Blog Archives

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, by Ann-Louise Truschel

30/8/2016

“I want a bench trial.”

“Allen, you’re accused of killing your wife. With a jury trial, the prosecution has to convince 12 people you’re guilty. With bench trials, one person decides – the judge.”

“Bench trial! No argument!”

The defense reluctantly agrees, and Allen Grey appears before Judge Laura Peabody on a first degree murder charge.

The trial lasts three weeks, and Judge Peabody renders her decision four days later.

“Not guilty!”

“I want to thank the judge personally,” as Allen walks down the court hallway.

In the judge’s chambers, Allen takes her in his arms and whispers, “Thank you, Darling.”

Lovers' Manqué, by Eric Smith

30/8/2016

“Hiya, Frenchie. Coffee please.”

“There you go, Oscar. What’s new?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.”

“Huh?”

“You know, you wonder at night if your eyes will open the next morning. Know what I mean?”

“Why would I wonder something stupid like that?”

“We aren’t getting any younger, Frenchie. It’s like maybe God is following us around getting ready to tap us on the shoulder. You know?”

“Speak for yourself, Oscar. If I felt that way, I wouldn’t bother getting up at all. I figure you and I still have some things left to do.”

“Like what?”

“You have to ask?”

The Devil Loves Karaoke, by James Blevins

29/8/2016

The Devil licks its fingers clean from the breaking of hearts. Fingers wiped on the walls of a karaoke bar.
The bar top is wet, but not from what you think.
She looked me up and down. Her hair was black like a nest of shadows all tangled together. She picked up my beer by its neck and finished it.
The gore in my legs twisted. I stared into her eyes—black as a dying star.
We left together.
The Devil sang “Total Eclipse of the Heart” in the background.
The floor was slippery, but not from what you think.

Tissues, by Israela Margalit

29/8/2016

He lied. I cried. I had no tissues in my bag. A man handed me his handkerchief. I wiped away my tears. He smiled. I married him. We were happy. He bought a car. I bought tissues. He lied. I cried. I wiped away my tears and kicked him out.

Lucy, by Bethany van Sterling

29/8/2016

A rustle in the grass diverted Lucy from the carcass remnants in her palm. Hunched over, she looked behind her, transfixed by an enigmatic set of eyes in the distance. It was now or never; she was alone. Lucy hobbled forward, propelling herself with her lofty arms, the blades of grass crunching beneath each limb. She saw the hefty trunk up ahead, its branches saluting her to offer refuge. For the first time, she elevated herself with her mighty fists, the bright sky gravitating her shoulders to an unforeseen stateliness. Lucy ran, letting her two brawny legs lead the way.

The Disappearance, by Russell Conover

29/8/2016

“Sheesh--where’d everybody GO?”
“No idea. They used to be here every week, but now? Nothing.”
“Well, I heard that Tom decided to explore Pluto.”
“Wow. Exciting! That must be scary.”
“Yeah, but he’s a brave guy.”
“Oh, yeah. Jill decided to write full-time.”
“Perfect for our group!”
“Except she stays in her writing Bat-cave 24/7. That can’t be healthy.”
“And I think Roy is off battling vicious sea creatures.”
“Man this is great material for Friday Flash Fiction, isn’t it?”
“Especially when it’s all based on fact!”
“I miss our longtime writing friends. I hope they come back soon.”

Master Wu, by Bobby Warner

28/8/2016

There is Master Wu. He looks very angry and very tired this morning. I heard noises last night. I think his wife is giving him much trouble. Much trouble. She is a big woman, and sometimes she chases Master Wu with a broom. I cannot imagine anyone else doing something like that to Master Wu. He would not stand for it. He would punish them ruthlessly, I think. Even the village police do not bother Master Wu. After all, most of them were his students when younger, and he still acts like everyone’s teacher. Except for his wife, of course.

Sally Tompkins And The Daily Scum, by Gordon Lawrie

27/8/2016

Sally Tompkins discovered about the vagaries of journalism the hard way. For years, the Daily Scum had encouraged her to write tastelessly offensive copy that stupid readers would pay equally stupid money to read. Recently, she’d outraged everyone by conducting an Twitter survey inviting readers to nominate ‘people fat enough to cause earthquakes’.

Next day, her editor announced that her column would cease henceforth.

“What’ll I do for a job?” Tompkins wailed.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sally. We’re conducting a readers’ poll – they can choose how we kill you.”

Ten days later, Tompkins was slowly disembowelled live online. Readers loved it.

If this means nothing to you, here's a link to 'Katie Hopkins':

http://www.express.co.uk/news/uk/703759/Police-report-Katie-Hopkins-Twitter-over-her-poll-about-Camber-Sands-deaths

Thelma’s Wondering About, by Donal Mahoney

27/8/2016

Phone rings. Wilbur answers it.

“This is Grace. Is Thelma there?”

“No,” says Wilbur. “She’s out wondering about.”

“You mean wandering about?”

‘No, she used to wander about. Now she wonders about. If you see her, bring her home.”

“I understand, Wilbur. But if she comes home, tell her I can help her with that quilt.”

“I’ll tell her,” says Wilbur. “And by the way, I’m no youngster myself. One of these days you might see both of us wondering about. If you do, take us home.”

“I’ll do that,” says Grace.

Party Prep, by Russell Conover

27/8/2016

Andrew was preparing for the big party. “What will I wear?” he moaned. He went into his closet and tried on a casual and colorful ensemble. Putting out his hands, he modeled for his pet frog. No response.

Sighing, Andrew decided for a change. He restyled his long hair, put on a dress and makeup, and said to his pet, “Meet Andrea--the party queen!”

The frog let out multiple ribbits. Delighted, Andrea dashed out the door.

The frog shook its head. “I wish he knew I said he looks ridiculous,” it said aloud. “But, who’d believe a talking frog?

Uncle Sam's Grill On The Hill, by Steve Lucas

26/8/2016

‘You can do it!’ my kid brother Mikey shouted through the sliding doors.
But I couldn’t. Angelina moved like a panther in denim. She stepped over me and ordered a burger. My emaciated legs had collapsed. Five metres was still too much. Burger in hand, she walked outside, sat down and began to roll away. Mikey opened his mouth, took a step forward and lost his paper hat to the wind.
‘My wheelchair!’ I cried.
Without looking, Angelina extended her middle finger at me. That was the moment I fell in love with her.
It was the best birthday ever.

Council Of War On Proxima Centauri B, by Gordon Lawrie

26/8/2016

Somewhere in there, circled in red, is Proxima Centauri B (Picture: Wikipedia)

In the week that astronomers announced that they'd found a nearby planet that might support life...

The toilet roll, the lightbulb, the bottle, and the sock each sat motionless facing their commanding pencil, Djium.

“Here we go again,” the latter sighed. He signalled to the bottle. “Report, please Boanz.”

“It’s life, Djium, but not as we know it. They’re pink and brown blobs of blubber with calcium inserts.” Everyone laughed uproariously. “But they’re just like all the rest. They think they’ve just discovered new life here.”

“And they must be dealt with! We rule the universe!” chorused everyone. “Exterminate!”

And so it came to pass: the Earth was obliterated by a giant golf ball. Titleist 3.

At Least You Made It, by Ian Fletcher

23/8/2016

They clamber out of the Humvee, back from the gas run with full cans.
Thank God she’s safe!
She rushes towards me.
“We were ambushed. They were all around us. They got Jack,” she says.
“Well at least you made it,” I say, raising her arm to look at the cut under her torn sleeve.
In the stress and panic she hasn’t noticed it.
“I must have…”
Her voice tapers off.
Our eyes meet.
“Oh, David.”
“Mary.”
I watch her tears fall then cease as her pupils turn yellow and her face goes ghastly gray.
I reach for my pistol.

Judith, Heroic Temptress, by Marlene Goldberg

23/8/2016

Judith, sultry temptress, stole into enemy soldiers' tents, servicing them at night. And then returned home. Thereby she developed their trust and was allowed to come and go as she pleased.
One evening, as the commander lay in his tent, lulled into a snoring, deep sleep, Judith drew his sword and chopped off his head. Hiding it beneath her robe, she walked out of the camp.
The battle the following day was won by the Israelites. The enemy forced into retreat.
The severed head was buried separately.

Zilpah The Invisible Mother, by Marlene Goldberg

23/8/2016

Four mothers. Matriarchs.
I gave birth to Jacob's sons, their names were given by my mistress.
But destiny's mine. Rachel's buried in Bethlehem, Leah in Machpella Cave.
Reuben, Leah's son, cohabited with my sister, Bilha.
So now I'm Jacob's wife. Disappearing at night, my ebony skin enveloped by darkness, I lay, my black curls still wet from immersion in the Mikveh, waiting for Jacob, my husband.
Dawn. One bird chirps. Jacob has left for prayer. More birds sing. I don't.
The baby suckles at my breast. I wipe away my tear from her cheek.
Jacob returns. We eat in silence.

Doesnotexistentialism, by Gordon Lawrie

21/8/2016

His new discovery caused Eric-Gordon Sârtre to breathe heavily: this, then, was doesnotexistentialism. He defined it thus: that which has value only when it cannot be seen; the verbal equivalent of anti-matter.

New questions now arose. Could verbal anti-matter created by the Large LinkedIn Collider be stored? Could its mass be calculated? Could visible versions be created?

Excitedly, he fed sentences into his laptop, followed by some previously-memorised verbal anti-sentences. The result was astounding. Sentence and anti-sentence collided with devastating power, the laptop exploded and the great man himself vaporised.

Accordingly, the concept of doesnotexistentialism remains undiscovered to this day.

The Decline, by Russell Conover

20/8/2016

The cooking club had been vibrant and entertaining, until members stopped attending. Before, thirty-plus people were often there, but now it was just five or six on a good night.

“Wonder where everyone is?” Sue pondered.

“Maybe all this rain keeps them away,” Ron suggested.

Hmm. That was a thought. It had rained every day for weeks, and travel was difficult.

“Perhaps,” Sue responded. “But, who wouldn’t want to join in the fun every week?”

She turned all stove burners to HIGH, like every meeting, illustrating her specialty of flambé to the max. Ron grabbed the fire extinguisher again, sighing.

The Gunslinger, by Emma Baird

20/8/2016

"How quickly can you write?" they asked, and she responded without thinking.

"Very. I'm like a gunslinger of old with my pen."

She paused. "Well, my keyboard. Oh you know what I mean!"

They looked uncertain. The muddled metaphors did not bode well.

“What do you need?”

“Well, we have client who requires an autobiography urgently.”

“A reality TV star?”

“Mmm. You could say that. The client is actually a… cat.”

She was silenced briefly.

“No problem. At least I won’t need to run everything past him.”

The team shook heads. “Actually, Alice’s cat is very particular. Tread carefully.”

Consternation, by Amy Friedman

19/8/2016

Marnie sank down in her seat. Lou was a blitherfest roll. No way to become less visible: this was a one-to-one meeting.

Focus, Marnie said to herself. Focus. Finally, she was able to grasp a thread of the word torrent. Her eyes widened.

“I’m fired?” she said.

“Of course!” said Lou, widening her eyes. “You are the very best downsizer, but we’re now rightsized. For the first time, mind you. And aren’t you entertaining several offers?”

“Why not fire Jen?” Marnie ventured. “You’ve wanted to.”

Lou rose, smiling. “Thank you for your service,” she said, extending a steaming red claw.

Reincarnation, by Ann-Louise Truschel

19/8/2016

“Harold, you’ve always been an evil person. Your lies, your cheating, and your deceitful actions have caused so much harm to others. There is no one to vouch for you.”

“I’m sorry for all the terrible things I’ve done. How can I atone?”

“You’ll be reincarnated as a lowly life form. If you redeem yourself in this next life, then you can be reborn as a respected human being. There’s no choice.”

“I’m ready to hear my punishment.”

“Read the verdict!”

“NOOOOO!!!!!! Anything but that. PLEASE!! ANYTHING!!!

“The decision is final. You will be reincarnated as Donald Trump’s campaign manager.”

Olympic Gold, by Gordon Lawrie

19/8/2016

The stadium noise was deafening. Marching towards the podium, he reflected on the path that his life had taken, how it had come to this. He grasped his flag proudly, waving at the distant faces in the crowd.

First, the bronze medallist stepped up, received his medal and flowers, then the silver medallist. Finally, it was his turn, highest of all, top of the world, gold medal. He waved all around.

As the anthem played, he wondered if he’d ever had a choice. No matter, he would enjoy the moment. The result of the drugs test wouldn’t show until tomorrow.

Family, by Ann-Louise Truschel

19/8/2016

“Thank you for identifying your sister’s body, Mrs. Cook. I know it was hard.”

“Who killed Sharon, Lieutenant?”

“We’re looking into her associates. There was a warrant for her arrest for drug dealing. If we’d found her, she’d have gone back to prison. We’ll contact you when we find something.”

Linda went home, packed, and immediately left for Mexico.

Back at the station, Sharon’s brother Nathan waits in the Lieutenant’s office.

“I’ve come to ID Sharon Lester’s body.”

“Your sister Linda did that.”

“I don’t know any Linda.”

“Here she is on video.”

Nathan laughed. “You got snookered. That’s Sharon.”

Death In The Snow, by Ian Fletcher

16/8/2016

The Katyushas, Stalin’s organs, have played their merry music since dawn. Müller has been blown to bits. Hans cannot hear them now, for he stands stiff at the sentry post. The engines of the panzers have frozen too. There can be no advance, no retreat. Otto and Carl crouch in our foxhole, the enemy in their rifles’ sights. From the snowy wastes a human wave of white-clad Siberians roars behind a vanguard of T-34s to end our dreams at the very gates of Moscow. This tide will sweep us all away, and our Aryan blood will drain into the steppe.

Beating The System, by Eric Smith

16/8/2016

June never got used to the noise—steel doors clanging and constant drama—unhappiness and anger expressed by a slowly revolving door of strangers. She sought no details about their misery. She did accept her prognosis, as vague as it was—the doc gave her less than six months. So she’d never serve her fifteen years or any sizeable chunk of it. A guard told her she was lucky to beat the justice system. Thanks—she wouldn’t have to process out bitter, white-haired, used up, no prospects. Since she was serving someone else’s time, how better to do it.

On Top, by Simon Hole

14/8/2016

I lost track of how many times I tried to convince her to get help, tried to tell her that she wasn’t invincible, that it would catch up with her sooner or later.

She’d never listen, just laugh and tap me on the nose. “Don’t be such a worry wart,” she’d say. “I’m fine. You know I always come out on top.”

Damn her. So now I’m standing in this stupid black suit in this stupid line listening to ‘sorry for your loss’ over and over and over.

Sure, sis, you’ll always come out on top. Except when you don’t.

<<Previous

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

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'.
It's a personal favourite, no more. Do you agree?

Editor's Choice

We have a FACEBOOK PAGE where regular contributors can share ideas and discuss stories. Why not join in?

We occasionally send out little newsletters running competitions – and subscribers are also our voting panel. If you'd like to join us, please click the Subscribe to newsletter button below.

Subscribe to Newsletter

No spam, we promise!

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories