Blog Archives

Shrink Wrap, by Tim Boiteau

24/9/2021

The shrink-wrapped bodies were talking to him again. From the basement. From beneath the poured concrete and dirt. From inside the crates. Fifteen different garbled voices.
“Something on your mind, babe?” his girlfriend asked while chopping up the peppers for the stir fry.
He had been absentmindedly wrapping shrink wrap around his forearm at the kitchen counter, studying the way it squeezed his flesh. He turned to her and winked. “I was thinking we could try something a little different tonight.”

Peaches, by Dee Lorraine

24/9/2021

Big, round, ripe, juicy. He could see them from his window as he wrote and could almost taste them.

Every summer, the tree in his neighbor’s yard bore peaches. A rarity in his northern urban environment.

Birds and squirrels feasted daily.

Strangers stopped by and asked for some. He never did but yearned for pie.

Every year, the writer produced stories and novels. Millions devoured them.

Summer, 2020. No peaches.

No stories. No novels.

An ambulance. Surgery. Therapy.

“Give it time.”

Summer, 2021. Peaches returned.

Birds and squirrels feasted daily.

His bell rang.

“Glad you’re back. Made you a pie.”

Writing Gremlins, by Lynn Messing

24/9/2021

The following secretly recorded dialog may ring true to authors everywhere.

“Glimru, status report.”

“I intercepted ten authors’ FFF submissions. All told, I inserted thirty typos, deleted twenty words, and added five runon sentences.”

“Try to add more grammar errors. Keep these humans humble. Don’t ever let them think they can write an entire story with no mistakes. Every peace of fiction should have at least one misspelling, one omission a word, and one syntax errors.”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Keep up the good work.”

Breaking Point, by Mary Wallace

24/9/2021

Mark stood before the bathroom cabinet, anxiety clawing at his insides. Fear and inadequacy overwhelmed him. He couldn't think; hadn't written in weeks until today.

Today, he'd grabbed the pen and poured out his soul. The email rejection was immediate. His writing was not good enough; his pain was deemed not poetic enough.

He craved the pain medication. Even drug free, Mark still needed the reassurance of its presence. As his hand strayed towards the pills it found his phone instead.

"Lifeline, how can I help you", the voice was calm, reassuring. Mark took a deep, steadying breath.

Living, by Sandra James

24/9/2021

‘How’s your Dad?’

‘Oh, I’m really angry with him! He’s gone to the pub for a beer with his mates.’

‘Is that so bad?’

‘Well, you know the doctor said his time is limited. They’ve done all they can with surgery and chemo; they don’t know how long but…’

‘What would you rather he did? Sit at home, wrapped in cotton wool and drinking green smoothies?’

‘No, but…’

‘He’d be miserable. And he’d only be existing. Perhaps it’s better to live; doing what he enjoys will make him happier, and maybe even healthier.’

‘You’re right! Let’s go join him.’

Half and Half, by Sue Clayton

24/9/2021

“Serviettes and seat sashes must match the forget-me-not blue centrepieces,” the manager of the White Swan wedding reception venue, instructs his staff.

“Shouldn’t they be tea-rose yellow?” bewildered table setters query.

“Perhaps they want a mixture,” the manager’s momentarily perplexed. “We’ll do half blue, half yellow.”

A swarm of guests vie for table places. Many remain standing.

Two wrathful billows of white, towing befuddled grooms, elbow each other to be first into the venue. One bride carries a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots, the other yellow tea-roses.

“He’s double booked,” staff snigger as the manager high-tails it out the back door.

Tap Tap Tapping, by Diane Chattaway

24/9/2021

"I'm telling!"
Screaming broke the silence, then knocking.
David flung the door open.
"What have I told you? When I'm working, don't interrupt! Next time it's the belt!"
Closing the door, he pulled a recorder from his pocket to play on loop.
Explosions from on-base shook the house. A type-writer on the shelf fell, splintering David's skull.
He sat, unable to call out.
Another fight sends footsteps storming down the hall.
Before fingers rap, two girls hear ticking.
Afraid of consequences, they turn and leave, unaware their father was being lulled to death by the faint sound of keys tapping.

Life, by Brian Taylor

24/9/2021

I feel it more and more: I'm so tired of life.

I have good friends and family. They're why I'm still here. It frustrates me, that their feelings are why I can't rest!

I'm thinking this as I walk into the convenience store. I'm looking around when I feel something sharp in the back of my neck.

"Ow!" I yell, surprised and stung. It happens again. I hear grunting, then horrified screams. That sting again. Warm liquid drips down my neck. I'm falling.

I'm not sure what's happening. All I know is I very much want to live after all.

Always By His Side, by Daniel Hybner

24/9/2021

“Can he hold me. Can he, please?”

His face dropped watching me beg. We both wanted each other.

“Can’t I come over, just for a minute?”

I needed him right now just like he needed me. She wouldn’t let me. I understood, but it didn’t ease the pain.

“Please?” I pleaded, wishing tears could form in my eyes.

He laid his head against the pillow, knowing I couldn’t come in.

He didn’t leave the bed for weeks. I stayed right there, as close as I could, until he was well enough to finally hug me.

“Am I a good boy?”

Don't Look Back by Gary Mark Belenke

24/9/2021

The old man hobbled round the indoor track. Lap after lap after lap. He looked forward and never wavered. I hope I can do that at his age. Hell, I hope I can reach his age.

When he was done, I told him how much I admired him, and asked why and how did it.

He smiled. “Thank you, son. You may not understand it now, but some day, you will. Keep moving. It’ll keep you young. Never give up, and as the great Satchell Paige said, ‘don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.’”

Emergency, by Fliss Zakaszewska

24/9/2021

In January 2019, I tucked a £20 note into the back of my purse ‘for emergencies’ and forgot about it.

That summer I turned out my purse looking for my lottery ticket. Not a winning ticket, but there was the old ‘twenty’.

That December, short of cash, nearly used it. Pretty much forgot about it in 2020, with the COVID lock-down.

Coffee with the girls today. “Sorry Maggie, forgot to go to the bank. Can you lend…?” There was my twenty, poking out of my otherwise empty purse. “It’s OK, my treat.”

It was a good sort of ‘emergency’.

Hiccups, by Bill Cox

24/9/2021

His incessant hiccups were driving me crazy and he seemed oblivious to this fact, hiccupping away like he didn’t have a care in the world. One of Grannie’s folk remedies came to mind, so I took a key and dropped it down the back of his shirt. The cold metal on flesh made him jump like a startled kangaroo, face first into the door-frame, bursting his nose like a ripe peach. As he lay on the floor, bleeding and groaning, I noticed his hiccups had stopped. I said a silent ‘thank you’ to my dear departed Grannie. Folk wisdom works!

Junk Removal, by David Chek Ling Ngo

24/9/2021

A sound broke the morning peace, slowly getting louder. Every Saturday morning, the truck drives around the neighbourhood to collect recyclables. Announcing its arrival with a voice repeating, ‘old newspapers.’ As if this is not enough, there are sounds indicating it needs a major repair. Until junks accumulate to fill the available space, he would rather sleep in. But today was different; the truck sounded sweeter than the birds which shied away as the vehicle passed by for the first time since the start of the pandemic more than a year ago. As the sound faded away, he felt hopeful.

A Better Man Than Me, by Jim Latham

24/9/2021

The beggar sat in the shade outside the 7-Eleven. He wore ragged jeans and worn-out sandals. His toenails were split, his skin caked with dirt and grime.
His shirt read Money. A ragged hole had replaced the O.
I looked away, thanked whatever gods exist that I enjoyed better fortune, and opened the door.
Teenagers festooned with headphones and piercings stormed out, hopped up on Red Bull and candy and who knows what else.
I stumbled, then found my balance.
A finger tapped my shoulder. The beggar, holding my iPhone.
“Pardon me, Brother,” he said. “You dropped this.”

The Labyrinth, by Caledonia Krieger

24/9/2021

“Go explore the labyrinth,” suggested his mentor, and so he did. He followed the path laid out in whorls, loops, and spirals patiently, with his eye always on the center. He could see it, even passed close by it, then returned to the outskirts again. The elusive center taunted him. Why hadn’t he reached it yet? How could the path be this long, even if it was all wound up like a ball of string? He was surprised to find himself back at the entrance. “I never made it to the center,” he said, questioning. The reply - “That’s the point.”

When Dreams Become Memories, by Cathrine Goldstein

24/9/2021

With a single canvas tote draped over her arm, the woman climbs the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Despite the old walking stick and her older bones, she is still healthy, still strong. The stairs are nothing for her, but she climbs carefully anyway, as anyone who lives alone learns to do.

Inside, she doesn’t flick on a light—there are no surprises here—says hello to her cat, and tosses her bag onto the counter. Crossing to the mirror by the bed she stares at her reflection and wonders, When is that moment when dreams become memories?

The Answer is Blowing in the Wind, by Shelley Kirton

24/9/2021

Appointed by Zeus, Aeolus was the divine keeper of the winds. He has been commanded to release their power, and they howl and scream around us.
We watch trees stoop low and throw their branching arms down, and then suddenly hurl them skywards. Vegetation is wrestled to the ground.
Our emotions are heightened by the rage and fury outside, and we range between exhilaration and fear.
And then it happens—an endless screeching of ripping metal.
We lie in the dark swirling middle of the night. And we wonder, will the new owners still want their house without its roof?

Regular Order, by John M. Carlson

24/9/2021

Jerry felt a huge sense of relief when he saw the thick envelope in his mailbox. It was his regular order of flash fiction story ideas from Story Ideas R Us. Good timing—he was out of story ideas, and his favorite flash fiction publication’s weekly deadline day was looming ahead.

He ripped the envelope open. He pulled out an idea at random. “Woman moves back to her home town, and meets a man with a mysterious past—”

Oh, no! They mixed his order up! Instead of flash fiction ideas, he got an order of romance novel ideas.

The Color of Air, by Jim Woessner

24/9/2021

Nicole ran over and showed the painting to her grandfather. Across the top of the painting was a skinny streak of blue. Across the bottom was a skinny streak of green. And walking in-between was a stick figure and a stick dog smiling at the viewer. Jacob marveled at her clarity of thought, the way she conceptualized ideas. Finally he asked why there was so much space between the blue sky and green grass. Nicole pondered the question, then screwed up her face, and stated, matter-of-factly, “Air doesn’t have color, silly.” Jacob laughed. How could he argue with such logic?

Someone Here Present, by Hannah Retallick

24/9/2021

It has come to my attention that someone here present has been fiddling the accounts, and not just fiddling but also stealing money from the till. Yes, but the point being that I’m trying to ensure that we don’t have any more of these happenings…happen. Please would you hear me out. No, I’m not accusing anyone here present, not as such, no, because after all, not everyone is here and it might be an outside job in any case. Yes, Jane, what is it? I beg your pardon! That is absolute nonsense. How is my access to the key relevant?

Millennium Day, by Bill Sells

24/9/2021

“Where you going, Peters?”

“Phone?”

“No, it's your lucky day. Visitor.”

“Visitor? Do I get the call too?”

“Funny, no. Inside.”

*******

“I'm surprised you came to see me, Larry?”

“I love you. You're my big brother.”

“Yeah, great example, huh? Wind up here.”

“Mom says hi.”

“What about Dad?”

“Dad's here.”

“Hell? Haven't seen him. We don't see anybody. And Teri?”

“Oh, she's great. I watch her and her kids. We're uncles!”

“Crap, gotta go. Tell Mom hi, and good job, little brother. I know I never told you.”

“It's okay. It's never too late.”

The Way Out, by Gautam Sen

24/9/2021

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out whether he or shouldn’t do it. Either way the pros and cons weighed about the same. If he did do it, would he regret it later? If he didn’t, would it amount to a sin of omission?

The contrary pulls tormented and paralyzed him.

Then an idea struck him. Now that he’d learnt to believe in prayer, he’d earnestly ask God for direction through the toss of a coin: heads would mean this, tails that.

His tension eased, he fished out a coin from his wallet, and gave it a flip.

Charting His Territory, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

24/9/2021

Refuelled. Another town passed. Truck hummed contently under a royal blue, pillowy cloud sky. Ten kilometres down the road, his mouth still stinging from Julie’s huevos rancheros.

Magnolia scented Chloe’s nightgown last night. An open window alerted him to the chirping of awakening birds. Was Penny okay? He visited her canteen two days ago. Tears found comfort on his shoulder after she told of her lover leaving for good.

New paving on the freeway moved his long-haul cargo smoothly along. In a rearview mirror, he spotted Jack. Once friend, now rival. Which one of them would reach Madeleine first?

The Parakeet, by Esther Rohm

24/9/2021

We were poor, I'm saying. Tom was between jobs and my housecleaning didn't make enough for extras like taking our bird to the vet.

This webpage said you could do it humanely by sticking the bird in the freezer.

But its body was warm and soft, and its heart thumped hard against my closed palm. I wished I'd held it when it wasn't sick.

Afterwards, I sat in the dark garage with the Ziplock bag in my lap.

Like the contents could thaw and come back to life, healed.

Like God could forgive our poverty.

Like I could forgive myself.

The Lemmings, by Jennifer Duncan

24/9/2021

"It's a beautiful day for a jump," enthused Frank Lemming. "Let's sing our happy song as we mosey over to the cliff."

The crowd around him cheered.

"Why are we jumping?" asked a young lemming.

"Everybody's doing it," was the reply.

Becky and Joe Lemming watched nervously. They knew about gravity but people didn't want to listen to their warnings about it.

"Here we go," shouted Frank as he stepped off into space. The others followed. No one cried out in fear. They didn't believe in gravity.

Becky and Joe couldn't bear to watch the devastation and sadly crept home.

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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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