Blog Archives

Gravity Doesn’t Care What You Believe, by Johann Lux

31/10/2017

After two years together, Alice and I began noticing annoying little things about each other. These annoyances escalated, breaking us down and finally up.

Along our separate ways, Alice became involved with a man, whose last name is Bugar, but everyone called him Bugger. This simile drove Mr. Bugar mad, drove him to drink and when drunk he beat Alice mercilessly.

In a drunken rage, Bugar threw a right cross, lost his balance and fell out a window to his death.

Alice believes the Lord answered her prayers, while I think it was mostly Gravity, that rescued and freed her.

The Enemy Within, by Gordon Lawrie

31/10/2017

We've had to live with a rogue toothbrush in the Lawrie house for a few days. It bursts into life without warning, including during the night. Now destined for the 'recycled' bin.

The evening passed as usual: the natives visited bathrooms on one final occasion before retiring. Some even took sleeping pills.

The advance troops were well prepared. Unusually, the trigger for invasion was to be initiated by the humans' own hand, as brushing teeth would free the electric toothbrushes for their true role as intergalactic warriors.

Around one o'clock, every toothbrush spontaneously switched on and formed into massed battalions. The combination of metal spikes and immense determination was unstoppable as they tore into the sleeping human hordes. It was a bloodbath.

Earth today, Mars tomorrow. They'd have Pluto within a week.

Change Of Heart, by Don Tassone

29/10/2017

Walter hated working second shift. But jobs were scarce, and he had a young family to support. He should be grateful.

But tonight, as he began to walk the nineteen blocks to the row house he rented, Walter felt resentful that he couldn't afford a car.

A light snow began to fall just as he was walking by a shantytown, where women and children huddled together under cardboard roofs and men searched for anything they could burn.

By the time he got home, Walter felt grateful to kiss his wife and children good night as they slept in their beds.

An Unexpected Journey, by Russell Conover

29/10/2017

Roy and Tammy gasped as the green, six-inch-tall man appeared in the living room. “I am Jarnu, and you’re coming with ME!” the man stated, grinning.

A blinding white light flashed, and Roy and Tammy were flying through space! They saw asteroids and comets all around, not to mention a planet approaching quickly. They thudded to its surface, trying to catch their breath.

Their eyes widened. The sky was green; the grass was red; the water was orange; and the clouds were purple. Small people of all colors skittered around, too.

“That’s it,” Tammy lamented. “No more candy after midnight.”

The Fortune Teller, by Hadrian Hazlitt

28/10/2017

"I can see your death," said the fortune-teller as she held the woman's hand, reading her palm. She always foretold of death. And she was always right-- always!

"How will I die?" said the woman, alarmingly.

"You'll be run over by a car," the fortune-teller said. "Be careful."

Fidgetingly she handed the bill and left.

On the street the light turned red. She waited on the sidewalk. Cars were passing by. Then she felt a force on her back. She sprawled into the street: a car hit her. And her blood scattered everywhere. Shouts erupted. The fortune-teller was among the crowd, grinning.

A Good Read, by Gordon Lawrie

27/10/2017

'Tis the season...

Really, she wasn't afraid of the dark. The owner assured her that stories of evil spirits were nonsense. Anyway, she was a grown woman: she ought to be able to take holidays in the countryside on her own.

Mind over matter. Read a good book.

She settled down by the fire and began reading by the "mother and child" floor lamp's soft light. Her book soon had her attention completely. Quietly, the lower "child" lamp reached out from behind to grab her by the throat. She didn't stand a chance.

It wasn't the dark she needed to be wary of.

Planned Death, by Ann-Louise Truschel

27/10/2017

“You wanted to see me, Eileen?”

“Yes, I want to talk.”

“The divorce is almost final. We have nothing to discuss.”

“Please, Harold. I got bad news today. It’s stage 4 cancer, and it’s very painful. I’m going to take my life.”

“What do you want me to do? I won’t try to stop you.”

“I’ve typed a note and left it there on the desk. Please read it. It explains everything.”

Harold picks up the note. A gunshot rings out.

“Harold was despondent over the divorce, Officer. He had this suicide note in his hand when I found him.”

Plain English, Please, by Fliss Zakaszewska

26/10/2017

“Lieutenant! The Landrover’s piled into the ditch. At least that stopped it pitching over the cliff.”

They gazed towards the white cliff-tops.

“The new one? American alloy? Radio HQ to recover.”

“Sah! Plover Three-twenty-one to Command. Over.”

“Receiving you, Plover. Over.”

“Request support. Rover over in Dover. Over.”

“Plover over in Dover? Copy that. It’s your location. Over.”

“No, repeat. ROVER over in Dover. Over.”

“Rover over in Dover, Plover? Identify vehicle. Over.”

“Kover Rover over. Over.”

“Cover on Rover’s over? Over.”

“’K’sake. The alloy Landrover’s fallen in the bloody ditch. Send the tow-truck… er, over and out.”

Pete The Bin Man Strikes Back, by Charles Boorman

26/10/2017

“Bloody snobs”, muttered Pete the bin man, as his latest attempt to strike up a little conversation with an inhabitant of Viceroy Gardens failed dismally.

Pete had been emptying the basket for poop bags when a young woman approached with her Labrador and dropped another bulging little sack on the top. “Good morning, love, how are you today?” Pete said to the blonde, who completely ignored him.

As she minced away on high heels, Pete turned his attention to the refills. Taking his penknife, he made little nicks to the occasional new poop bag and stuffed it into the dispenser.

Tribe, by Don Tassone

26/10/2017

Long ago, when people were still struggling to survive, they gathered in tribes. It was the only life they knew. The world beyond was uncertain. Wandering off was risky.

But there have always been explorers, those who seek a new way. In time, explorers from all the tribes came together. They formed a much larger tribe than any they had left behind. They shared ideas and customs and blended both their cultures and bloodlines.

Eventually, they began to see themselves as first among tribes. And they began to see no benefit, only risk, in accepting those from other, lesser tribes.

A Little More Conversation, by Don Tassone

25/10/2017

I walked into the Starbucks, needing some hot coffee and hoping for some warm conversation.

A saxophone sounded like a man begging. A young woman at the counter rattled off an impossibly complex order to a young man who simply smiled and nodded.

The place was packed. Yet aside from the hissing espresso machine and the wailing sax, it was as quiet as a monastery. Everyone stared at their laptops, most with wires dangling from their earbuds. No one said a word.

“Is this for here or to go?” the man behind the counter asked.

“To go,” I said reluctantly.

Waiting For Jack, by Guy Fletcher

25/10/2017

"I'll help you with your make-up, Sylvia," volunteered Martha.

"Yes I want to look my best for Jack. What lengths we young ladies go to, eh?"

Sylvia stared into the mirror, pleased with her appearance and started to sing a song very popular in the 50s.

Martha shook her head sadly. Sylvia was once a beautiful woman but now a wreck like the discarded boats on Barry Harbour which would never sail again.

Jack had died in a car accident over half a century before.

Martha saw a rather different figure in the mirror.

"He's late," Sylvia sighed.

The Weekly Ritual, by Russell Conover

22/10/2017

Joe sat at his computer, forehead in his palms. This exercise was a weekly ritual, and he’d only missed a handful of them over the years. But tonight, he had nothing.

“Crud. What can I write about for Friday Flash Fiction?”

He’d already covered most of the obvious topics: everything from cats to aliens to Pluto. His head spun as he considered all the possibilities.

“Just write!” he told himself. He typed a sentence. Then another. Then several more. The story wasn’t his best, but considering the timeframe ...

Joe posted his story at 11:59 on Friday night. “Whew--close one.”

For Old Time's Sake, by Ian Fletcher

21/10/2017

Meeting after thirty-five years at the funeral of a university friend whom cancer has taken too soon, they arrange a drink that evening for old time’s sake.

A couple of pints bring on reminiscences of wild oats sown in imagined misspent youths, in truth but on-campus capers of callow souls who’d never leave the straight and narrow.

After three they forget broken marriages, indifferent children, stalling careers and looming old age, lost in their nostalgic haze.

At closing time their five-pint bonhomie makes all seem right with the world.

Shaking hands, they depart anesthetized into the dead of the night.

Perpetual Motion, by Paul Howard

21/10/2017

One, two, three, four, five, six steps.
Halt.
Turn around.
Six steps back to his starting point.
A further six.
Repeat.
Knowing nothing of the perinatal disaster that had befallen him, he paces up and down like a caged tiger, although big cats have more space in captivity than he permits himself.

*****

Of course, the financial settlement was welcome, but money couldn’t liberate her son, or reverse her husband’s suicide.
She jogs incessantly in a futile attempt to break free, aware that she must return home to be the last carer he sees at the end of each day.

Knowing The Score, by Gordon Lawrie

20/10/2017

Laura had rehearsed thoroughly, and her performance of "Good Morning" had gone well. But she knew the score. Any aspiring actor had to stand out, so she'd held the gaze of the producer, Hillard Rook.

Eventually, Rook invited her into a private room.

"There are a couple of sex scenes in Singing In The Rain," Rook said quietly. "Are you OK with that? Naked?"

"I don't recall that in the movie," Laura said.

"This is a modern version." Rook held her gaze. "You want the part?"

Here we go again, Laura thought, as she began to peel off her clothes.

A Broken Love Triangle, by Bobby Warner

19/10/2017

There were three of us in the tiny apartment, getting on each other's nerves. I loved them both, and both loved me; and I was heart-broken when I had to choose between them. But it was my apartment; the decision was mine.

I finally confronted them, told them how it was, and how it had to be, and tried not to cry too much.

Then I put the smaller of the two kittens in a pet carrier and took him across town to a friend who had been pestering me for "the runt of the litter" for the past week.

Should’ve Been Indigestion, by Fliss Zakaszewska

19/10/2017

“What?” squawked Joe, looking at the headline on the newspaper in his hand. “A bloke died wolfing a tiger?”

He picked up the phone and called the sub-editor.

“How the hell did he die, Brian?”

“Who?”

“The guy scoffing a tiger!”

“Hang on.” There was a clicking of keyboard and mouse. “Old age, it seems.”

“What, it took him that long to eat a bloody tiger? Look at the front page!”

There was a rustle of paper then silence.

“Oops, sorry. Missed the hyphen. The dude that died was the cat. It should read, ‘Man-eating tiger dies.”

Selfless, by Don Tassone

19/10/2017

Colleen always was a sensitive soul.

Loud noises made her cry. In the summer, when it began to get dark, her friends would get upset because they knew it was time to go home. Colleen would sit on a swing in silence and watch the sun set.

Growing up, she kept a vegetable garden in her backyard. She had heard what happens to animals made into food for people.

At eighteen, Colleen entered a cloistered convent. She believed she could do the most for the world by praying for it from a distance and leaving no footprints on the earth.

False Advertising, by DS Levy

18/10/2017

The sign promised: The Ideal Kitchen. She went in, the salesclerk greeted her politely, asked if she needed any help. No, she smiled, “just looking.” She strolled the tiny aisles, gazed at all the helpful utensils: spatulas, electric and regular knives, mixers, trivets, spice racks, aprons with clever sayings, toasters, salt and pepper shakers, pots, pans, crocks, spoons and ladles, tongs and forks. So many shiny and colorful gadgets! But, she thought, whatever in the world for? She walked out, empty-handed, dejected. Another case of false advertising. If it were truly The Ideal Kitchen, the food would make itself.

A Greasy Mess, by Winston Van Lance

17/10/2017

As she miserably moaned on a hospital gurney, I asked my wife of eight years a very important question.

“Why would you eat fifty chicken nuggets, drenched with hot sauce, in one sitting?”

“Cause Benson owed me twenty bucks and I was hungry.”

“We’re both thirty, this isn't cute anymore.”

“Don't lie just because I was rushed to the emergency room…”

“On my girl's night out!” I frowned.

“I'm sorry, Victoria.”

“It's okay, Cecily.”

“Really?”

I nodded with a smile.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you this morning. Maybe, we aren't ready for kids yet.”

“Yeah, this happened watching cartoons.”

The Waiter, by Joseph Pipolo

16/10/2017

I wait for money. I get paid to wait for hours. I’m a professional line-stander. Sometimes I’m very busy. Black Friday. iPhones. Barbara Streisand tickets. Today it’s $23.00 Norwegian cupcakes baked once a day and sold on a first come basis. Two divorce attorneys are paying me $250.00. To wait. I’m seventh in line with seventy or so people behind me. It’s been four hours. My ex walked by carrying a poster with the words handwritten Fair Wages Now! She left me. I was not ready to be serious. We took a break. That was two years ago. She’s marching.

The Call, by Tracy Boyd

16/10/2017

It’s a cold night. I snuggle deep into the covers and drift off to sleep. Sometime later, you crawl into bed beside me, curling up around me. “How was the flight? What time is it?” I murmur, but fall back asleep before you have a chance to answer. Time goes by, I don’t know how long. I am woken by a ringing -- alarm? No, cell phone. “Hello?” I answer, my voice groggy with sleep. “Hi, it’s me. Sorry I’m not home yet. My flight has been delayed.”

A hand clasps my throat, cutting off my scream.

Transformation, by Guy Fletcher

16/10/2017

Jack was always a very confident young man. He had opinions set in stone, one of those types who feels sure of his footsteps on the earth. Once we had a conversation about religion, it was extremely short.

"When you're dead, there's a black void, end of story," he claimed in a smug, booming voice. Jack was a black and white sort of chap.

Out of the blue he suffered an aneurism confining him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. His abundant self-belief evaporated like snow in May. Our religious conversations are a good deal longer now.

Planes Trains and Autochthony, by Ronald Guell

15/10/2017

White men turn the earth. The last red man is laid to rest, his memory to become a myth. Death, in its wisdom, sheds a tear. The Manitoo howls in every tree, hawk, and waterfall. The wind echoes an invisible prayer, welcoming honored guests, the invisible dead of his tribe.

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