Blog Archives

The Stranger, by Gordon Lawrie

31/10/2013

It was a cold, murky evening.

Jack played in the cul-de-sac. A stranger stood at the entrance of the narrow street with his back to him; he wore a black cape and wide-brimmed hat.

From a nearby house came a call: “Come in Jack, it’s time to eat.”
“Be there in a minute, Mum,” Jack replied. He was curious to see more of the stranger first.

The stranger turned to face Jack: no eyes or nose, just a tooth-filled mouth. Smiling, he spread his cape. “Come closer, it’s cold. My cape will keep you warm.”

Dutifully, Jack did as instructed.

Manners Maketh The Man, by Emma Baird

25/10/2013

Posted by Emma on her return from holiday in the Canaries...

Penny bristled to herself – was it really that hard for holiday-makers to learn the words 'por favor' or 'gracias'?

The group had been getting on her nerves all week. The loud singing, the crass remarks and the lack of manners particularly piqued Penny.

Tony, the biggest and loudest of them, was now at the bar. “Oi Manuel,” he snapped his fingers. “Six vodkas and cokes.”

As he passed Penny's lounger, she stuck out a foot. Tony and his tray went flying. A nasty accident, but not one which could be blamed on the hotel. The waiter and Penny gave each other the ghost of a wink.

By Gloria Weinberg

25/10/2013

"I'm a terrible person," she said. "My father says I'll pay, one day, for the things I've done."
"Is this the same guy who put a bullet in a revolver, held it to your mother's head and pulled the trigger?"
"Still, I'm responsible for my own sins, not his."
The light turned red then, and he stopped the car.
He reached over and cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face to his.
"You want to know what you are?" he said. "I'll tell you what you are, and remember this.
"You are human satin. Human satin."

By Russell Conover

25/10/2013

As the alien attack intensified, I could feel the creatures sucking out the fibers of my being, one by one. The birds chirping and people laughing were no longer audible. The taste of my burger from lunch had vanished. My shoes clunking on the pavement as I ran no longer provided a recognizable feeling. The smell of smoke and other disasters around me ceased to exist. But, I still had my sight, and as long as I did, I had an edge over these monsters. Never surrender.

The Gloppy Alien Visit 1, by Joy Essien

25/10/2013

The Glop lay on the ground like doggy mess. It was a chilly Autumn night and I was irritated by some problems at work.
Curling my newspaper, I tried to scoop up the mess, but it slipped off the paper swiftly, and made a screeching sound. I stared at the ground. Did I imagine that or had the glop actually moved?

Confused, I hurried home. Once inside I settled down to a sandwich and some soup. Suddenly I heard the screeching sound. It seemed to be coming from beneath my door.

I looked towards the door to see a thick liquid seeping into the room.

By Lon Richardson

25/10/2013

The old man looked down at the still form of his wife on the bed. Cancer had won. He washed down the last of the pills and set the empty water glass on the dresser, then lay down next to her. Soon, his body would be as cold as hers.

By Ann-Louise Truschel

25/10/2013

"Why are you doing this, Darlene?"

"I'm hungry," she said.

"Isn't there anything in the refrigerator to eat?"

"Yes, but I want a hot lunch," Darlene said.

"Well, can't you nuke something?"

I want something cooked fresh, not warmed over."

"But, why me?"

"Because you're just so delicious looking," Darlene said as she added more wood to the cauldron in which her thoroughly bound husband George was standing.

By Jane Reid

25/10/2013

“That’s the Emerald City on the horizon,” said Kevin. “The flying monkeys will be here any minute.”
“No problem,” I replied, my eyes (were they ever steely blue?) turning a confident green. How did Kevin get in my car?
“All we have to do . . .” I rummaged frantically, under the dash board, in the back seat, but couldn’t find red shoes.
Then, I saw them – not ruby slippers, but crimson Crocs. On Kevin’s feet! How did that happen? He didn’t seem a Croc kind of guy.
But this had to be done. Would he? Could he click?

A Love Story, by Gordon Lawrie

25/10/2013

Eric the drain stood erect just a couple of feet from his partner Kerry.

“We drains belong together in the world,” he said. “We’re already living together - can't we just tie the knot?”

Kerry stood impassively. “I think we work better this way, doing our own thing,” she said.

Just then, a bath began to empty. As the water coursed through her, Kerry’s beautiful voice echoed in the night sky.

“You and I could make such sweet music together, Kerry,” Eric said, just as someone flushed a toilet in the same bathroom.

Kerry smiled. “Eric, you’re so full of - ”

By Judy Lane

25/10/2013

The clinic's reception area looked empty. I checked in quickly at the front desk and then turned, glancing around the room. Recognition exploded in my head as my eyes locked with those of the man in the corner, half-hidden behind the water cooler. Shock waves shot down my spine, sending icy tingles through extremities to fingers and toes.

Images I had long since tried to block out flooded back: dim flickering lights; the dripping knife; the pool of blood; and through blurred vision, his ferocious gaze, teeth bared. "It can't be," I thought.

I had left him for dead.

The Voice And The Traffic, by Roy Glassberg

25/10/2013

A moment before his enlightenment, Morton said to his out of town friend, it's different here than New York. Here the pedestrian has the right of way. You in the crosswalk, you own the street. The cars have to stop for you--and fuck'em if they don't want to, it's the law.
--Here.....

The Hacker, by Gordon Lawrie

18/10/2013

Martha stared at her computer. The enormity of her achievement had finally dawned on her.

Aged just seventeen, she’d hacked into one of the world’s biggest banks. She’d simply become the Royal Bank of Scotland. All that remained was to transfer money from the RBS account into an unmarked Swiss account that only she knew about.

Typing in the last steps, the screen greeted her: “Welcome, RBS. What service would you like?” She asked it to transfer ten thousand pounds to Switzerland.

There was a delay, then the screen said simply, “Sorry RBS, you have insufficient funds for this transaction.”

By Kevin Fritz

18/10/2013

Salt. Vinegar. Add pepper to taste. With the final ingredients in the mixing bowl, Bonnie held her breath hoping the meal would win over the old hag. She loved Brian too much not to try anything to get the old curmudgeon to like her or -- at least -- tolerate her. That's when she spied the rat poison in the back of the cupboard.

Happy with her decision, she told Brian she believed his mom would not be standing in their way any longer.

"She's not my mom," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Bonnie, what did you do? She is the sole investor in my company. One of the richest people in the world. Without her I'm ruined."

By Thomas "Kopecks" Hulbert

18/10/2013

The final burn travels down his throat in the small, ill lit kitchen. The bottle is empty and everyone is asleep.

'Das ist genug, ' he mutters out loud. Not thinking anymore, that's why he's here, now. If only it would last.

The music blares in his silence, as it has for years. It is the soundtrack of his life. He points the .38 into his mouth.

The beautiful music.

'Ich habe genug,' he sings, crying again. It’s all too much.

The morning finds the gun on the table and the man on the floor. Singing and crying to himself.

By Jane Reid

18/10/2013

Finally I was headed home. It took Kevin three tries, but he clicked the Crocs and said the magic words. It worked.

I had dropped Kevin off in Wichita and headed east. It felt so good to be alone in my own car. The hum of the engine was making me drowsy – I could hardly wait to be back in my own bed.

Who was that talking about a funny bird? How did Kevin get back? Where did Judy come from? Have I been hijacked?

Was this a bad dream? Or an endless loop? What next?

Someone is snoring.

By Janette Jorgensen

18/10/2013

They strolled through Griffentown.
“Has Inspector Bélanger solved the case of the mysterious death at Black's bridge,” he asked.
“Darling, it is my novel, and not yours, nevertheless, I do have an idea.
“Really?”
“Yes. You recall the victim wore cheap clothes bought by most common laborers. He had no wallet.”
“Yes?”
“I'd like to walk through the scenario. Could you hand me your wallet?”
He held it out. She took it and pushed him in the water.
“Obviously, he couldn't swim either,” she muttered as she jumped in, pretending to rescue him.

Del's Inspired Moment, by Gordon Lawrie

18/10/2013

Del scratched his head. He'd never heard of 'flash fiction' before, was keen to join in, but what exactly WAS it? A type of story about night-time photography? A type of story for perverts? A type of story about lighthouses? None of these offered much scope for inspiration.

All he needed was a hundred words, no more.

Suddenly, it came to him: the instructions contained a typo which would have been spotted if they’d been properly proofread. It should read “flash FRICTION”.

Shaking his head, he drew a match from a box in his pocket and struck it. Job done.

By Ann-Louise Truschel

11/10/2013

Despondent over the death of his wife, he began to dwell on suicide as a way to end his loneliness.

"I've thought about the way I'd do it," he said quietly.

I looked at him and frowned.

"I'd just drive my car off a high cliff," he said.

I replied, "You might not be found for several days."

"So what?" he replied. "What difference would it make?"

"You might not be dead," I pointed out.

His brow wrinkled. "I never thought about that," he said

By Joy Essien

11/10/2013

"It isn't easy to be a genie," the blue guy thought. "Everybody wants a wish granted. Just when I want a nap, someone comes along, and rubs the lamp. What on earth can a blue guy do to get a good afternoon nap?" He asked no one in particular.

Aladdin smiled. Lounging lazily on the Ottoman, he counted the gold ones. Then he put them in a new, plastic container. Stretching, his arms, Aladdin lifted his spare frame off the Ottoman.

He walked to the mantelpiece, swinging the canister in his right hand. "Business is good," Aladdin thought, as he reached out for the shiny lamp on the mantel.

By Kevin Fritz

11/10/2013

The new OZ. After everything got blown to bits and vaporized, OZ was left standing. A new regime? The only one to survive the chemical holocaust? Hard to say, but we had to get off the exit anyway. It was beginning to get dark, and without electricity, we would be doomed on the road.

Jane looked at me with trepidation -- nay fear -- in her eyes, asking not with words, but with those steely blue eyes, "I'm scared." Searching for the right words to respond, instead I just continued where she left off...

By Jane Reid

11/10/2013

Driving on I-95. Much construction, many signs, many barriers. This is all supposed to make travel easier, but for the time being, it certainly does not.

It’s different every day. Even though this is my old familiar neighborhood, it’s hard to tell where I am. Where is this heading? Where’s my exit?

Oh, this is ridiculous. I must have gone too far. I’d better get off. There’s an exit up ahead.

What’s that it says?

Oz????

By Emma Baird

11/10/2013

"What's with the z's instead of s's friend? I'm not a fan."
"Hey, it makes sense. When you hear the word, the sound is closer to an 'ess' or a zed. Say it out loud for yourself."
"I maintain the s's rock. I'm not keen on all your missing u's either. Neighbor, flavor etc. Urgh. And as for your missing o's. Really, estrogen and celiac are vulgar."
"Haven't you heard about the world's letter shortage? Our economic policies re letters will ensure that words never run out. Did you hear me? You've gone awfully quiet."

Philip & Mark, by Gordon Lawrie

11/10/2013

Floating in the sea, ace TV reporter Mark Paxman waited nervously to interview Philip, the world's only known talking shark, for its first ever live interview. It was the scoop of a lifetime.

Soon, the shark appeared as promised.

"Hello, Philip,” Paxman said, “may I call you Philip?"

"Of course, Mr Paxman. Sharks don't have second names."

"So tell me, Philip, why did you agree to this interview?"

"I was getting desperate, I'm afraid," Philip explained.

"Desperate?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid I’m going to have to stop this right now," said Philip, cutting the interview short.

And the interviewer.

By Jane Reid

11/10/2013

As Beulah opened tuna for her lunch, a bit of liquid spurted from the can. She grabbed a tea towel and wiped the counter, then spread her sandwich and took it to the table by the window.

That evening, Flora, her Doberman, wasn’t her usual active self. She had no interest in dinner or walkies. A vet’s visit and a whopping surgery bill later, Beulah took home Flora and a partially digested tea towel.

Next week, a friend admired a nicely framed object on her wall. “Nice,” he commented. “Unusual medium. Expensive?”

Buelah nodded. Original art is always expensive.

By Kerry Allemann

4/10/2013

The fruitless search for Paradise – where food was bountiful and cats extinct – had consumed generations of mice.

To those ensconced behind the spice-rack, this pantry promised almost mythical surfeit! Also a swift demise, as Puss feathered across the floor and bounded stealthily onto the shelf. The mice panicked and scattered. One simply froze, terrified, as an impatient paw clawed the air behind the spice-rack, which wobbled, then toppled: a sudden mess of shattered glass and fragrance.

“Thieving cat!” screamed Cook, before an indignant yowl arced a trajectory towards the door.

Later, the sated mice slept. Paradise could wait another day.

<<Previous

"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.
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

NEW: 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!

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

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories