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What the F? by William P Adams

13/8/2025

The February Fourth Friday Fort Felix Farraday Feline Frolic Festival featured fifty fancified, festive, four-legged, fluffy furballs festooned in finery, and Fergus, a Scottish Fold.

Five filthy, fence-sitting, feral freeloaders furtively found a free feast forthcoming and fought furiously for the first feeding. With fangs furrowed and forepaws flexed, flying fur floated freely in the free-for-all fracas.

Fergus, the Scottish Fold, fastidiously freshened, found fortitude and fended off the fleeing fraudsters with a flashing flurry of fearless feline frenzy.

Favored Fergus foiled the felonious fete foray and feels fabulous.

Finis.

One for Life, by S. Anand

13/8/2025

Yay, yet another festival! Bright lights, yellow lights, flicker, flacker. Nurses in whites push my carousel, I see you, I see you. Balloons, balloons, with something about getting a well and soon. Where's the movie screening? Ah, here it is. Beep, blip, blip, bleep... A good movie reflects your heart (I've heard dad say). A caparisoned elephant places its trunk on my chest, and listens intently... "get the defibrillator", it trumpets. I don't know what that is. This new ride is bumpy. I jolt up, I jolt down. Sniff, sniff, popcorn, a little burnt perhaps. I'm having a great time.

Festive Views, by E. Melanie Watt

12/8/2025

“I don’t want to go!” Bobby hissed.
“Me neither,” said his little sister Patty.
“Dad just stands around talking with other dads about cars.”
“They should call it Parking Lot instead of Car Festival. They don’t even have cotton candy!”
“Even without it, Daddy says we’re too sticky to touch or sit in the cars!”
On Festival day, Bobby changed his tune.
“Patty, we have to go. I think we’re in for a surprise!”
“What?”
“Dad says we’re going to a car festival, but I heard Mom tell Joey’s Mom that it’s really just a festival of expensive toys!”

Choices Tourists Make, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

12/8/2025

One day. Many attractions. He browsed through a museum listing. She perused the outdoor event calendar.

“Greek Festival sounds fun. Maybe the Mural Fest?” she hinted.

“No museums?”

“Why? They’re stationary. You can visit next time.”

“Would’ve there is no ‘next time’? Sometimes buildings get demolished.”

“Museums often get relocated. Festivals happen only once a year.”

“Wake up,” she yelled, shaking her husband on the ‘Hop on, hop off’ bus.

“Are we at the…?” he asked, awakening.

“Missed the first attraction.”

“Must be jet lag,” he sputtered. “Enjoying the ride?”

Before she could answer, he had drifted into another world.

Uninvited, by Kim Favors

12/8/2025

I shut off the jackhammer as Jenna approaches.

“Look what I found. Old flyers advertising the Float Festivals. Whatever happened to them, Dad?”

I explain. For years, Friendship Foothills held an annual weekend festival, neighbors opening pools to families and employees. Kids shared float toys. Grownups barbecued. The Feds tried to shut us down, claiming some guests were “illegals.” We’re a gated community and refused them entry — we still do.

“And now?”

Most of those homeowners are gone. Those remaining and newcomers are more inclined to replace the pools, like I’m doing here.

“Replace with what?”

Underground bunkers.

Last Chance Festival, by Janice Siderius

12/8/2025

While waiting on the Via Sacra at the Lupercalia Festival in Rome, Julia turns to her friend Livia.

“This festival is my last hope. Gaius and I have been married five years and I haven’t produced a son for him. I am worried he may ask for a divorce.”

“Get up there! And when the Luperci runs by, step in front of him and make sure he strikes you with his strap.” Livia says, as she pushes Julia to the front of the crowd.

Desperate for a child, Julia lurches forward.

Nine months later, her son Lucius is born.

Wise Beyond Her Years, by Glo Curl

12/8/2025

Sara handed the basket of fruit to the young vicar. ‘Careful with the bananas, they bruise easy,’ Gracie piped up. ‘Like Mummy.’
Sara froze; the vicar looked at her questioningly. ‘If you need to talk, I’m here,’ he said.
‘Everything’s fine, really.’
‘Mummy says the Harvest Festival is a celebration and chance to say thank you for looking after us.’
‘Mummy’s right, will you be coming?’
‘Oh yes. But first I have to organise a Nanna Festival,’ Gracie replied, puffing out her chest.
‘Nanna Festival?’ Two voices in unison.
‘To say thank you and celebrate our new adventure.’
‘With Nanna…’

Gabriella's Village, by Dee Lorraine

12/8/2025

Residents in Gabriella’s village spoke their minds and wrote what they felt, without fear. Disagreements were respected. Villagers welcomed refugees and shared what they had with people in need. Monthly village festivals celebrated diverse cultures.

One resident didn’t like that. “They don’t belong here,” Mordant said. “We’ll do better without them.” He convinced others to give him authority over the village.

Mordant punished dissenting residents and ended their festivals.
Voices quieted. Writing ceased. Fear ruled.

Gabriella and her friends resisted. “We must restore village life.” They spoke and wrote from her secret place.

One morning, someone knocked on Gabriella’s door.

The Capitol Fair, by Eric Delong

12/8/2025

“Hey, do you want to go the festival?” Bill asked. “It’s sponsored by the Federal Government. The President will be there.”

Bills' friend, Frank replied: “No way Jose! I went yesterday. Once is enough!”

Bill asked, perplexed: “What’s wrong with the fair?”

“I’ll tell you! The entrance fees are outrageous, the competitions are rigged, the food is terrible and overpriced.”

“That bad?”

“And the carnival. The ride tickets cost an arm and leg, and the games are fixed!”

“But the president endorsed the fair.”

“That explains a lot! It’s the most unfair fair I’ve ever had the misfortune of attending!”

Festival Lifestyle, by Dawn Knox

12/8/2025

Mary and Robert met at a jazz festival and married weeks later. Both free spirits, they planned to tour the world in their campervan and sample every festival they encountered. It was Mary’s idea to set up a YouTube channel where they would video each festival, revealing the advantages and disadvantages.
Robert loved her plan. “We’ll call it ‘Test-a-Fest’,” he said, and soon, their channel had gone viral.
Three months later, Mary anxiously told Robert they’d soon be parents and have to settle down.
“Nonsense,” said Robert. “People take children to festivals. We’ll carry on and rename our channel ‘Test-a-Fest-and-Guest'.”

Festival of Womanhood, by Bill Cox

12/8/2025

“This year will be your festival, won’t it?” I ask Marie, as she sits on the climbing frame.

“Yeah, I’m fifteen in May. Can’t be bothered with it though.”

She lets herself fall backwards, legs still gripping the metal bar. Her dress falls down over her head, exposing her underpants.

I blush at the sight. Marie knows I’m sweet on her. She pulls herself up, a mischievous grin on her face.

Mother’s right, Marie’s a tearaway. Her festival is coming though, so that’ll change. Once she gets her compliance chip, she’ll be a real woman.

A woman I can love.

The Last Chord, by Tom Baldwin

12/8/2025

‘Welcome, everyone, to the Barnforth Blues Festival,’ said the MC. ‘Please welcome our first act, the Tod Burrows Band!’

Tod was competent enough, but never an outstanding guitarist. He began his first number and everyone was amazed. His playing was immeasurably better than anyone had heard before, his solos emotional and scintillating, reaching deep into their souls. They cheered and wept as he played.

As he crashed out the final chord, Tod collapsed to the floor. In his head he heard a long-feared voice: ‘You signed the pact in blood, got your wish and now you’re coming with me.’

What They Don’t Talk About, by Steven Bruce

12/8/2025

They walked through the festival like any other year.

She complained the toffee apple was burnt. He carried her winter coat.

No one said the boy’s name.

Not when they passed the balloon seller he once chased.

Not when the band played the tune he hummed in the back seat.

They smiled at neighbours. Drank too much. Pretended.

Later, in the dark kitchen, she pressed her forehead to the cold fridge door.

He folded the boy’s blue blanket into his chest.

They didn’t cry.

They stood there,
thin-glass
statues,
waiting for the first crack
to shatter them.

Change of Mind, by Sivan Pillai

12/8/2025

The Golden Shower tree appeared to be celebrating a festival with all her children.
Bunches of yellow flowers, some fully open and others in various stages of development, hung from the branches. Tender leaves sprouted from different points, replacing the old ones that fell recently.
Squirrels jumped from branch to branch. A chameleon sat in a corner, changing its colours. Butterflies sat lightly on flowers, extracting nectar. A few flies hovered all around, making strange sounds. Some birds sat pecking at the fresh leaves.
I dialled a number and said, "I've changed my mind about cutting the tree."

Tanked, by Sarah Samson

12/8/2025

Bulbous lips smacking against the fish tank’s glass wall, the Bristlenose Pleco vacuumed masses of floating green algae into its brown speckled body—a delight for the Amazonian creature, but a disaster for the aquarium.

A toddler pressed his sausage fingers to the tank. “Look! Fish eating snot!” he burbled as his adoring parents live-streamed his every move.

Nearby, a squeamish teenager dashed to the restroom, her retching unmistakable over the crowd’s amused chatter.

Suddenly, there was a rumble in the floor-to-ceiling tank. A diver’s hand appeared holding a mysterious, shining gold coin.

“Let Fish Festival 2025 begin!” the Director shouted.

Souvenirs, by Pamela Kennedy

11/8/2025

The Midsummer Festival welcomed everyone to celebrate their cultural heritage. Rum flowed freely, fungi bands played loudly, and fried foods and curries fragranted the air. The vibe was exciting and many memories were created that would last a lifetime.

Harry will always remember the worst hangover of his life after "sampling" too many rum punches while meandering among the stalls. Little Kathy will never part with the enormous teddy bear her daddy won for her. And after the festival had long ended, Timothy still reflects upon that sultry passionate night, that unforgettable night, when he acquired an incurable social disease.

Living It Up Downtown, by Virginia Ashberry

11/8/2025

Five years retired, Fred never craved rural solitude like so many of his friends.

He knows that living two floors up above the main corners of town is the best place for him.

The coffee shop downstairs starts his usual order as soon as he walks in the door, and stores on the main strip have everything he needs.

For Fred, Friday night means sitting on his balcony, watching crowds party below.

And summer is Festival season.

Last week was Buskers, next week is Gay Pride. But this week is his favourite: the ‘International Toe Wrestling Festival’.

Life is good!

Expectation, by Christine Reeves

11/8/2025

Olly was excited, today was the day.
Mum was making sandwiches.
'Is it time yet?'
'This afternoon.' she replied covering another plate with foil.
Dad was fixing colourful flags along their fence, adding to the street's festive appearance.
'Is it time, Dad?'
'Patience son, it's happening this afternoon.'
Olly was anxious not to miss the festival procession, looking forward to decorated floats, people in fancy costumes, balloons and music. He was in the kitchen when he heard the cry:
'Here they come.'
'Is that it?' he complained a minute later having watched nothing but a group of cyclists whizz by.

The Harvest Festival, by Paul Driscoll

11/8/2025

They came in an envelope. Five onion seeds. No note. Just a faint scent of soil and menace. Steve laughed it off, said it was harvest festival marketing. But the seeds kept coming. First to him, then to his friends. One by one, the recipients vanished. Rain-soaked footprints, no struggle. Just absence.
I traced the seeds to a Lincolnshire grower, dead six months.
I planted the last one.
Yesterday, it sprouted. Inside, not a bulb, but a tooth.
Tonight, I wait in the dark.
Their voices ride on the wind.
Harvest festival is tomorrow.
I’m ready. The teeth will reap.

Wanderlust, by Steven Lemprière

11/8/2025

Ronan chanced upon a Romany styled caravan while walking his dog. Brightly painted and roughshod, flowerpots and tin cans planted with geraniums and herbs enhanced its bohemian appearance, while nursery rhymes and cartoon characters embellished its flanks. Hitched to an ancient British tractor, and parked up overnight, it was a curious discovery in a French village square, a thousand kilometres from the nearest Channel port.

Were its occupants entertainers? Ronan wondered, picturing their leisurely journey and the festivals they perhaps worked. He’d introduce himself tomorrow, but discovered when out for Alfie’s morning constitutional, they’d left. Unnoticed, magical, like their arrival.

Humanity Awakens, by Sankar Chatterjee

11/8/2025

Astronauts Russian Tatiana and American Juliana stopped their lab-experiments inside the International Space Station. Peeking at distant earth, now in nighttime mode, they observed a small explosion at one site, followed by glorious fireworks all over the planet, illuminating it in entirety.

What happened? Ruthless dictators of both countries were meeting at a mountaintop resort. But humanity had enough. Every single person of each faith focused individual wrath toward them, crystallizing it into a super strike-force, evaporating both.

Now, the entire universe began celebrating. It was the festival, celebrating the eternal desire propagated by every society “Let the democracy rule.”

Cheesy Reconciliation at the Silver Jubilee, by Glo Curl

11/8/2025

We first met at the inaugural Cheese Festival, both seeking out varieties bearing the quirkiest names. Our marriage matured like a well-aged Cheddar, until last summer when a rock band’s kiss-cam caught us canoodling—but not with each other.

At our favourite Welsh cheesemaker’s stand, I’m dropping the last available pack into my bag when he appears at my side, dishevelled and devilishly handsome as ever.
‘You still with Pete?’
‘Nah, petered out. You?’
‘Cherry chucked me.’
‘You need a shave,’ I say, raising my hand to his stubble.
‘Trade my Renegade Monk for your Pantysgawn?’ he quips.
‘Deal.’

Pie in the Sky, by Christa Loughrey

11/8/2025

‘I was there, watching them jockeying for position; each one wanting to be seen, to win admiration and acclaim. But it’s all just so much hot air – there’s nothing of any substance under those inflated skins of theirs. Oh yes, they’ll rise high in full view of the public and the press, but they all come back down to earth sooner or later, often in some obscure little backwater.’

‘What's new? Politicians have always been like that.’

‘Politicians? Actually, I was referring to the hot air balloon festival – but I can see where you’re coming from…..’

In for a Shock, by Remmie Thomas

10/8/2025

Chan was of compromised morality from his excessive drinking, womanising and fencing of stolen property. So, for the Chinese New Year festival he decked out the front of his house with red, crepe paper banners, inviting forgiveness and a clean slate.

The rain was light when he left for a New Year’s Eve tipple. When he stumbled home, however, the now torrential precipitation had bleached the banners and flooded his ground floor.

Wading through the inundation, Chan tried persuading himself he didn’t believe in old superstitions, even up until, in the kitchen, he knocked the electric kettle into the water.

The Negotiators, by Robert P. Bishop

10/8/2025

“Tomorrow is the Flower Festival. Let’s go. It will be ever so much fun,” she said.

“I would rather have a root canal without anesthesia than go to one of those insufferable celebrations,” he said.

“When we were younger we loved flowers. We even wore them in our hair.”

“I was never young.”

“If you go with me, I won’t complain when you buy that Harley Davidson you’ve always wanted.”

“You think I’m that cheap and easy, do you? You think I can be had for something as tawdry as a Harley?”

“Yes.”

“You know me too well. I’ll go.”

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