Blog Archives

The Jury’s Still Out, by Alyce Clark

26/11/2021

Everyone’s watching, captivated by the trial. Passions run deep. Lives paused awaiting an outcome.

Will the defendants be found guilty? Innocent? Does one outcome prove racism exists in our land? Does the other prove that the justice system works?

Schools choose online versus in person classes- fearful of the response to the verdict. While the nation argues about what can be taught in those classes.

Pastors and protestors stand outside the courthouse. Grieving parents sit inside.

Will there be violence or cheering in the streets? Will we overcome racism and find the good in each other? The jury’s still out.

Thank You, by Ramon Oteiza

26/11/2021

"My daughter tells me you're Ind—," the hostess began, "I mean, Native American."
"About five percent," the suitor replied. "After generations of exogamy accelerated by genocide, the ancestry transmogrifies."
"What a curious accent," said the hostess, relieving her discomfort. "Our own family has had only plain English speakers since the Mayflower landing."
"Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote...," he started.
"Maybe we should just tell them," the daughter cut in, squeezing his arm.
"I thought we were waiting 'til everyone gave thanks," the suitor said.

Twin Decisions, by Peggy Gerber

26/11/2021

Jack and Jake were identical right down to the port-wine stain under their right eye. Only their mother could tell them apart, and even then not always.

As adults, the twins went in different directions. Jack developed a love of fast food, craft beer and his couch while Jake became a runner, setting a goal to enter the Boston marathon. Now, nobody had a problem telling them apart.

In their forties, Jack learned he had diabetes. He called his brother waiting for the inevitable, “I told you so.” Instead Jake said, “Let me help you. I miss looking like twins.

Imposter Syndrome, by Lynn Messing

26/11/2021

I stare at my screen hoping for inspiration. Sure, I’ve been able to come up with 100-word stories every week since I learned about FFF, but they were all flukes, right? Writing a few stories doesn’t make me a capital-A Author. Who am I trying to fool? My well of story ideas has run dry.

I refuse to give in to this negative self-talk, and so I will sit here and stare at my screen until the next story idea comes.

A Fresh Start, by David Lowis

26/11/2021

Ben awoke to the sound of a horror film blaring from the TV. He glanced at the clock. 1:12am. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa. Again.

Standing up, he was surprised by how clear-headed he felt. Usually, on nights like this, he'd wake up feeling punch-drunk before staggering off to bed. Now, there was a buoyancy in his limbs he hadn't felt since... Actually, he couldn't remember when he'd last felt this good.

As he turned to leave the room, Ben stopped in his tracks. There, still slumped on the sofa, was his inert body, glassy eyes staring into space.

A Fragile Fairytale, by Mary Wallace

26/11/2021

Once upon a time there was an old woman in the woods who was searching for a lost love.

Dodging firing squads and death rays and armed only with a pen and the blank page that had tormented her for weeks, she composes a fragile fairytale praying Mr Ed might show kindness if a comma should stray from its allotted position.

It is a small story emitting only a dull gleam in the dark, but perhaps it may be bright enough to guide the old woman out of the woods and into a happy ever after ending.

The Bard Plays Cupid, by Sue Clayton

26/11/2021

“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo.”

“With more feeling please, Fenella,” our drama teacher demands during the dress rehearsal while Romeo, wearing wire-rim glasses and spots, waits in the wings.

I shouldn’t judge Leonard by his looks. Should be grateful the make-shift balcony holds the weight of my plump body.

It’s First Night and I feel beautiful in my flowing velvet gown with flower-braided hair.

“Romeo, Romeo…” I gaze down upon my suitor resplendent in tights and white blouse.

Bathed in golden spotlight we fall into each other’s love-struck eyes.

Once more William Shakespeare has brought two teenage lovers together.

I Didn't Host a Martha Stewart Thanksgiving, by Elizabeth Zahn

26/11/2021

Like I tried. I texted invitations with turkey emojis. I nixed the craft table because little Taylor still suffers PTSD from last year’s drilling accident making acorn dolls. I got too blitzed at the neighborhood’s annual Wednesday Wingding to fold fancy napkins. My kids vetoed place cards in favor of our traditional fight for seats far from Aunt Sara, for obvious reasons. We screamed about politics. No police needed this year thanks to my brilliant niece who calmed everyone down with homemade Martha and Snoop Dogg Brownies spiked with “the stuff”. Maybe it was a Martha Stewart Thanksgiving after all.

Keys, by Brian Taylor

26/11/2021

I lost my car keys. I have the worst habit of misplacing or dropping things. It's usually something minor, but this was a real problem. I need my car to go to work.

I looked seemingly everywhere for them. I feared I might have to shell out for a locksmith.

You dummy, I scolded myself.

But today, my sister and niece came to visit. While playing outside, my niece saw my keys under the porch.

"Thanks, sweetie," I say, blushing while taking them.

"Welcome," she says, grinning.

I still feel like a dummy, but now I feel a lot better.

Big and Small, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

26/11/2021

Many years after moving to a metro, he wrote to his friend.

“I live in a city a thousand times larger than your tiny hamlet. I have countless friends and means to entertain myself and manage my body and mind. I have lots of money to buy oxygen and drinking water.”

The childhood chum replied.

“Is your city larger than nature? I have just four friends. They form the circle of my life. We’re each other’s students. I need no money to buy my life. You’re happy with your world and I with mine.”

How small is big! I wondered.

Assumptions, by Mandy Meikle

26/11/2021

Lizzie didn't want to confuse her new dog, which was five or six years old and no doubt very used to its name. But Pixie? Lizzie thought about it and called out, "Pix" which seemed close enough. No scampering feet. She tried again, nothing. She put a bowl of water down and Pix had a drink. While the dog's back was turned, Lizzie said the name again, then banged a fork against a food dish, rattled the kibble box. Yup, it turns out Pixie is as deaf as a post and from then on was called Floyd.

Chain Reaction, by Samantha Lynne

26/11/2021

Audrey had recently taken up jewellery making and was excited to show her husband, Roy, her latest creation, a keychain entitled ‘Red Trillium.’ Admittedly she’d struggled with the appropriate dimensions of the three petalled adornment. The two top petals were rather large and somewhat bulbous. Despite the enamel detailing turning out far pinkier than she’d anticipated, Audrey’s efforts had pleased her. She held the piece out in earnest of Roy’s perusal and validation.

Squinting confusedly at it, lines of chagrin formed on her husband’s brow as he assessed her handicraft, before proclaiming…

“I sincerely hope that wasn’t modelled on me!”

Where To Go Back To? by Sankar Chatterjee

26/11/2021

Prof. Salman Hassan, a world-renowned immigrant scientist in the US was reminiscing about his life’s journey. Here he received an excellent education, later applying to his expertise. However, he also faced discriminations and prejudices. His teen-age son Javed entered the room, appearing distraught. He mentioned that senior students mercilessly bullied him. The insult “Go back to where you came from,” hurt him most. Javed continued “But dad, I was born in this country!”

Prof. Hassan remembered his arrival day. A geo-political crisis with a faraway country just began. Outside the airport, someone shouted that same insult, while throwing a penny.

The Soaring Towers of Your Grand Utopia, by Bill Cox

26/11/2021

Imagine a thought that’s never occurred before, that’s never appeared inside a human brain throughout recorded history. Imagine this thought describes a social system that is a perfect utopia; egalitarian, sustainable, fair, just. It could be described as a thing of beauty, a perfect answer to all the questions humans have asked down the ages.

This thought popped into Brian’s head. The future of humanity hung in the balance. The Universe held its breath.

Unfortunately, Brian, an infant of six months, promptly soiled himself and the thought passed from his mind, never to return. The Universe sighed and moved on.

The Wickie, by Shaun P McClurg

26/11/2021

George stood with fortitude in the lighthouse tending the beacon. His oiled hands clamped together as he blew what felt like his last warm breath into them.
He watched through the window. Giant waves crashed into the rocks and debris sprayed high into the air.
Under the luminescent moon George felt as if he was the last man on earth.
Dots of light flashed in the distance that surrounded him though he couldn’t see any boats.
Then they all appeared to him at once.
George’s arms fell limp to his side.
There were legions of them, but they weren’t boats.

Prologues and Epilogues, by Sandra James

26/11/2021

Newly-dumped, secretary Sally, faced a long lonely weekend. All her friends were attached.

She scrolled through her literary agent boss’ electronic slush pile, selected a title and transferred it to her e-reader. Chocolate, wine and a long saga would cushion the loneliness.

She read, and read. It was good. She told her boss on Monday morning. Her boss read it. Her boss agreed.

A generous contract. Million dollar plus royalties. A movie offer.

History created… until the alarm roused the author from slumber.

The Lost Thrill, by Sivan Pillai

26/11/2021

“You won’t feel the difference after a while,” the doctor assured me.
I remembered the thrill of running after the ball, tackling defenders one by one. At last, I was face to face with the goal-keeper. As my feigned kick took the ball past his outstretched hand and entered the goal, the spectators went wild. My teammates mobbed me and carried me on their shoulders.
The magazines in the waiting room showed photographs of handicapped sportspersons practising with determination.
What I wanted was another go on the football field.
Will it be possible with an artificial leg?

Lost, by John Cooper

26/11/2021

The words were all too jumbled.

The sentences dragged on and on.

The paragraphs seemed to have no end.

I tried to persist I really did, but then my mind ambled off to other things. What am I doing later? Do I need to phone them again? Is there anything for tea?

I looked out of the window and found you looking at me in the reflection.

“You’re still here?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Are you as bored as me?”

“Yes.”

“Should I read you what I have written?”

“If you like.”

A Memory Lesson, by Ellen Coffey

26/11/2021

Larry realized he’d left his cat, Alice, out all night in the rain. He wrenched open the back door and spotted her on the bottom step of the porch stairs looking miserable. He called to her to come, but she only gave him the stink eye. He walked down to get her, but she hissed and raced past him, darting into the house. On her way in, she bumped the door and it slammed, locking Larry outside in his underwear. Alice deftly jumped into his bed and snuggled under his still warm sheets. She was purring.

Top of the Dune, by James A. Tweedie

26/11/2021

Forty-two years before to the day Mo had taken the same path and proposed to Marjie at the top of the dune where the ocean spread its glory into view.

Four daughters, five grandchildren and forty wonderful years followed--the final year, perhaps, not as wonderful as the others.

Now it was Spring and Mo's knees felt their age as he knelt at the top of the dune and placed a ring on Sarah's finger.

"Yes," she smiled. "I will."

The Journey, by Jim Woessner

26/11/2021

Larry circled October 5th on his calendar in red.

“What’s the significance?” I asked.

“That’s the day I’m going to die,” he said.

He had been ill for months with an inoperable cancer and little hope of recovery.

“You mean suicide,” I said.

He nodded.

“But it’s perfect,” he said. “It will be a new adventure.”

I went away to think about death as an adventure. Not his death but mine. Days later when I returned from my mental desert, Larry looked weak, skeletal, wasting away. He looked nothing at all like an adventurer, except perhaps for his infectious smile.

The Deathgrip, by Doug Bartlett

26/11/2021

Finally, after all this time I had it in my possession. It was priceless. The most precious and valuable object I have ever held was now in my control, resting in my right hand. I would not release it for love or any amount of money. To grasp it in my hand and feel the immeasurable power it gave me was indescribable.

A vase from the Ming Dynasty? a Rembrandt painting? the Holy Grail?

No, this was much more important.

Should I die now it would take a crowbar to pry my television remote control from my cold, dead hand.

Shame, by AJ Cartwright

26/11/2021

Abe looked with repulsion at the naked form lying in his bed. A curve of a hip. A flat muscular stomach. Abe’s attraction nauseated him.
Abe remembers his mother confiscating a condom stashed in his wallet. What are you going to do with this, Abe? Go straight to hell is what!
He remembers his father bursting into his room and hearing Michael Stipe’s crooning. Something about banging and blaming. One homophobic rant later, Abe knew precisely where God and his father stood on the ‘gays’.
Blake got dressed and kissed Abe goodbye.
“Same time next week?”
Abe cringed and nodded.

A Christmas Lament, by M D Smith

26/11/2021

“What’d ya get from Santa, Dave?”

“I got a great Daisy BB pistol for indoor shooting. Trouble is, now it’s gone.”

“That’s great. Watcha mean, gone?”

“Last night my folks went to a party, the sitter was watching TV. My little gun wouldn’t even break a bottle, only poke a hole in paper.”

“What happened?”

“I decided to see if it’d even break a glass ornament. Pop, it did. It was great.”

“So?”

“It was so terrific, that when my parents got home, only half the ornaments were left on the tree. Couldn’t stop. Now, no BB gun till summer.”

The White Morning, by Juhong Lee

26/11/2021

The carol was echoing outside. The sunshine was bright on the window. The cold air sat on my warm body in a comforter. The little wind that came through the slightly open window woke me up. I stood up and went to close the window. A beautiful white world showed off itself. I’ve never ever seen such a wonderful scene. While I appreciated the marvelous view, the bell began to ring on the hour in the distance.
“One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine. ...Nine? Oh my god, I’m late.”

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"Classic"
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Friday Flash Fiction
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Fiction only
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Include your name and a story title

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.

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