Blog Archives

Finishing The Job, by Ian Fletcher

14/11/2017

In minus 40 degrees they’d hacked a 9″ deep trench in the frozen ground.

They waited.

“Tanks!” shouts Schmidt.

An explosion knocks out the anti-tank gun behind.

All except Müller and Schmidt panic and run. They are mown down by the T-34s’ machine guns, their blood reddening the snow.

Those who stand and surrender meet the same fate.

The monsters screech over the trench and trundle onwards.

Safe!

They hear an engine reversing.

The tank draws parallel and drives aslant, one track passing along the trench.

Hearing the crunching of bones, they can expect no mercy on the Eastern Front.

An Autumn Stroll, by Russell Conover

13/11/2017

Ted smiled as he walked slowly through the woods on a November afternoon. The chill in the air was noticeable, but not yet uncomfortable. A blanket of colors appeared around him, from the leaves on the trees and on the ground. Many animals chirped and sounded from all directions, taking Ted directly into nature. His solitude on the path was a welcome escape from the craziness of life, yet he knew that turning around would return him to reality in moments. This path had become his personal journey into an environment in which he could savor the beauty of autumn.

Human Relations In The Silicon Valley, by Jo Oldani-Osborne

12/11/2017

“Darling”, Patsy looked up, “On the first hand, Ahjit, I love you. On another hand it’s against policy for us to “fraternize.”

On another hand THEY sent us on four tropical site-surveys!

However, on another hand I’m three weeks late for a “visit” from Auntie.”

“Missing your---Ohhhh.” Missing Aunties and surprise babies. Masterpiece Theatre.

Patsy and Ahjit were incompatible by religion, culture and Corporate HR. On another hand “WOW, WHO KNEW SEX WAS SO GLORIOUS!"

“AHA! Vishnu, the four-handed god! Marry me, dear Patsy and everything will be perfect when our little baby arrives in the fall, GLORIOUS!

Royal Flash Fiction, by Gordon Lawrie

10/11/2017

That Friday night, Scheherazade rose to tell the king another tale. As on the previous Friday, she spun a story so wonderfully beguiling that the king hung on every word. Her story might be an adventure, a romance, or an amusing anecdote that made the king roar with laughter.

But 100 words doesn't last long, even at half speed. Each week, Scheherazade would end her tale and the king wasn't satisfied.

"OK, then," she said, "it's sex you want."

"Of course," he said. 'It's Friday. It's what you want, too. I don't know why you insist on this storytelling nonsense."

Cracked Clock, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

9/11/2017

Two injured clocks were lying on the clock-maker’s table, unattended. They were trying to alleviate pain by sharing each other’s experience. The one said, “That sinister evening, my master came back from hospital with a gloomy face.

Suddenly, he hurled a flower vase at me yelling, ‘Let me slow down your bloody sound, you devil.’

The other grumbled, 'My owner cared very much for me, but as he heard his wedding had been postponed for three months, he frowned at me and bawled ‘Blast! Your sluggish ticking needs a spur, I suppose’ and hit me hard with his tennis racket.”

Squatters, by Reg Wulff

9/11/2017

“You stand on the bench and squat over the hole, that’s how you use it”

Alex pondered the advice, wondering if he was being told the truth.

“Now why would there be a bench all around the hole if you weren’t supposed to stand on it?”

Alex shrugged his shoulders, shut the door, stepped on the bench and squatted.

Betty and Hazel howled with laughter when they heard the crash. They were still laughing when a silver Mercedes pulled into the parking lot.

“Best put more grease on the outhouse bench Betty, looks like another city boy just pulled up.”

The Cupid, by Hadrian Hazlitt

9/11/2017

The newly arrived Cupid was excited to shoot his arrow on Earth. He'd just received his bow and arrow.

One of the cupids gave him his arrow. "This is the best arrow," he said. The new cupid accepted it. Then he departed.

On Earth he looked around. Under the maple tree he saw two lovers. He aimed. The girl had brunette hair. "Will you love me till I die?"

"Yes," answered the boy.

The Cupid shot his arrow. It was a good shot. It flew into the girl's heart. Shocked was the boy: The girl's chest was drenched in blood.

Melon Baby Moonlight, by Robert Masterton

9/11/2017

Picking melons by moonlight, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Green fruit glowing among moon-blackened leaves; they call them honeydew.

Giving the baby a bath in the sink. The odor of Ivory Soap, moonbeaming baby in the sink, water droplets shifting in the air. She opened her mouth and let the moon pour down her throat until she was full, until she illuminated herself.

Watching Flowers in the Rain, by Fliss Zakaszewska

9/11/2017

Mavis skipped to the silver-green flower and sniffed it.

“Ugh! Smelly-horrid! But children’s playing around them, so they must be alright.”

“Ring-a-ring-’o-roses…. Mavis, come and play.”

“Hello Tommy –there’s Mary Hammond!”

She held hands and danced. “What’s that rain Tommy? It’s stinky-cold like those flowers!”

A grey mist enfolded them.

“Ring-a-ring-’o-roses….”

“I’m cold, so cold…”

“Mavis, you’re hand’s freezing!” A pretty lady held out a glass and a pill. The stinky-disinfectant smell was everywhere.

She stared blankly. “What? Who are you…? Have I got am… nee…sia… Alka-Seltzer? No… Alzheimer's, that’s what I’ve got.” A tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.

Unexploded Bomb, by Charles Boorman

9/11/2017

Old Schnitzelgruber immediately recognised the black cylinder-shaped object lying among his cabbages. He also knew it could go off suddenly, so he called the police and reported an unexploded bomb.

The police knew old Schnitzelgruber too. He was notorious for complaining about his neighbours: Mueller’s cat peed on his doorstep; Weber’s tree cast a shadow on his lawn; Frau Funk had lots of male visitors.

Still, unexploded ordnance wasn’t uncommon, even 70 years after the war, so they sent someone round. “It certainly is a big one, Herr Schnitzelgruber”, said the officer, “but don’t worry. Courgettes do not usually explode.”

The Zone, by Ian Fletcher

9/11/2017

There she sits, as beautiful as ever.

We have been in the zone: our love the transcendent reality, the rest of the world but an ephemeral dream.

Radiant as always! She is still in the zone.

She holds her new lover’s hand, while I am cast out into the cold.

A Sport That Binds The World, by Sankar Chatterjee

8/11/2017

Dr. Aloke Mitra, an expatriate economist was returning home for Diwali, the Indian festival of light. Landing a day early, he sensed a kind of uncertain edge amongst fellow Calcuttans, all due to a football match to be played on next night in a faraway continent. In that match, city’s perennial favorite Brazil would face off Argentina, led by player-wonder Lionel Messi, city’s current soccer-hero. So whom to support?

Next night, Messi displaying his soccer-magic scored the only goal of the game in the dying minute. The quiet city, glued to TV-screen exploded with fireworks, welcoming the festival of light.

Bear Or Bare, by Leander Beatty Jr

8/11/2017

Someone once asked me, "Have you ever eaten bear"?

I had long been told that I should get my hearing checked. This was a perfect example. I heard something slightly different.

I responded, "Why, yes, I have eaten bare. However, I remember that the plate was quite hot, so I tried to shift it around. When I moved, I spilled hot food in my naked lap! Scalded and embarrassed, I vowed from then on to always eat with my clothes on".

They never asked me another question.

On a bright note, I did go have my hearing checked.

Thank you.

Midnight, by Hadrian Hazlitt

8/11/2017

Like a moth driven to a flame, Amanda walked with hurried steps to the streetlight. She'd heard footsteps in the darkness. Someone was following her.

It was in the middle of the night. She should've crashed in her friend's house. But her parents didn't know she attended the party. They'd forbidden her. It was just not safe. Six women were already killed recently, and were butchered like animals.

She stopped under the pool of light, and looked around. Her heart a succession beat of drum.

A growl, then a werewolf sprang towards her; slashing her neck before she could scream

Shiny Objects, by Don Tassone

8/11/2017

“Let me see your spoons,” Alex would say to his little friends in the school cafeteria.

He would take them and place them between his fingers, then bounce them between his palm and his knee, like drumsticks. When he was finished, he would slip the spoons into his pockets. Nobody ever missed them.

Alex did this well into his adult years, in restaurants and at parties. People were so impressed by his playing that they forgot to ask for their spoons back.

At forty, Alex retired and moved to the Caribbean, having sold the last of his spoons for scrap.

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust, by Reg Wulff

7/11/2017

Ashes to ashes

The fires raged through the night. Unstoppable, they consumed everyone and every thing in their path. Thick smoke filled the lungs of every living creature while clouds of ash obscured the stars and the moon. Hope waned.

While the world died, Martin, Ray and Bae laughed and drank expensive red wine, paid for by the windfall they received from destruction. Dotards and democracies, republics and rocket men smashed their toys together until they were broken and shattered. Ideological men and madness marched over those with reason and conscience, stomping their bones into the dirt.

Dust to dust

Unburdened, by Don Tassone

6/11/2017

He was packing up at the end of another grueling week when his phone rang. As he reached for the receiver, he felt a tightness in his chest.

“Sorry to do this, Jim,” his boss said. “But I’ll need the Midland pitch first thing Monday morning.”

He had promised to make his kids’ soccer matches tomorrow. He had promised his wife they would visit her folks on Sunday.

Now his arms hurt, and he was having trouble breathing. He felt his heart skip a beat, then stop.

His gray office walls turned white. He felt weightless and, at last, unburdened.

King Of The Horses, by Jamie Redgate

6/11/2017

It could stand alright but the cage was too tight at its sides to turn and see them. It tensed at the sound of their breath at its back though, and the scream of the key, and hunched pathetic when they shoved it towards the dark and the sound of hammers. A practised member of staff pulled the creature’s ugly hands out of its pockets to show the King, who looked boredly down his long nose, hoofed aloft two metal shoes and said, “We nail these to your feet or we eat you.”

“Please.”

“Decide.”

“Please God.”

“Yay or neigh?"

At a Subway on a Highway, by Sankar Chatterjee

5/11/2017

After visiting the Golden Temple in Amritsar, India, John began driving towards distant Dharamshala, hoping to visit The Dalai Lama, exiled Tibetan monk. Around noon, he noticed a recently-opened roadside Subway (a US-based eatery), instead of a traditional “dhaba” that served freshly-cooked food. He stopped for a sandwich. While waiting, he noticed an aged farmer on his tractor entered the premise, and came inside carrying fresh produces from his farm. He insisted that the chef use them in his foreign-style sandwich, instead of thawed frozen vegetables.

“Globalization still has a tough battle against historic traditions of ancient civilizations,” murmured John.

A Talkative Pet, by Russell Conover

4/11/2017

“C’mon, parrot. Say something.” Troy was becoming frustrated.

The parrot squeaked. “You look funny. Want a cracker.”

Troy’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Look funny. Cracker?”

Troy took a deep breath. Relax, he told himself. It’s just a parrot. It doesn’t mean anything. He turned to the bird.

“You’ll have no cracker until you take that back,” he informed his pet.

The parrot whistled. “Pet abuse. You’ll get locked up.”

“Do you enjoy tormenting me?” Troy asked through clenched teeth.

“But you make it so easy.”

Troy breathed deeply. “See that window? Tahiti’s not far away. How about a nice vacation?”

Desperate! by Bobby Warner

4/11/2017

Thursday night, and I'm desperate!

Came up with a fabulous story and promptly sat down and wrote it. The phone rang; I talked for a few minutes...then went back to send the story to Gargon at Fleshy Friday's Fiction.

The story was gone! Did I delete it from my documents? Did outer space aliens hit me with a mind block? I can't even recall the title!

It's a good one, too. If it's lost forever, FlFrFi has missed one outstanding bit of writing. I hope I can remember the story in time to submit it next week!

God Is Great, by Charles Boorman

3/11/2017

The men were appalled by the news from the war-torn country and felt they must help.

On the way home, Tom made a donation to charity. Leaving the bank, still haunted by the awful images of suffering, he stepped absentmindedly in front of a rental truck. He froze as it bore down on him, then suddenly came to a tyre-screeching stop. Tom raised his hand apologetically to the driver. Their eyes met.

Ahmed, the young man behind the steering wheel, hesitated, uncertain what to do next. Then he let out a deep breath: “Allahu akbar”, he sighed and waved back.

Choosing The Next US President, by Gordon Lawrie

3/11/2017

Around three years from now...

The candidates were ready, and a hush descended in the hall. Globally, one billion viewers watched on anxiously. Opinion was sharply divided whether the Republican or Democrat would be the next US President.

CNN's Jim Acosta, who had been selected as referee, began his job slowly and methodically. He had around fifty questions, but knew he wouldn't get through them all. No chance.

One hour later, time was up. Acosta paused for effect, then turned to the camera.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the results are in. The winner, and the next President, with an IQ score of 62 to 59, is..."

Free IQ Test

The Interview, by Guy Fletcher

2/11/2017

"I've been waiting for over one and a half hours," Carla explained tearfully. "My interview was half an hour ago. There's only me and my daughter. I need the money."

"Yes, it's annoying," sympathised the old woman.

Finally a bus crawled through the morning traffic but stated, "Not on Service." The final straw. Carla ran into the road banging on the driver's window.

"Let me in, let me in."

Three buses followed behind.

"I'm on time," said the driver smugly receiving a torrent of abuse from Carla.

Amazingly Carla got the job. Her interviewer knew all about the perils of public transport.

Communication, by Fliss Zakaszewska

2/11/2017

“We couldn’t access rat, which was bad enough, then wham and tad fell over…”

“You mean Tod? Was he hurt?” Bob looked at his wife blankly.

“No, the tad.”

“Right… and did you call the Council?”

“What? Why?”

“To come and get the rat? Did you try to hit it?”

“Hit what?”

“You whammed it – remember?” He looked at Donna patiently.

“What…? Oh… no, I was talking about the rat-queue!”

“Surely that’s an infestation!”

“No, love. I’m talking about our R.R.A.T., W.A.M and T.A.D queues on our ticket-logging system at work!”

“And they call it Information Technology?” muttered Bob.

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