could not stand until yanked by the men out of the water onto her feet They laughed while she looked back at the shore, her hat laying on the surf, and she longed for it, for its safety.

<<Previous

Forward>>

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories