Blog Archives

Hoping, by Russell Conover

29/10/2016

Victor, seven years old, had been lying in the hospital bed for days after his accident, not moving. The doctors were hopeful he’d recover, but couldn’t be sure. Victor’s parents waited alongside.

One morning, the boy’s eyes opened. “Where Victor? Why Victor here?” His parents cried tears of joy that their son had awakened. They hugged him as if they’d never let him go again.

“But, doctor, why is he referring to himself in third person?” Mom asked.

“Considering the accident, be thankful he’s talking at all.” The doctor’s face was firm, yet thankful.

Small steps go a long way.

The Change, by Ian Richards

29/10/2016

That first change was both surprise and revelation. A werewolf? Me. Wow! My bedroom mirror told me I was definitely a finer looking wolf than human. In moments the legendary blood lust was upon me, I needed to hunt, satiate myself.
My first victims, a middle aged couple preparing a late supper. I smashed into their kitchen and was on them before they could react. I fed well that night.
Next morning I woke naked on that same kitchen floor, belly full and face caked in crimson. Now, what to do with the bloody, partially eaten bodies of my parents.

A Man Of Bones, by Fliss Zakaszewska

28/10/2016

As I opened the door, I walked in to the open arms of a skeleton.

“Evening gorgeous,” I said, declining the hug. After all, we’d only just met! He continued to grin. I don’t suppose there’s a lot else a man o’bones could do.

“Hey!” called Alyson, “Wanna a drink?”

As I nodded she started to pour. It trickled red into a ruby glass.

“I see Bill is dancing with Harry.” Alyson grinned.

I turned to see Bill, a six-foot rugby player, waltzing across the floor with the five-foot plastic skeleton.

I raised my Pernod and blackcurrant. “Happy Halloween.”

Famine, by Jordan Altman

28/10/2016

The 31st day of the 10th month, in the year of our Lord, 1031, the famine enveloped France.
As the price of wheat became unbearable for the pleasantry, starvation saw the streets of Paris packed with beggars. Thin bodies knocked on doors, pleading with nobility for a morsel of bread.
With the sun setting and only a sliver of the moon illuminating the dying city, most were shooed away. Some vagrants were given crumbs, but the unlucky were invited in. In the morning, the nobility would toss their garbage on the streets, found in the trash were bones picked clean.

Flight To Freedom, by Ann-Louise Truschel

28/10/2016

She took the embezzled money and drove to the meeting.

“I need to disappear,” she whispered.

“For $10,000, I can guarantee it.”

“How do I leave the country?”

“The perfect disguise, but first the money.”

She pays and asks, “Now what?

“Let’s toast our deal. Then I’ll arrange for you to fly away.”

They drink the toast, and she immediately complains of headache and dizziness. “What’s happening?”

“You can now fly out of the country any time you wish.” He holds a mirror in front of her.

She gasps as she looks at her reflection and sees … a fly.

What Goes Around Comes Around, by Gordon Lawrie

28/10/2016

Photo: Mark Bosky

Reduced to utter despair by the US Presidential Election campaign, a number of world class canoeists decided to escape completely by holding a Solo Round-The-World Non-Stop Canoe Challenge. Starting in New York, each canoeist had paddle around the world. The winner would simply be the first back.

Setting off at the start of the US Presidential Campaign, the contest attracted great media attention but took far, far longer than anticipated. Eventually, first home was Annie Rochelle in exactly 1,460 days.

“OK,” she said, “what news have I missed?”

“Not much,” said Annie’s waiting sister. “The Presidential Election campaign’s just started.”

Justice and Morals, by Fliss Zakaszewska

23/10/2016

Lillian Quinn pressed her lips together into an unpleasantly thin line and smoothed down her already crease-less green Laura Ashley print dress. She didn’t approve of the WI’s acceptance of a single mother just because she made excellent jam. She should be shunned. Morals were morals. She’d spoken out against this slut’s membership time and again. If only they’d listen!

The meeting was in progress… they were voting. The gavel banged on the old wooden table.

“Motion carried unanimously,” declared Mrs Frobisher. “Lillian Quinn, we regret that you have been expelled from the WI due to your unacceptably uncharitable views”.

That Friday Feeling, by Russell Conover

21/10/2016

At the usual weekly time, Frank pounded the keyboard and triumphantly posted his masterpiece, Minnie by his side. Then he went to prepare a celebratory drink.

“This looks like fun!” Minnie thought. She approached the computer and read some stories. Then she began typing one of her own. However, she had trouble pressing the right keys. She wailed in anguish, her creativity being stifled.

Frank returned with his drink, and his eyes widened. “Minnie! What are you doing?” He shooed her away from the computer. “Bad kitty!”

“Friday Flash Fiction ... not all it’s cracked up to be,” Minnie thought sadly.

Jock Surpass Runs For President, by Gordon Lawrie

21/10/2016

Faraway Plutonians could see that self-made trillionaire Jock Surpass was making waves in the Uranus Presidential election.

“There’s lots of rubbish emanating from Uranus at the moment,” said one Plutonian. “If elected, Surpass promises to rename the planet ‘Surpass Uranus’. There’s already a Surpass Sea and a Mount Surpass. And he’s promising to make Uranus Great Again as the centre of the Surpass System.”

“More like Bypass Uranus,” said another (a Plutonian joke). “But he’ll not get elected this year.”

“Because?”

“Uranus years are 84 Earth years long. He’ll die before election day.”

“How true! Cup of tea to celebrate?”

Out Of Time, Chris Cole

19/10/2016

It was the wrong side of midnight. Jess was tired. She'd run too far, too fast. Like wading through a pond; the faster she moved, the bigger the ripples. The harder she bent time, the farther she could run, but it left traces. They could follow her wake, and they weren't far behind. Jacob would know what to do. He'd been doing this for years, decades. She wiped blood from her hands. It wasn't hers. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and kept moving, the world a snapshot around her. She, a blur, glimpsed in the night.

Disintegration, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

14/10/2016

Vanity slammed the bathroom door and glared at the mirror.
“Lie to me,” she ordered.
For ten years she’d been counting her wrinkles, upwards of one hundred and sixteen now, way too many for any single face, but Vanity couldn’t stop counting her facial erosion. Now the scarecrow lips snickered just as they had for her great Grandmother,
Grandmother, and Mother. My DNA, she thought, a veritable blood line of cruelty.
As always, just touching her skin, Vanity could hear the silent litany of violations, domestic abuse, bullying, her dead sisters warnings.
“Vanity,” she sighed, “really?”
Too late. Train wreck.

Tech Support, by Russell Conover

14/10/2016

Samuel was fed up with his Internet connection. It had been cutting out multiple times a day, despite him trying numerous troubleshooting techniques. When nothing worked, he growled and called tech support.

“What can you do?” he asked firmly.

“Well, the characteristics you described are unusual. But, we have a special consultant, from whom we haven’t heard in a while, who could help.” The call was transferred.

Samuel again described his issue to the consultant. “I know your problem,” she stated immediately. “Your connection is coming from Pluto. We’ll set you up with something more local. No extra charge, either!”

Final Exit? by Amy Friedman

14/10/2016

When the doctor said “pancreatic cancer”, Roberta knew her time was nigh. Fortunately, she had already planned her funeral: the rabbi was chosen, the shivah luncheon planned, and money was in an account with her son for any expenses. She sighed, thinking longingly of the menu. Roast beef, turkey, crudités, lox, bagels, rugelach. A proper Jewish feast! Then there was that call from Louise. The ambulance had just arrived, so she let the answering machine take the message. Trust Louise to not bother calling until she was almost dead! Roberta would have some tart words for her when they reunited.

An Alternative Argument, by Emma Baird

14/10/2016

Photo: Emma Baird website

“You look alright for a junkie…”

Over the years, many people tried to persuade Chris to give up. They used a variety of arguments – ones that cited what it did to his health (his demise the ultimate threat), to the impact it had on his relationships.

Nothing worked.

She regarded him scientifically. “Those cheek bones are something else. And your eyes look haunted… that vulnerability makes you sexy.”

She stroked his cheek, regretfully. “You’d be devastating if you were in peak health.”

As she got up to leave, he felt his stomach lurch. “Please stay.”

No response.

This time, maybe.

Pathways To Invisibility, by Gordon Lawrie

14/10/2016

The Edinburgh launch of Lyra Somerset’s much-vaunted book, Pathways To Invisibility, proved a star event. A large crowd listened as James Ralston’s artful questioning coaxed intimate details from Lyra about her journey to transparency.

The audience gasped as Lyra read extracts standing, her clothes seemingly unsupported. Scores of copies were sold afterwards, each entirely blank, each signed in invisible ink.

Once the last customer had departed, Ralston packed away the discreet PA system with Lyra’s pre-recorded voice, the clothes, the cunningly-concealed clothes hoist, and the remaining blank books.

Easy money, Ralston thought, wondering if Glaswegians would be as gullible tomorrow.

Making The Connection, by Ann-Louise Truschel

14/10/2016

The young girl lay dead in a pool of blood. She’d been assaulted and repeatedly stabbed.

There were no leads, and crime-scene fingerprints didn’t match friends or family.

“Why would she have let a stranger in?” said her distraught mother.

After three months, the case went cold.

Preparing for a flight to Florida, a neighbor calls her young niece to provide arrival information.

“Some guy’s at the door,” said the girl. “He has car trouble and needs to use the phone. I’ll call you back.” She hangs up.

The aunt immediately dials another number.

“Tampa 911. Where is your emergency?”

Make a Wish, by Johann Lux

12/10/2016

Jim lost his chin in a skateboarding accident. Thankfully the helmet Jim wore when the accident occurred protected his brain. Ironically, the question Jim is asked most, the question that drives him mad, is:

“Did your helmet have a chin guard”?

Jim grew a beard that when heavily hairspray lacquered in place effectively concealed the fact he had no chin.

For his 25th birthday, Jim, still sporting a beard, revealed his new prosthetic chin and his lovely fiancée Lola.

Jim made a wish. Unfortunately the candles on his birthday cake set fire to his face.

Jim’s wish: ‘a brighter future’.

Woman's Best Friend, by Ann-Louise Truschel

11/10/2016

“Why’d somebody want to break into your mother’s house and rob her?” Detectives asked her daughter.

“Mom kept her money under the bed. Why didn’t he just take it? He didn’t need to kill her!”

“Probably did.”

“Why?”

“She probably knew him.”

“But her dog Brutus would attack anyone he didn’t know unless he was locked up.”

“We’ve got two suspects, based on fingerprints – the handyman and her visiting nurse.”

“Bring them – and Brutus - in.”

As the handyman is escorted in, Brutus lunges at him and is restrained. When the nurse arrives, Brutus lifts his paw to shake hands.

Switcheroo, by Russell Conover

7/10/2016

Ted yawned as he awoke, smacking his lips. However, something felt different. Looking down, he gasped to see that he now had four paws, a long tail, and fur. He’d turned into a cat! “What in the world?” he thought, though he could only meow.

“Don’t worry about it, fur-ball,” a voice said. Ted’s jaw dropped as he saw his body, ready for work. “Yeah--I’m Fluffy the cat,” his body said. “Last night I wished we could switch bodies, and my wish came true. Anyhoo, I’m going to the office.”

“That’s it,” Ted thought. “No more coffee after midnight.

Wet Paint, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

7/10/2016

The fence was wet. Gooey purple. It looked edible and Jasmine wished there was a topping she could drip over her ice cream like that. Marshmallow violets. Sigh. Not happening. Instead she left her fingerprints everywhere, her Ode to World.

I exist.
Memory hands on Marshmallow Violets.
Permanent. Powerful. Forever.
Unforgettable.
Me.

“Jasmine, stop that!” Mr. Gossamer yelled as he raced across the front lawn. “Get away from my fence,” he said, shoving her.
“They are Forget-me-knots, Daddy,” Jasmine smirked. “Your daughter, remember.”
His eyes, livid.
Her eyes smiled as she extracted the pistol from her pocket.
“Boom. Boom.”

A Self-Solving Problem, by Gordon Lawrie

7/10/2016

I'm indebted to UKIP for the inspiration for this tale.

Democracy, it appeared, had had its day. The country was in the grip of the People’s Party, a band of thugs and villains whose concept of ‘letting the people decide’ only extended as far inviting dissidents to shout down the wrong end of a gun barrel.

But these things have a habit of righting themselves. To elect its own leader, the People’s Party’s slightly crude selection process required candidates to ‘step out and sort it outside’. The winner simply had to beat every other contender to death.

With only one candidate left, the police could safely arrest her for murder.

Karma Has Me On Hold, by Johann Lux

6/10/2016

Hatred fueled by familiarity and cheap champagne ushered in a New Year.
Mom caught Dad with recently widowed, neighbor Laura. Dad, with his trousers around his ankles, explained he was just helping Laura wash her hands.
During their vicious argument, Laura accused mom of being frigid. Extremely drunk Dad, openly, laughingly agreed with Laura. Mom countered, confessing that Laura’s recently deceased husband is actually my biological father.
Mom was killed on route to her divorce attorney’s office by a drunk driver.
Sadly, Dad married Laura.
At 16 weeks old, having failed a paternity test, I was placed in an orphanage.

My Shadows, by Skylar Fischer

6/10/2016

There are these things, I don’t know how to control them. How did they come to find me? No remorse, They tell me I’m not good enough.
People, or shadows coming in my room, I know they touched everything, and nothing will ever be the same. I’m standing here, in this mess. Sheets off the bed, scratches on the wall.
But is this mess from them? Or was it me?
Am I one of them?
Maybe I’ll never know.

Lifeblood, by Lisa Heidle

6/10/2016

“I love sports, Mama. Daddy put them in my blood.”

Mama wonders what else of the despised man courses through the veins of her boy with bird-like bones and earnest eyes. The cruel humor her husband uses to diminish her sense of self? The lack of imagination that trapped her in a joyless life where the only thrill is in making cheese-covered fried foods intended to finish hardening his heart?

She prays her son’s lifeblood carries the man who once found an abandoned kitten, tenderly placed it in her hands, made her believe love was satiny fur, a feline purr.

The Presidential Debate, by Russell Conover

5/10/2016

The two candidates were bickering nonstop during the debate. “I’ll fix this!” “I’ll improve that!” The moderator did his best to keep the discussion civil, but his task was daunting.

Suddenly, something round slammed through the roof of the building, and everyone cried out in shock. Two extraterrestrials exited their ship, each with five eyes, four arms, and four legs. They narrowed their eyes, and each gobbled a candidate whole. The crowd fled, screaming bloody murder.

“Oops. That may have been slightly extreme,” alien 1 reflected.

“True,” creature 2 responded. “But, we’re just trying to save them from future headaches.”

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Since Friday Flash Fiction began in September 2013, 100-word stories have remained its 'beating heart'.

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