Blog Archives

Thank You, by Sue Clayton

31/12/2020

As the door closes on a devastating year I want to thank Gordon and the highly talented Fabulous Friday Flash Fiction community for the entertaining flashes of creative inspiration submitted throughout 2020, providing so much pleasure in an otherwise chaotic time, not just for me but for all of us.

As a new door opens I’d like to take this opportunity to wish our community, and your families, all the very best for a New Year that is as healthy, happy and as normal as you can make it.

May the 2021 creative writing gods continue to inspire us all.

Social Distancing, by Kim Favors

25/12/2020

Except for an occasional hello, the newcomers kept to themselves in this low-income neighborhood.

The older man rummaged through residents’ trash cans. The younger turned their garage into a junk-filled workshop.

There were no complaints or confrontations. Instead, quiet admiration for the mixed-race couple’s courage to live authentically.

Christmas morning, on porches, an invitation: “We have too much stuff. Come all.”

Outside their home were toys, appliances, electronics. Some new, others retrieved and repaired.

“Free. Share. Enjoy,” signs read. On the front door, also a sign: “Thank you for being such nice neighbors.”

The house was empty, the couple gone.

The Frictional Forces of Stupidity, by Michael Murdoch

25/12/2020

“The test wasn't easy!” Shouted the disgruntled boy in the front row, his thick rimmed glasses steaming, his smart attire visibly ruffled.
“That's the difference between theory and experiment,” responded the nonchalant physics professor as he entered the class.
“I have no idea what that means.”
The professor sighed. “Okay, consider it this way; light travels faster than sound, so a person can appear smart before you hear them speak.”
“I don’t understand that either, but I know I don't deserve zero on this test!”
“I totally agree,” smiled the professor. “But that’s the lowest score I could give you.”

The New You, by Yola M. Caecenary

25/12/2020

“Happy New You!”

Exactly at midnight, among the fireworks and the celebration, wishes and kisses salute me.

Why is that?

Do you know that I'm one of the world members who was born on the first day of the year?

How special you are!

Indeed, I am. But that’s not the only feeling I have; sad and happy, terrified and excited are visiting my heart, too.

Why?

I wish I knew the answer.

Happy New You; what will you do with this phrase?

Will embrace it! Along with any feelings that might ring my heart; and above all, my faith.

Just for a Moment, by John M. Carlson

24/12/2020

Amy’s living room is dimly lit Christmas Eve. A fire burns in the fireplace. The Christmas tree glows with colored lights. A stocking hangs off the mantel, ready for Santa to fill with toys and candy.

Amy stares at the stocking. She tries to forget the horrible doctor’s appointment last Monday.

She hears her husband’s car. She quickly gets up and removes the stocking. She doesn’t want her husband to see it. He's practical. He’d tell her to accept that she can’t have children. He wouldn’t understand her desire to pretend, just for a moment, to be a mother.

A Christmas Flash Carol, by C. J. H. Dickens

24/12/2020

The editor sat back, exhausted. His Christmas Competition had attracted a tsunami of high-quality entries, more than he'd ever imagined in his wildest dreams.

Now, on Christmas Eve, all he wanted was a nap. But Christmas Day fell on a Friday this year; the following day would require a story from himself. The editor had neither the inclination nor the energy.

"Christmas? Bah, humbug!" he grumbled, struggling to stay awake.

Suddenly, a child's voice dropped an idea into his head: in these hard times, a simple message to everyone would suffice:

"Merry Christmas, everyone! God bless us one and all."

How Do You Paint a Picture with Words? by W.H. Forshee

24/12/2020

Ugh, how do you paint a picture? With words, really! Someone help. Charles Dickens with characters that smell through the page. Characters that remind you of your neighbor or people you see in Food Lion milling about nonchalantly harboring personalities contrived through ages, realms and travails. All a bit overwhelming when confined to the black and white type of a Macbook Air. A misshapen nail bed, an eyelash on a cheek latticed with veins and a grip on the shopping cart as deadly as the smith and wesson under his Christmas Sweater. Couldn’t resist a little thrill at the end.

Seedlings, by Sue Clayton

24/12/2020

I’d been tending the seedling for five months, filling it with nutrients and vitamins to ensure its healthy development.

When it had grown to about ten inches long, perfect in shape and form, it ceased to flourish.

“You can always plant another one,” some told me, insensitive to my loss.

“It was my first.” I’d admonish. “There can only ever be one first.”

A second seed was planted and I rejoiced as it reached fruition.

This year my daughter and I lit a candle, during the international Wave of Light celebration, in remembrance of her unborn brother.

Always with me.

Borealean Air..., by Sethis Loki

24/12/2020

At speed and into Sarahan sand did the Airbus’s nose slam. Fuselage, wing, engines, and tail bedded in craters nearby. From the wreckage one survivor: tall, uninjured, strong, and unshackled—no longer a prisoner in transit.

Freedom postponed. An unfriendly heat and a kerosene odour pushed him to shade and away from his appetite for casualties' flesh.

At sundown into glittering sand did he plod. Dune by dune by moon and starlight on an intuitive trek toward water.

Intuition paid. In a palmed oasis he chewed figs and took in his reflection: black nose, white fur—his unmistakable polar bear self.

Buzz Words, by Ed N. White

24/12/2020

She asked, “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Cupping your ear like that.”

“I’m writing a story.”

“So?”

“I have Tinnitus.”

She looked puzzled and said, “Oh, that’s like a buzzing or ringing noise. Isn’t it?”

I answered her without looking up from my keyboard. “It’s more than that. It’s actually a code, like the Morse Code. But everyone has a different interpretation.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. The ear ringing noise tells you a story?”

“No. I interpret the sounds as letters then write my stories.” I continued typing and said,

“Hold on, I’m almost done with this chapter.”

Santa's Everywhere, by Doug Bartlett

24/12/2020

After school one day I told my mother that a kid said there was no Santa. She told me that was an old rumor and she would show me differently. She gave me $20 and sent me into Walmart. I thought of the boy who sat behind me in class and didn’t go to recess for lack of a jacket.

The cashier asked if this was a gift as I paid for it.I told her about Jimmy.

That night I left it gift-wrapped on Jimmy’s front porch.

Later I discovered the receipt in my pocket... $ 39.95.

Christmas Reminder, by Janice Siderius

24/12/2020

The Christmas postcard arrived about a week before Christmas. It was one of those family photos that are so popular now with young families: parents and children gathered outdoors looking happy and prosperous. The cards are inscribed with “Merry Christmas! And “Happy Holidays!”

For Joleen the Christmas greeting feels like a punch in the gut. There in the photo stand three people: her daughter-in-law and her two grandchildren. But where is the fourth person? There is a gaping hole where her deceased son should be standing.

Once again, she begins to cry. Her heart will forever grieve over the loss.

Feathered Soulmate, by Jim Woessner

24/12/2020

I saw a crow pecking at something shiny on the street. As I walked closer, I saw that it was a penny stuck in road tar. The crow was so focused on his work, he ignored me. But I watched him dodge a car, warn off other birds, then cock his head and circle the penny, a glittering object of zero worth. He tried to pry it from the tar with his beak then with his talons. Nothing worked, but failure didn’t stop him. Finally, I moved on. It was too painful to watch. We had too much in common.

Keepers of the Flame, by Bruce Gunther

24/12/2020

We married for all the wrong reasons, although sex wasn’t necessarily a bad reason. But even that had a shelf life, and we didn’t sleep in the same bed in the end. The desire was still there, but the inevitability of divorce weighed heavily on everything.

Now we find ourselves at the same holiday party; she’s with her new boyfriend – an all-around decent guy. And then we’re alone in the back hallways of a very large house. “We can’t be serious,” she said, and we aren’t, laughing as we press against each other in a room filled with antiques.

It's a Gas, by Jim Jepps

24/12/2020

Speaking for myself I prefer being tear gassed than baton charged.

However dramatic, getting gassed is a walk in the park next to being battered with sticks. It's over soon enough and rarely lands you in hospital.

You're bound to get the jitters before your first time but I always say, "Stick together. No matter how scared, you're safer with us in the fog than getting trapped, alone, in some side alley trying to escape the action."

If you made me to choose I'd plump for chocolates and flowers, but once you're under water you have to learn to swim.

Letter 3, by Swapan K Banerjee

24/12/2020

Sorry to be behindhand, Ka.

This blasted thunderclap headache now holds everything to ransom. It often turns me into a zombie. What’s worse, the well of ideas that served one so well in the past has run dry, it seems.

If the word is always waiting to spill forth from the pen’s tip, I still continue to be. But if everything else is hunky-dory, and the still small voice is gagged, then I don’t think there’s any point in just going through the motions.

Ah, but when you hold the pen, ideas clamour to be born! What’s the secret, Ka?

Just a Note, by Don Tassone

24/12/2020

I used to ride my bike to the grocery store for my mom. We had only one car, and my dad took it to work. I bought all our groceries. I stuffed the bags into wire baskets on the back of my bike.

My mom always gave me a list. I was way too young to buy cigarettes, but my mom knew Mr. Albers, the store owner, and she gave me a note saying it was okay.

That was 70 years ago. Now I live in a place where I’m not allowed to smoke. I wish I had a note.

Shoes, by Jeffrey Griffiths

24/12/2020

I told the kids, “Don’t do the ‘what if?’ thing. Waiting for the shoe to drop is silly, it gets you nowhere fast.”

Though I worried constantly, I wanted to believe that I wasn’t waiting for more shoes to drop, yet hoping like hell they didn’t. Their mother, my wife, had died eight months before, then my mother, their grandmother, five months later. The future was nothing more than a question.

I sat down and counted the shoes I had left, not counting our two dogs.

The Real Deal, by Sandra James

24/12/2020

After a tough year, Covid-19 unemployed, at least I managed to refurbish some charity shop finds for the kids’ stockings. Then, on Christmas Eve, my son announced Santa wasn’t real. I re-assured him, so convincing I believed it myself.

In the early hours, I heard noises downstairs. “It’s just Santa,” I thought rolling over and going back to sleep, lightly tranquilised by the remnants of cheap cask red.

5am… I sat up recalling the spate of burglaries in our area, raced downstairs.

Our stockings overflowed, the tree surrounded.

And in the distance… ‘Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!’

Possible Mistake, by James Yi

24/12/2020

The machine’s green lights turned on, and the fan linked to the machine began turning. “Yes! Finally! After 30 YEARS, I’ve managed to build something that could convert fish into electricity!” I laughed maniacally, throwing my head back. I then grabbed the crate besides me and dumped dozens of fish into the hole, which rejuvenated the slowing fan. As I was basking in my glory, a chubby boy behind me threw out a question into the air. “If you made something that uses fish as energy, couldn’t you have made something that uses the trash in the sea instead?

How I Made Extra Money After Discovering I Was a Part of the After Midnight Tour, by Michael H. Brownstein

19/12/2020

When I moved into Chicago’s most dangerous neighborhood, I was not
scared. A few miles from work, I walked every day. 2 AM, a knock on
my window. Now I'm scared. Should I? Of course. I open the shade.

“Last stop,” a shadow says. “Told you a white man lives here. Pay up.”

Found him the next evening on a nearby stoop.

"How much you make?" I asked.

"Twenty bills. Why?"

"Starting tonight make me the first step on the tour. I'll come out and greet your tourists. Just want ten bucks for my time."

The deal was done.

How a Tradition Came to Be, by Gordon Lawrie

19/12/2020

The Red Priest, Antonio Vivaldi, soaked up the applause for his brand-new Gloria, sung by the foundling girls of La Pieta. The previous week he'd dazzled them with two new violin concerti, interspersed with jokes and conjuring tricks. Audiences loved him.

Tonight, though, the Pope himself was checking him out. Backstage, he challenged Vivaldi to make him laugh.

"What's yellow and dangerous? Shark-infested custard!" the priest replied.

"You're a man of many talents, Tony-boy!" the Pope chuckled. "What else can you do?"

Immediately, Vivaldi hooked a large false beard over his ears. "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

And a tradition was born.

Christmas Competition 2020

19/12/2020

The Christmas Whisperer, by Yola M. Caecenary

18/12/2020

He had forgotten everything; love, prayers, happiness, smile, dreams; anything that can be named.

He also had missed his birthday, his wedding anniversary, his daughter’s piano recital, his nephew's baptism, even his grandmother's funeral.

On top of those, he almost lost his life on gaining an achievement over an achievement if not because of the Christmas whisperer.

“Where am I?”

“Here.”

“Wh…?”

He saw his chest being opened and saw his heart and knew what happened.

“When you open your eyes, it would be Christmas Eve and you’d be surrounded by your loved ones,” whispered the voice.

He breathed life.

Family Tree, by Michael T Schaper

18/12/2020

My niece doesn’t think Santa Claus is real.

“She’s just a fig of your imagination,” Giselle tells me.

At eight years old, the girl can’t even spell properly, but already put down roots as one of nature’s cynics.

Her bark is worse than her bite, of course. On Christmas Day, she’s just as excited as anyone to unwrap the gifts that have unexpectedly appeared during the night.

“Did you plant these?” she asks, suspicious.

But no, none of us have.

How do I tell her? All you need is to make a little leaf of faith.

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