Blog Archives

The Climate Change, by Sankar Chatterjee

26/8/2022

(Photo credit: Sinjinee Chatterjee)

It had been a more than a month now, the temperature hovering around 45-50oC. Summer heat had descended earlier than previous years, confirming global climate change. Ms. Rumi Singh, on a business trip, was driving from Jaipur to Udaipur in India’s Rajasthan state. Outside, the landscape appeared more like the radiating surface of a mysterious distant planet.

Near the end of her journey, the sun was already getting ready to retire for the day. In the distant she observed a stubborn farmer working on his land, near a similar stubborn local plant. She suddenly remembered it was “World’s Hunger Day.”

Mountain, by Janice Siderius

26/8/2022

Eons ago I was born in a cauldron of lava and steam. When I cooled off, tectonic plates shifted, lifting me upward thousands of feet. The ages passed and I was molded by rain, wind and cold. Eventually I was dressed in vegetation and scarred by rivers. My face has developed wrinkles and I have shrunk. Through the geological ages I have looked down upon a parade of flora, sea creatures, and mammals.

Modern man sends in his bulldozers, cuts down my trees, and mines my ores. Despite this, I will be here long after they have gone.

Meeting Up, by Brian Mackinney

26/8/2022

“How are you mate? Are you keeping alright? You look alright. You look really well.

The road’s busy again today. Look at all that traffic. Day after day. It’s the road works init.

How’s the missus? Is she well? How’s she keeping?

Have you been on holiday? Are you going on holiday?

I haven’t got a passport. I’m going nowhere. I was born in England. I’m staying in England.

I’ve never flown in my life. Never been in a plane. It’s a… it sends me a bit.. I get all shaky..to tell you the truth I’m scared of heights.”

Alexa, by Tom Baldwin

26/8/2022

‘Alexa, what time is my hospital appointment?’

‘Your hospital appointment is at 11.25 a.m. tomorrow, the 7th of July.’

‘Alexa, what time is the bus to Southland General Hospital?’

‘The bus to Southland General Hospital will leave from the nearest stop at 10.45 a.m. The journey will take approximately twenty minutes.’

‘Alexa, find me holidays in the Greek islands in September, for one week, flying from Gatwick.

‘There is no point. The doctor will explain everything during your consultation.’

Witness for the Defence, by Sandra James

26/8/2022

‘You say you have an alibi?’

‘Yes, Your Honour, I was a thousand miles away.’

‘Do you have witnesses? Can anyone corroborate your story?’

‘No, Your Honour. I was back in time; they’re all gone now.’

‘Likely story.’

‘Your Honour, haven’t you ever dreamed you were far away?’

‘Well… there was the island with the bikini girls…’

‘I object, Your Honour! The accused is leading you on a merry dance.’

‘Ah, yes. They were dancing! Then my alarm…’ Sigh.

‘Your Honour?’

‘Clearly the prosecution has never been transported by a wonderful dream. Case dismissed. Go home and take a nap.’

Now, by Alyce Clark

26/8/2022

He wants an “open” marriage. Says he loves her, but the spark isn’t there anymore- this will be good for both of them.

Her shattered heart and bended pride say otherwise. For the first time, in a long time, she begins to wonder. About her options. Her needs. What she has to offer.

“Let’s close our marriage,” she tells him. Serves him with divorce papers. This changes everything- for both of them.

Now, she’s beautiful, desired and wanted. But now, she’s seeking new adventures and her own happiness. Now, he realizes what he’s lost as she discovers what she’s gained.

Someday, by Pamela Kennedy

26/8/2022

My broken heart seems beyond mending. Your actions have been quite cavalier and, yet, I chose not to see what you were doing. I just didn’t want to acknowledge that your ways and my ways had become incompatible.

You’re a wanderer, not the home body type. Infidelity is just in your nature. I should have known you’d eventually abandon me, probably for some slutty bitch.

Maybe someday another will capture my heart and will want and need my love. Maybe, just to teach you a lesson, Woof Woof, I’ll fall in love with a cat!

Hospital Visit, by Jenny Logan

26/8/2022

“Are you listening to me?”

He nodded, looked at his watch and tried to cover a yawn.

“I’m talking about you and your floozy, my boy.”

“Aunt Aida! She’s my most trusted aide.”

“She’ll be pregnant before Christmas and it’ll be too late. Mark my words.”

He kissed her soft, powdery cheek goodbye.

Taking Tanya’s arm he led her to his sports car.

“Dotty old bat’s talking nonsense again. Think we can beat the rush hour and get an early dinner at the hotel?”

Tanya smiled.

“She was on about you getting preggers. What a load of tosh. Right?”

Secrets of the Tide, by Saaiqa Malik

26/8/2022

And there it lay, tossing playfully among the pebbles in the heaving shallows at the shoreline. After scouring probably the entire beach she had found the perfect shell centrepiece to adorn their sand creation.

Eagerly she drove her hand through foam and churning sand, but again and again the prize eluded her: dancing away as the water surged.

Relentlessly, the surf mocked her with tantalising glimpses. She huffed in frustration.

Until finally, the ocean itself heeding her pleas, withdrew further than ever, revealing her treasure. Plunging forward, she clung desperately and rejoiced.

The presaged gargantuan wave buried her prostrating form.

Grey Eyes, by Meredith Chiwenkpe Asuru

26/8/2022

As he queries your sister, you stealthily move from the dining to the kitchen. Your mum is adding spice, so, you sit. As she stirs the yam into fine porridge, you shut your eyes, and imagine God darkening the grey.
Seconds later, you open them, "Mum, he hates us."
She swells, hurries to the parlor, and they begin to argue.
Nkechi runs to you, and you both leave home, crying. You stop at a house on Gbanwe's close and knock. When the door creaks open and a man with grey eyes emerged, you wipe your tears and call him daddy.

Calling So Late, by Brian Taylor

26/8/2022

2:03 a.m. Cindy was asleep when her phone rang. She awoke, startled. Who'd be calling this late? She looked at the phone and saw it was her brother, Ben.

Oh God, what's wrong, and with whom? Mom? Dad? Ben's wife, Tanya? Their daughter, Jessie?

Cindy felt sick. "Hello?" she answers, breathing heavily.

Ben cackled. "Haha, listen to ya. Scared shitless, ain't you? You thought, who's calling so late? Something's wrong! Hahahaha!"

Relieved but disgusted; Cindy thought, Benny the prankster... who thinks crap like this is hilarious.

She said, "Grow up, asshole," before she hung up and blocked his number.

I Think We're Alone Now, by Shoshauna Shy

26/8/2022

Glenda and I were drinking margaritas in the breakfast nook, whispering so our husbands in the next room couldn’t eavesdrop. “Doug’s ribbing me about tricking him; I had henna in my hair when we met,” I tell her. “He thought I was a foxy redhead!”

Glenda says Ken will not forgive her for cutting off her own blonde tresses last week. “Says he didn’t marry no tomboy!”

“Maybe I ought to surprise Doug, get some dye or something,” I mutter, jutting my lip.

The next day, in my smartphone newsfeed, Clairol ads for Burgundy Cinnamon. My hair stands on end.

Out of Sync, by Jennifer Duncan

26/8/2022

Even though Jayden loved his wife, Jessica, he still felt a void. He wanted a buddy who whole-heartedly shared his interests: cars, video games, antique walking sticks.

When Jessica invited couples over, she chatted happily with the wives, but Jayden would always be disappointed. One husband liked video games but didn't even own a car. Another liked cars but thought walking sticks were pretentious. Once, the husband was unbelievable; he enjoyed cooking.

Over time, Jessica made many friends, but Jayden just felt lonelier, more isolated.

Unfortunately, he never could appreciate what he had in common with everyone: uniqueness.

Froggy, by Rashna Walton

26/8/2022

The toddler in a blue beanie teetered at the edge of the lake before plunging headlong into the murky water.
There was a shriek and a woman raced full tilt down the green towards the lake. Amidst all the noise and panic it appeared she had emerged from the Avocado Bistro Cafe Bar, a rather select establishment but it was hard to be certain.
It was over no sooner than it had begun. The child had already regained his composure and climbed to his feet in the shallows clutching something in his small fist.
“Look mummy” he said, “froggy.”

New Way, by Don Tassone

26/8/2022

The main road near his house was closed for eight weeks.

“Damn,” he said when he first saw the sign. The detour would take him an extra 10 minutes.

On the new route, he saw things he hadn’t noticed: mid-century modern homes, walking paths, a playground. It was like discovering a new world.

He tried doing other things differently: brushing his teeth with his left hand, washing his body before his hair in the shower, brewing coffee with a slow-drip machine. He had to pay attention.

His life had become old. Now it began to feel new again.

The Product, by Myram Huey

26/8/2022

Call it K2: because it takes you to the heights. Or call it Crystalfruit, to give it shine and a tang of juicy, a summertime vibe. Or call it SHAMASH, after the Sumero-Babylonian sun-god - usually depicted striding the mountains with beams of light issuing from his shoulders. Shamash'll do it for you. Shamash'll take you there. See the logo! Those peaks, those rays. Shamash has a kick to it. And the mere sound of the word will prompt in some the notion of SHAMANS. As in others it'll make for visions of being SMASHED, the choicest kind of wasted.

In Perpetuity, by Robert Hunt

26/8/2022

It’s true; you really do see a bright white flash just before your earthly expiration. Suddenly a reassuring voice intoned “One brief layover, then heaven.” Perception remained intact, for I felt elated. Ephemeral limbo? No problem. This intermediate state was actually quite engaging. I recognized at once Oscar Wilde and Lenny Bruce laughing it up. James Joyce pressed a red button. This, luminous signs proclaimed, periodically lengthens your stay. Bypassing it, I was ready for my reward-
an antiseptic private chamber. Colorlessness & quietude hold sway. And here I dwell in perpetuity. I should have pressed that damn red button.

Shared Language, by Cheah Yin Mee

26/8/2022

The young ones trooped into her flat, talking loudly in the language she never learnt.
“Grandma! Dinner ready?” they exclaimed, pointing to and rubbing their stomachs.
She nodded with understanding, pointing to the food laden dining table.
They gathered around the table, voices loud and grating. What were they saying?
“Eat, eat,” she shouted, speaking aloud the only word she knew.
Sounds of chewing, swallowing and slurping.
Then, the eating was over.
“Thanks, Grandma!” they shouted, rushing out of the door.
Smiling, she waved them off.
They don’t speak the same language, but food speaks to and for them all.

Cuban Nights, by Joan Leotta

26/8/2022

We chose an indoor table, telling our host, Raul, we disliked summer’s heat.
“It’s hard to sleep in heat, ”I told him.
Raul smiled, replied. “I love hot nights. Such nights remind me of my Cuban childhood. No air conditioning. After supper, Mama hung hammocks for each of us across the expanse of our tiled main room. My brothers and I swayed to sleep, safe from skittering night creatures a fan’s hum, our lullaby. I slept so well then.” Raul left. Our meal was delicious, service lovely. Raul’s gift of his precious childhood memory—a lagniappe beyond price.

Platform Portent, by Sue Clayton

26/8/2022

Editor's Choice

A spectral figure lurks on the platform. Passengers swarm through its essence.

‘Do you see her?’ I ask the nearby station master.

‘I do, lass.’

‘Who is she?’

‘A Victorian lady. She was waiting on the platform for her betrothed to arrive on the London train when she was informed of his sudden demise

Heartbroken, she flung herself onto the tracks…haunted the platform ever since…cursing anyone who sees her to never wed.’ The station master sighs. ‘Never married meself.’

My mobile rings.

‘We need to talk…’

My fiancé’s train has arrived. He doesn’t alight.

My heart breaks.

The Change, by Jacqui Wiley

26/8/2022

My window frame of clear skies and sunshine is now blocked by shootings shadows darting from side to side and high to low. They tease me with their fork like tails and quick wings that they can enjoy the outside.

Are they, enemy or friend? I am no threat to them; the outside world, I cannot face, a threat to me.

One sits on a wire turned upside down giving me the peace sign with its tail.

I want to be free of this torture.

They are swallows, they are free, and I am swallowed in this prison called “Menopause.”

Fitting In, by Allison Symes

26/8/2022

Jemma knew everyone’s secrets. Hiding behind her specs, and haunting the library, meant Jemma was no threat.

She couldn’t reveal her species could read minds without it upsetting people. She didn’t want to know whether it was the alien or mind reading that upset most.

There was nothing like this library at home either.

Now to read. Oh yes, Cocktail Time by P.G. Wodehouse. She’d tell the bosses she’d learn from this.

What was her secret was Wodehouse made her laugh. Laughing was a human thing.

Nobody could fault her for blending in with her chosen study world, could they?

The Portal, by Monique S. Simón

26/8/2022

Weary down to the marrow and looking like it, I spoke to the image in the mirror, "I wish I could just crawl inside you–disappear behind the black strip that makes this glass reflective."

"Maybe plaster on some foundation, blush, swipe of lipstick, if you want me to seriously consider the offer?" It was 'round midnight, after an 18-hour shift on set, so I accepted auditory and visual hallucinations as readily as double shot espressos.

Two years later, my days are spent on the other side of that mirrored portal, shaping my mouth into screams that no one hears.

The Haunted House, by Sivan Pillai

26/8/2022

"The house is haunted," my friends warned me when I told them of my intention to rent it.
I had seen her sitting outside, looking into the abyss. Neighbours told me she was like that after the accidental death of her husband.
Then she too died suddenly.
Some said they had seen her in the same position on some full-moon nights.
The owner was happy to rent it to me cheap.
I never saw her, but he believed me when I told him of the loud voices at night.
He pleaded not to vacate and reduced the rent further.

A Pebble in the Pond, by Malvina Perova

26/8/2022

We sat at the water in the city park, unusually empty for this time of the year.

“Do you think this war will change Ukraine?” I asked my friend after a minute of silence.

She took a pebble from the ground and threw it into the water. It plopped heavily, sending perfectly circular ripples that broke the gleaming reflection of the summer skies. “See what it does to the pond? War does this to us.”

“But you wait just a little, and the surface will be smooth again.”

“It will,” she nodded. “But the pebble will stay on the bottom.”

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"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

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.
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