Blog Archives

The Candidate, by Ann-Louise Truschel

23/10/2015

“Her resume indicates she can think on her feet. She’s creative, meticulous, neat and gets the job done on deadline. What’s not to like?”

“I’d like to see some proof of the successful results she claims. After all, you can write anything on a resume. How do we know it’s true?”

“What do you want – written recommendations?”

“That would be nice – but impractical, as you well know.”

“I did a search and found reports that corroborated her claims.”

“Well, if you’re satisfied, let’s call her.”

“Hello, Candy? We‘d like to interview you about an employment opportunity here at Murderesses, Inc.”

Turn About, by Bobby Warner

23/10/2015

Candy watched the approach of the enemy drone on her computer monitor screen. It bore down on her building, Sweets, Inc., carrying a nuclear device capable of destroying three square city blocks. Her team had broken the enemy code and learned the transmission frequency of the device's guidance system.

Candy smiled as she transmitted a counter signal. The remote control craft made a sharp left turn and sped away. A few minutes later a fireball and mushroom cloud rose from the enemy's submarine headquarters twenty miles offshore. Candy took the rest of the day off, and went to the beach.

A Cold Killing? by Joy Essien

23/10/2015

Benji, a photographer and police informant is Candy’s mate. He’s been useful until now.
Candy visits Benji though she has a cold.
In the lab Benji is working. He turns at the sound of her high heels.
Seductively, she pouts.
“For goodness sake, I am processing photos,” he says, and spins away to save his prints.
Candy moves swiftly, grabbing the stiletto from the garter on her thigh.
“Benji!” she shouts.
“W-what is it”? Benji turns to her and stammers, his eyes on the blade.
Candy lifts her arm. He deflects. Then it happens. The pressure bursts forth. Candy sneezes.

The Dangerous Life, by Russell Conover

23/10/2015

After years in the world of espionage, Candy was beginning to wonder if this life was the one for her. She’d seen numerous near-fatal situations, and had a brush with death or two herself, and couldn’t really justify taking these risks any longer.

But what to do? All she knew was life as a spy. She needed a change that would be both productive and fun, and wouldn’t worry Honey too much.

Then it hit her. She phoned her boss, and within a week, was on the surveillance team. Only this time, the subject was none other than Alice’s cat.

Sweets for My Sweet, by Emma Baird

23/10/2015

Candy had a sister, Honey, who preferred to keep a lower profile. She was anti-violence too, so she and Candy had little in common apart from their shared genes.

Out of the blue, Candy phoned Honey up one sunny Saturday.

“Oh hey sis. I’m sunbathing on Venice beach. Wanna join me?”

Honey had red hair, so sunbathing was challenging. Still…

“Yeah, save me an ice-cream,” she said and dug out her bikini.

Sliding down beside her sister’s lounger an hour later, she took the proffered Magnum.

“Is Benji coming along later?”

Candy pulled her hat further down her face.

An Alternative Ending, by Gordon Lawrie

22/10/2015

He was her highest-profile victim yet, from one of the Five Families.

Had she ever been attracted to Fitz? She thought probably not. She’d led him a merry dance. She recalled long nights in his arms, gaining his trust, convincing him that she was interested in his wealth and power, when in truth she found him cold and disdainful.

She wasn’t afraid of being caught. Like all good assassins, many successful hits had trained her to act quickly with a sharp blade and be off.

As usual, however, she left her business card in his pocket: E. Bennett, Murderesses Inc..

A Working Girl, by Bobby Warner

19/10/2015

The Director sent for Candy and said, "Agent Candy, you've performed so well, I've decided to promote you to Assistant Deputy Director, effective immediately."

"No, sir," Candy said, eyes flashing. "That's a desk job--and I'm happiest being a working girl. Try to put me in an office all day, and I'll resign!"

The Director sighed and pushed a slip of paper across the desk. "I figured you'd say that. Here is your next field assignment. Memorize the details, then burn the instructions like always. Good luck!"

Candy smiled and said, "Thank you, Director. I'll get right on it!"

Planetary Waters, by Joy Essien

18/10/2015

Hundreds of small, furry creatures, known as Twekas, milled around, wondering why they had been summoned from their important jobs at zone 7.

The Supreme leader arrived. “The humans have found ‘water’ on our planet,” he told the astounded gathering. They plan to move to the red planet, shortly,” he announced.
The square vibrated with the excited Twekas’ humming sounds. They felt It would be fun to watch the great humans drink purified effluent.

You see, Zone 7 was a huge purification plant. It processed the creatures’ waste into clear liquid, that was used to cool the planet’s surface.

Encounter, by Jane Reid

17/10/2015

Molly Muffet looked at the cooling, overcooked eggs and scrappy ham in the cafeteria and chose a bowl of oatmeal. She pulled a stool to the table, sat, and reached for the pitcher of cream – which, alas, was curdled.

A thin, lanky man, all arms and legs, pulled up a stool beside her. “You look familiar,” he said. “But surely I would remember such a pretty girl. Have we met?”

Molly said nothing.

“I’m here almost every day,” he went on. “Do you come here often?”

“Not any more,” Molly replied, plunking her bowl on the table as she stalked out.

Candy's Romance, by Bobby Warner

17/10/2015

Candy's life had been a hectic one, with little chance of finding love. She finished law school by age 21 and was immediately recruited by Sweets, Inc., where, within three years, she became the legendary multiple-talented agent known simply as "Candy."

She met Agent Number 235TC, and they had a whirlwind romance. Then came Jerry's undercover mission in the Middle East, and they were apart for the first time since meeting.

Candy was notified that Jerry had been neutralized in action. She took a leave, stayed drunk in a cheap hotel; vowed never again to let herself fall in love.

The Legal Sentence, by Russell Conover

17/10/2015

“Jury, have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes.” The paper was delivered.

“Your sentence, for your heinous crime, is to be buried alive. Your sentence will take effect tomorrow at 9 p.m.”

“WHAT? What I did wasn’t THAT bad.”

“Are you accusing a judge of delivering an unjust punishment?”

“Well, yeah! What am I supposed to think?”

“Perhaps that this action will cause you to see the negative effects of your actions?”

“But this is so extreme. Not to mention a total shock.”

“Well, there is one other option.”

“Name it!”

“We could send you on a lifelong expedition to Pluto.”

An Unkind Cut, by Amy Friedman

16/10/2015

Hi, it’s Weekly time. It is with regret that I announce that with this column, Weekly ceases publication. I have been writing Weekly exactly eight years. Nothing I have written has had any impact. Only one Letter to the Editor ever came. It complained my column was boring, and demanded it, and I, be killed. So, my execrable cowardly editor is on his way over to my cube, with my final paycheck and some muscle, to make sure I’m dead before I leave the building. I’m ready. This letter is done, my finger is on the “publish” button, and I

We'll Eat Again, by Emma Baird

16/10/2015

Cookery writer Marguerite Patten would have been 100 in November if she hadn’t died in June.

Marguerite was the bane of my life as a newly-wed many years ago. Truth was, cooking bored me, and my ma-in-law saw it as a personal affront that I hated spending hours over a hot stove.

“I got you a present, dear,” she said one year, smiling slyly as I unwrapped an MP cookbook.

“Thanks Dorothy,” I said, “but why not give it to John? I’m starting work next month and I won’t be around to do the cooking.”

Her face was a picture.

Failed Delivery, by Gordon Lawrie

15/10/2015

The old man lay on the living room carpet, curled in a ball. He said nothing.

Outside at the front door, a delivery man rang the bell. No reply. He tried again, but still the old man didn’t answer. The delivery man peered through the letter box, but the house seemed empty. Conscientiously writing out a postcard to say he’d try again later, he posted it; then on his handheld electronic notepad, he recorded the “failed attempt to deliver”. As he left, he saw no-one in the apartment block hallway.

Someone else would have to discover the old man.

The Killer, by Soma Bose

15/10/2015

The detective moved toward the body. Dead: two bullets fiercely had entered its side. Witnesses noted the horse had just completed the first lap in the race.

He spotted a smooth, round hole in the glass surrounding the course. "It's not the gun shot hole. A small binocular device could fit through here."

Security videos confirmed the presence of someone suspicious, and a robotic horse chasing the victim from the next track.

Security videos didn't lie. The caretaker was the culprit, using remote control on the artificial horse – revenge against the horse owner who'd withheld his full payment.

The War Of The Locks, by Joy Essien

15/10/2015

Recently, the locks in Jenny’s life revolted. Harried at the prospect of moving her belongings (who knew she had so much stuff?), from one house to another, Jenny forgot the door’s quirks. “A quick turn of the key in the lock, and I’ll be gone”, she thought. But no, the key turned and stuck fast. No amount of pulling or pushing would set it free.
Frustrated, Jenny called a locksmith. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes,” he said.
Relieved, she asked to use a neighbour’s bathroom. When she finished, the door showed its might. It was stuck fast. Jenny sighed.

Full Moon, by Bobby Warner

14/10/2015

Her brothers hired a P. I., and found me. They stiffed me on a deal, so I made mince meat of their sister.

"We're gonna bury you alive," they said. "With just enough air so you'll go mad before you die."

"Do me a favor," I said, and they did. Sealed me in a metal box and left a rectangle made from glass cut out of the top, and a hole open to the sky. I wanted to see the moon rise one last time.

A full moon moving across the opening. It'll soon be gone, and so will I.

The Genie, by Len Nourse

14/10/2015

Len, in case you've forgotten, is originally from South Africa and a golf fan.

Genie, walking down the street alongside the 18th feeling generous stopped beside a beggar and said, “My Man, you look down, what can do for you?”
“Just some food on the table for me and my family,”
“It’s granted and since you were not greedy such will be on your table nightly from henceforth. I notice you could also do with clothes so these too will be placed in your house as needed. Having these will help you find work. As a strong man so need to do one thing for me. Help the aged in your neighbourhood. “
That all came about!
Len having heard all this and just having had his 5th 3-putt shouted, ”Hey Genie I’ll do the same in my neighbourhood for one wish.”
“What is that?”
“Cure my putting.”
“That’s not possible with you Serf Efrikens. As proof, putting again cost you the President's Cup again.”

Whose Life Is It Anyway? by Roshanna Sidney Evans

14/10/2015

“I’m so sorry, Joyn” the oncologist said, pulling a bottle of whiskey from a drawer and filling two shot glasses. “A drink?”
An aggressive knock actually shook the office door and Joyn jumped. “What the---?”
The Terror Squad burst through the door and slammed the frail patient to the floor.
“Naughty, naughty,“ the Captain said cuffing him. “You don’t refuse God.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t,” Joyn rasped.
“Doc says otherwise.”
“My job is to keep you alive,” the oncologist said quietly. “Refusing chemo is suicide. “
“It’s my human right.”
“Not in this state.”

The Adjustments, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

13/10/2015

With lips that looked like a pair of hernias on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Jill knew her quest for eternal youth had blown up in her face but now she worried about daughter Lisa, over at Best Buy Bodies undergoing her Sweet Sixteen Destiny Dowry. Laws now required girls to receive one pair of 36C implants and one facial resemblance to either Selena Gomez or Miley Cyrus. Most girls wanted Selena since stats proved the nonwhite status insured a brighter future but the real threat was that unpredictable glitch in software that left a girl half and half.

Miss Benderyeller, by Bobby Warner

13/10/2015

Miss Benderyeller leaned on her broom and faced her auntie. She was exhausted after working from dawn to nearly dusk.

She stamped her foot and said, "Not fair, Auntie. I've slaved for you for years, and have never been to a Royal Ball. Can't I go tonight?"

"Very well," relented her auntie. "But you'll have to wear left over clothes--and if anyone asks you to try on a glass slipper, you must say it isn't yours."

"I shall!" Miss Benderyeller said. Then to herself: "I'll tell the Prince it isn't mine, but that it fits me like a glove!"

Revenge, by Bobby Warner

12/10/2015

I didn't ask to be born a baby, or ask to STAY an infant all my life--but that's what has happened.

What if YOU had to lie in a crib all the time, and have folks bend over and make, "Goo-goo, gah-gah" sounds and chuck your chubby chin with their fingertips. That's the worst part of it all.

But now I'll get even. My nanny accidentally dropped a plastic fork in my crib, and forgot to remove it. The next "grownup" that bends over me and chucks my chin is going to get that fork--right in the eye!

By Amy Friedman

12/10/2015

Vickie cut her eyes toward Roberta’s desk. As usual, it was pristine – swabbed clean, all papers tucked nicely into file folders, tape dispenser, stapler and phone set out in an attractive formation. Shifting her eyes back to her own desk, she sighed in despair. Scattered papers threatened to overwhelm the left side, while the right side brimmed with coffee cups, fruit, utensils, water bottles, napkins and other food paraphernalia. Fortunately, the orchid had sprouted a single purple bloom, which made Vickie smile. Still, the article that wouldn’t die was up on her screen, refusing to ease into completion. Not good.

A Not-So-Bad Troll, by Bobby Warner

10/10/2015

As Rockland Furble started across the bridge over Tippler Creek a squeaky voice from down below shouted up to him:

"Ye cannot cross this bridge. 'Tis mine!"

A dwarf-like creature scampered up the bank and flashed tusk-like teeth. "Pay a toll of gold or I'll eat ye up, for I'm a ferocious troll!"

"Ah, you little shriveled up old shrimp," said Rockland, "you're not so bad," and swung his tree-chopping axe, decapitating the obnoxious troll and going on his way, unmolested, across the bridge.

The Interview, by Russell Conover

9/10/2015

The interview had gone smoothly so far, with some impressive credentials on the candidate. However, the questioner was uneasy in the conference room.

Bond had his hand on his gun just in case, since this interviewee looked suspicious. “So, you say you’ve lived through a life of hardships?” he asked.

His subject confirmed.

“And you’ve decapitated innocent living beings, just because that’s who you are?”

Another confirmation.

“Wow. Sounds like you’ve been though some tough stuff,” Bond said, reviewing the résumé on his desk. “Chased dogs; destroyed mice; loved owner.”

“Congratulations, Alice’s cat. Welcome aboard as my new personal assistant.”

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