Blog Archives

Marathon Man, by Guy Fletcher

21/9/2018

Jack was tired but he had made it. He "hit the wall" after 18 miles or so but now the finish was in sight, a view as enticing as water in a desert.

His wife was shouting encouragement and was so proud about how much he had raised for charity.

"You're emotional. How sweet," she said and hugged him as if she would never let go.

A few metres behind the "loving couple" his mistress waved but there was poison in her eyes.

"No amount of running can purge me from this guilt," Jack said to himself.

At the Cafe, by Jude Hayland

21/9/2018

Thin, blanched face, eyes pale and staring, legs ungainly sprawled across the floor as if redundant, loosed from purpose, he talks.

And his voice is loud, lacks nuance, variation, ill adapted to the space. The place. The other tables busy themselves. People resort to newspapers, books, screens, phones. Each other. Attempts to diffuse a situation they find faintly embarrassing. Resorting to distractions from something they are ashamed to confront.

Not the young man with the insistent, strident voice, the body of late adolescence, the understanding of a very young child.

But their own discomfort.

Hot Chilli Pickle, by Gordon Lawrie

21/9/2018

He needed to begin seated.

Licking his lips, he lined the jars up then took out a teaspoon he reserved especially for the purpose. Removing the lids, he laid them carefully beside each jar. Then he began to consume their contents: hot chilli pickle: one, two, three, four – eleven in all. His companions watched in awe. A woman nearly fainted.

Finally finished, he was ready. He lay back and breathed out long and hard, continuing to inhale and exhale as deeply as possible. The hot air balloon started to rise.

"Ooohhh....," said his passengers – amazed instead now by the view.

Back to Front, by Fliss Zakaszewska

21/9/2018

The potential customer looked her straight in the eye. “But, why not?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not quite what I’m looking for.”

“But, I’D BE YOUR CUSTOMER! You would take money from me - effectively.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but no.”

Jim shrugged and sighed. “OK, well, thank you for considering me to be your client.”

He walked out and went to the café across the road. As he sat down, Jim stirred his tea and read through his manuscript. “I know it’s a great book! Are literary agents the only class of businesspeople who choose or dismiss their ‘customers’?”

Rocky, by Marjan Sierhuis

20/9/2018

Rocky the rooster was too smart for his own good but my goodness was he cute. From his barred plumage with black and white feathering to his bright red comb, wattles and earlobes, he was one attractive cockerel. And he knew how to strut his stuff in front of the young ladies.

Feisty and full of boundless energy, he was always vying for their attention. But his interest lay with one hen in particular.

Although sweet-tempered Daisy wanted nothing to do with the Casanova until he could control his crowing. But the busy body always had something to say.

Our Bucket List, by Lisa Miller

20/9/2018

Nice country wedding. We were happy. You had a look; you talked the talk. I admired your air of sophistication.

We grew apart the night you didn’t come home. I cooked a turkey and gathered eggs. You drank too much at the Bridge City Pub. By the way, I knew about your affair.

“Let's write our bucket list,” you announced one day. Then told me I was stupid, rolling your eyes. I decided on skydiving and purchased life insurance (just in case). I need to make sure I pack her parachute myself, he thought, wondering when he’d hatch his plan.

Charley, by Don Tassone

20/9/2018

I wrapped you in your favorite blanket and laid you in the ground as gently as I could. We said a prayer and threw in handfuls of dirt. I covered you with earth and placed a heart-shaped stone over you.

I know it was time, but letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I know it was right, but it sure doesn’t feel right.

For 14 years, you were always there for me, always happy to see me. I want you to know I love you. I beg your forgiveness. I hope to see you again.

Just Hanging Around, by Mark Reynolds

19/9/2018

There was a moment when he thought things would be different.

The rope around his neck was tight and suffocating.

It perturbed him, swinging above the turned-over chair, feeling actual dizziness while twisting in circles.

He felt his bladder go, the heat of his urine drenching his jeans. An unceremonious passage of gas erupted from his rear. Now he mad.

Where was the dark blanket of death? The Grim Reaper with his scythe? How long was he supposed to hang here, a mockery of death?

Having no answer, he yawned. This was going to be one hell of a morning.

Incidental, by Roy Gomez

18/9/2018

Freddy Bulls stands at Ninth and Haith before Breaks, a pool hall, weaving a quarter between long fingers. At a high-rise window, sundown cresting dirty Brownstones, an Irish kid named Tommy Lang eyes Freddy in the cross hairs of his scope. Ten blocks east, travelling 110 mph, Sup, this fresh Crip, races a red ’69 Impala toward the intersection. As Freddy’s bus slows, brakes hissing, a scrawny addict named Edgar Face asks for spare change. Freddy clutches his coin. An oil slick on the street shimmers a psychedelic dusk of violet and green as the bus door opens. Freddy boards.

A Political Difference, by Bobby Warner

18/9/2018

Landers slammed his glass down on the table. Beer sloshed over the rim and spread in a puddle. "Damned if you do!" he bellowed.

Slater pushed back in his chair, unfazed by the outburst. "Damned right I will," he returned in a calm, now voice.

After that, both exchanged stinging blows across the table. Landers' eye quickly became blackened and swollen. Slater would go home with a broken nose.

Thom, the bartender, came forth, took both combatants by the collar and pitched them out the front door. "Keep your fight over who's gonna vote for the damn dogcatcher outside!"

Fall Themed Wedding, by Lisa Miller

17/9/2018

Falling over brown boxes and books, Sue finally found the fall-themed napkins for her daughter’s wedding reception. But she couldn’t see the gift bags. In the kitchen, Sue lit the pumpkin spice candle to cover the stench. Unable to hide the hoard; Sue needed to sort things out before the out-of-town guests arrived.

When Science Met Music, by Sankar Chatterjee

17/9/2018

Scientist Phil Bern’s deaf son would motivate him embarking on developing corresponding animal model of the human-condition. In lab, he would inject various chemicals to a batch of daytime sleeping mice. In evening, he would watch the nocturnal rodents for any sign of deafness. One afternoon, he himself fell asleep while a Beethoven-piece playing in background. He woke up in late evening to find out all the rodents gathered in the middle of the cage. He tapped it from all sides. But there was no startle, no running around.

The “Beethoven Mouse” model of human deafness entered into scientific literature.

Stetson, by Jeffrey A. Paolano

16/9/2018

Ramon’s crew drug them cattle for eighty-five days, up out’a Texas.

Nights he lay under the sage bloom dreaming of capping off the outfit he’s cobbled together; to finish off the second-hand Colt, lariat, serviceable saddle, and boots, with an authentic Stetson.

At trail’s end, a gauntlet of tequila, Cyprians, and Little Casino offers-up temptation.

Ramon runs the gauntlet. “Thanks, ma’am, but no,” he responds, slightly embarrassed.

He gains the mercantile, haggles the purchase of his pride then rides in royal fashion for Texas.

The next eighty-five days tatter the crown, but Ramon smiles on for it’s a genuine Stetson.

Pathological, by D. L. Shirey

16/9/2018

The MRI hums to life and the technician says, “don’t move.” I do. I smirk. The thing that nests inside my head isn’t easily fooled. It doesn’t move very fast but is always a step ahead of the doctors.

The machine clanks and chirps in earnest. Too late. The soft, warm bed atop my left parietal lobe is empty. No telltale traces will be found where it slipped down my brainpan, nor handprints on the ladder of my spine.

I can feel it now, spidering to the back of my ribs where it will stay until the test is over.

According to Freud, by Guy Fletcher

15/9/2018

Harry Haller noticed the smug professor in the staffroom and threw a question at him.

"According to Freud what's inbetween 4 and 6?" (He pronounced the German numbers fear and sex).

"I shall have to ponder," he replied.

At various times of the day he gave Harry convoluted explanations, always sent away by a shake of the head.

"Well, what is the answer?" enquired the vexed professor early the next day before work.

"The answer is fuenf,(five), old chap."

"You tricked me, some joke, very funny!"

The professor was not laughing but Harry Haller still laughs about it now.

The Heist, by Russell Conover

15/9/2018

Tony eyed the scene. He was sure he could sneak into the picnic while the people's backs were turned, and grab a tasty treat. He slowly approached the blanket, waiting.

“Darn. I left something in the car,” the dad said. “Let's go get it.” They all left.

Tony grinned. This was his chance! He scurried forward, eyeing the delectable feast.

“Hey! What's that by the sandwiches?” the boy yelled. “Get it!”

“Uh-oh!” Tony thought. He sprinted as quickly as possible, but it was too late. The girl's shoe squashed him flat.

It ain't easy being an ant.

The Great Escape, by David Erdey

14/9/2018

I sped off like a getaway driver though I was the one who'd been robbed. I ignored the buzzing phone, their desperate texts, continuing to press my foot down on the pedal, as the gas meter needle kept dropping dangerously low now. Conveniently, a highway sign said "GAS SOON" but was no comfort – I sat in sweat and dread as the gas station got closer, knowing how once I'd stop she would talk me around, the coward in me:

"Turn, drive home – now! What you saw was wrong, somehow. You gotta trust them!"

Two minutes was all she needed.

The Loss of a Tradition, by Sankar Chatterjee

14/9/2018

Lord and Lady Mundelein were enjoying the afternoon cool breeze sitting on the verandah of the prestigious cricket-club in Mulberry. An American banker recently invested a major sum to renovate this historic club.

The Lord ordered a shot of Lagavulin, while the Lady ordered chilled “sing-re-la”, country’s colorful summer-drink. The server informed that the new majority owner banned the drink for staining new carpet. Later, the manager explained that two million pounds were spent on carpets alone.

Both Lord and Lady wondered was the amount worthy of losing a summer-tradition, instead of them offering the amount, when approached previous summer!

The Sun Turned Cold, by Richard Comerford

14/9/2018

The rain stopped early, and the sun ruled the day.
The huge plane gleamed silver and blue.
He wore grey. She was in unforgettable pink.
The long car was shiny dark blue, moving slowly so everyone could see them, worship them.
All was perfect. Nothing could go wrong. The journey was nearly complete.
A right turn away from the city streets, into a pretty green park. Less people. Neat lawns.
The huge rooftop clock read 12.29 as the sharp left turn was negotiated.
The car crawled.
The noon sun shone bright…..
Chaos….. Horror…….
The sun turned cold over President Street.

How Much? by John Sheirer

14/9/2018

Minutes before the job interview, Taylor somehow let more than a foot of her skirt dip into the toilet she had just nervously used down the hall from her potential new employer.

"Oh, shit," she said, struck by the uncommonly literal meaning of that common swear.

"How much do I need this job?' she asked herself aloud, noticing the clarity of echo emanating in the contained space. She also noticed the clarity of her answer.

"A lot," Taylor said as she grabbed a wad of paper towels, got a handful of antibacterial soap from the dispenser, and set to work.

The Rottweiler, by Fliss Zakaszewska

14/9/2018

They were bred by the Romans. Fighting dogs for the arena. They ended up in Rottweil, Germany, bred for eons to the animal they are today.

I wandered along the Cornish lane with Denis, my own bundle of black-and-tan fun.

“’Ere, called Harry, “your dog’s brought new meaning to the words ‘sheep worrying’.

“He’s not been near your sheep, Harry!”

“Didn’t say he had. That dog just looks at my sheep and he’s worried.”

I laughed. “You’re right. They’re failed fighting dogs, bred to herd cattle. Sheep? Nasty, fierce fluffy things!”

Denis hid behind me as a sheep went ‘baaaa’.

Creation, by Gordon Lawrie

14/9/2018

"Will you be much longer?" he said, feeling the tension. "I can only hang on for so long."

"I'm doing my best," she replied. Her eyes were closed. "I need to relax."

He kissed her ears, and each side of her neck. Her smile voiced her silent approval. Suddenly, he felt a change, a massive surge of energy as it came from inside her.

She lay back and grinned. "Gosh, you've become so demanding recently. Ever since you became editor of that flash fiction site."

He took the sheet of paper from her. "Deadlines have to be met, my love."

Atonement, by Laura Alexander

13/9/2018

After throwing a heavy kitchen chair at the peak of my anger I gazed around in search of the two little boys who I faulted for tipping me over the edge. I found them hiding and trembling in fear in the bedroom closet. When I demanded they step out and face me they looked up in abject horror. That was what forced me to gain control, pull my precious sons close to me as the three of us cried in each other’s embrace. I now understood the fine line between those who hit their children and those who do not.

Seeds, by Samir Hamza

13/9/2018

“I am burning, always burning,” said the shrike to the serpent. “Full of hunger. Nothing in this garden offers succor.”

“The fruits here hold only secret wisdom and forbidden knowledge,” said the serpent. “Secrets only consume their keepers. Like seeds of stone, they do not nourish.”

“I do not want to be consumed,” said the shrike.

“Then unburden yourself,” said the serpent. “Let me keep what you have learned, and I will teach you to consume better things.”

Afterwards, the serpent began its journey to the tree of lies, and the shrike impaled its first prey on a twisting branch.

The Scent of Gardenias, by Marjan Sierhuis

13/9/2018

Jason plodded barefoot along the water’s cool edge, alone with his thoughts. As his weary feet sank into the familiar soft sand, white clouds drifted aimlessly across a bright blue sky that never seemed to end. Every cell of his being basked in the warmth of the sun and drank from its strength. Seagulls with their harsh cries and antics promised him companionship as they frolicked among the ocean waves and performed acrobatics in the wind.

A gentle breeze infused with the scent of gardenias suddenly caressed his face and whispered his name.

He knew she was not far away.

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