Blog Archives

The Work, by Don Tassone

19/12/2021

Bernard lived to work. Over the holidays, he never stopped going into the office, even though his employees had two weeks off. He considered them soft.

“Who’s there?” he said, looking up from his desk.

A small woman appeared at his door.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said with a heavy accent. “I am here for your trash.”

“Okay. Come in.”

She hurried across the room and quietly emptied his small, brass trash can.

“You work on Christmas Day?” Bernard said.

“Yes. I work every day.”

Lying in bed that night, Bernard wondered if, unlike him, the woman had a family.

Ticking, by Patrick Turner

17/12/2021

The subtle ticking of the rectangular shiny box was always his favorite part of the morning. The small glow of burning red from the carefully nested coils assured him of his mission. His instincts were stronger than the machines' built-in timer. For it was not only the carefully crusted bagel he yearned for but the tantalizing wait that preceded.

Now, every morning the toaster is off-limits. Its very sight conjures up images of him. I know he means well, but I’m scared. The rolling landscape of Angola is no kitchen, but his toaster now a landmine.

Outside the Bethlehem Holiday Inn, by C. J. H. Dickens

17/12/2021

The King Trio, a tribute Kingston Trio band, stood outside the Bethlehem Holiday Inn. Three hours late for their gig, the hotel had given their rooms to other guests.

Bally wasn’t amused.

“I told you not to rely on the star-nav, Gazza,” she said. “Now we’ve no money, nowhere to stay and it’s freezing!”

Suddenly, the third group member, Mel, spotted three shepherds running towards a nearby barn. “They won’t sleep outdoors in this weather,” he cried. “Grab the carry-out! Follow them!”

Inside, though, was mayhem: animals everywhere, and a family oddly-lit like table lamps.

“Jesus,” Bally said.

I’ll Always Remember You, by Alyce Clark

17/12/2021

Grandad, I remember walking into a store, seeing a shirt I knew you’d love… Then I remembered you were gone and tried to stifle my sobs.

Daddy, it was the same for you- I opened the kitchen cabinet faced with all the little bite size sweets we used to buy for you and nearly burst into tears.

So many years later, and now, Grandma I see the perfect poinsettia and you come to mind. It didn’t catch me by surprise this time. But the ache was still there.

I’ll always remember you. You’re mixed in my past, present and future.

Burn Me Up, by Cassandra O'Sullivan Sachar

17/12/2021

“When I’m gone,” Peter rasped in a rare lucid moment, his strength departing with each word, “burn me up and throw my ashes in the ocean. Don’t bury me in the ground.”

Emily held his weathered hand, the fingers too bony for the wedding ring he had worn for the past thirty-nine years. Her matching band strained across her now plump fingers, the flesh billowing out.

She pictured the lips she had kissed all these years rotting away in a coffin, becoming blackened and bloated, the flesh loosening and peeling from the jaw.

Emily nodded. Peter would get his wish.

Forget-Me-Nots, by Kathleen Trocmet

17/12/2021

The residents get into position in the lobby for Saturday's visiting hours. A volunteer pushes Mary's wheelchair to the south porch of the courtyard. She tells Mary she has placed a glass of iced tea in the cup holder on her chair. Mary has long stopped counting the days since her children visited. She breathes in the aroma of cement and hedges and wonders if the flowers are in bud.

There is a rumble of chattering as relatives and residents enter the courtyard. The laughing and running around of the children stir memories that fills Mary's Saturday.

A Wonderful Life, by Sarah Samson

17/12/2021

If she stood fingertip-to-fingertip with Mama and Papa — their arms all outstretched like windmills — the multi-headed hydra they made could have touched both walls of their row house on Luftmattstrasse. The street was named for an air mattress. No one knew why and Leonie had stopped wondering. It was a good street for bike racing and fireworks on Swiss National Day. The street grandma, Frau Egli, would yell “Spielstrasse!” and chase the cars away so neighborhood kids could play.

Lying in her Chicago hospital bed, sirens screaming outside, Leonie smiled. She remembered the feeling of having a home.

Christmas Masterpiece in Eight Parts, by Daniel Hybner

17/12/2021

At first, a party. Gifts, dancing, merriment, joy. One gift enchants all.

An uncle, magic fills the room. His tricks beguile. Soon, everyone leaves.

Fast asleep, dreams come. Mice, toys, battle to the death. No victory comes.

Brought to life, is it romance, or something else seen? Visit worlds unknown.

Dance, sugarplum, dance. Dance like no one before you. A magical scene.

Trumpets blare their song, a giant skirt, little ones. She is something else.

Returned to a toy, was all of it imagined? Embrace your gift, child.

No dream could restrain silent shoes, fantasy real. Christmas masterpiece.

Jack-Henry's Boxing Gloves, by B.G. Smith

17/12/2021

I glance at the long line of tots waiting with nervous anticipation for a chance to tell me what they want for Christmas and sigh. Excluding the terrified ones who cannot ask for anything, a Nintendo Switch is the most popular request again this year.

“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas.” I bellow.

A brave little guy—no older than four—climbs onto my lap.

I ask, "Jack-Henry, what do you want for Christmas?"

“Boxing gloves,” Jack-Henry says with confidence.

“Are you going to use them for good or bad?”

“For good, Santa.” He replies. “I am going to beat cancer.”

After He Left, by Rita Riebel Mitchell

17/12/2021

I can’t go on, Jessica thought.

Willing herself to die, she let her head sink deep into the pillow. Her arms and legs became heavy. When her breathing stopped, she floated up and out of her body.

Just then the bedroom door flung open and four-year-old Betsy tore into the room, pulled herself up onto the bed, and bounced on Jessica’s belly.
“Mommy? You awake?”

With a sharp and sudden inhale, Jessica’s eyes flew open. Nose to nose with the little girl, she knew this was worth living for. She hugged her daughter tightly.

Baba Yaga Begins To Date, by E. E. Rhodes

17/12/2021

As she stared, the hands on the pocket watch began to move backwards.

Baba-Yaga looked around the kitchen. The kettle came off the boil. The ingredients jumped out of the pot on the stove, and as she watched the onions and carrots slowly, oh so slowly, reassembled themselves.

The watch ticked back steadily. She hissed at it to go faster, the old pedlar had said nothing about this.

She frowned at her hands, flat on the table, veins pronounced, knuckles swelled with rheumatism. She believed she was somewhere around 120 years old.

She sighed loudly. This would take an age.

A Christmas Mystery, by David Lowis

17/12/2021

The chimney sweep shoved his brush up the flue. Soot billowed out. “It looks like you've got a blockage, Mrs James." Putting his brush aside, he stretched his arm up the chimney. “Got it!” he shouted.

Vigorous tugging revealed a black boot, followed by a leg. Mrs James gasped. The once red material with woolly tufts around the edges left little doubt about the wearer's identity.

“Mrs James, I believe we’ve just solved the mystery of Father Christmas' disappearance.”

“Oh my goodness,” she said. “Well, at least now I can explain to Timothy why there were no presents last year.”

Return to Sender, by Samantha Lynne

17/12/2021

It had been a romance for the ages, positively whimsical and magical in its nature. Beautiful, sweet Isabella, his one true love, his ‘Juliet’. He lavished her with gifts, parading his adoration. Her delight in their recipience lit his soul aflame. Yuletide came and his romantic offerings more fanciful.

The breakup crushed his heart beyond repair. Through anguished eyes, he read her text…

“We’re over Julian. Whilst cute at first, I can’t cope anymore. Between the riotous drumming, bird droppings and constant kicks in the face from leaping lords I’m done!”

P.S. Birds all have flu. Vet bill in post.

Differentation, by Justin Rulton

17/12/2021

The crowds spilled from the theatre, shivering against the hard winter chill. In an opposite doorway, an old man in a thick navy pullover lay beneath sheets of cardboard, studying the people as they moved along without seeing him. Or pretending they hadn’t. Each night a different crowd, but each night they were always the same.
After the play’s final performance the audience noticed him at last, transfixed as the paramedics wheeled his lifeless body towards a waiting ambulance.
It was a pity they couldn’t look while he was alive, but then they had more important things to do.

Mercy Home, by Padmini Krishnan

17/12/2021

Harry could almost hear his client licking his lips.

“We need the next batch. I have already paid you the amount."

Harry of the Children’s Mercy Home hurried to pacify his client.

“They will be shipped in 3 days."

Martha was feeding the children, fattening them up. Harry stared at them, his mind devising ways to deprive Martha of her share.
A glistening apple outside caught his attention. Harry bit into the luscious fruit and fell down, his face drained of life.

“Have you done it?” hissed the oak.

“Yes.” replied the merciful apple tree. “Now it is Martha’s turn.”

Fallen Angel, by K. J. Watson

17/12/2021

During a tantrum on Christmas Eve, five-year-old Alberto knocked the angel from the tree. Unseen, the winged being flitted onto the gifts below.

The following morning, while his parents slept, Alberto hurried to open the presents. Greeting him with a villainous smile, the angel said, “I’ve made some changes.”

The first of the wrapped boxes held armour and a deadly-looking sword. A bow and poison-tipped arrows lay in the second. A third contained a shield inscribed with a satanic head.

The stairs creaked.

“The adults are coming,” the angel whispered. “Prepare for battle.”

Armed and ready, Alberto waited in ambush.

Just Half This Accepting, by John M. Carlson

17/12/2021

“Paul’s boyfriend is so nice!” Scott’s mother said. “Maybe they’ll get married!”

Scott stared at his phone after hanging up. His mother liked his nephew’s boyfriend? Funny. He could remember years before when she discovered Scott had a boyfriend. She said he was “confused!” She suggested a psychologist. She threatened to quit paying his college tuition if he didn’t “stop this nonsense!”

Scott broke up with his boyfriend. He felt he had no choice.

Now she liked Paul’s boyfriend!

He was glad she’d changed. But he still wished that she’d been just half this accepting years before.

Every Dog, by Bill Cox

16/12/2021

Brian developed the habit of beating his dog every day. It helped to relieve his work frustrations and he enjoyed exercising power over another creature. Brian was a sadist.

Being so full of anger and bile, the stroke really shouldn’t have been a shock to him. He found himself paralysed, unable to get out of bed or call for help. Only faithful Rover was aware of his predicament.

Brian’s absence was noticed and the Police broke into his apartment. By then though, the bloody mess on the bed was testimony to that old saying; Every dog has his day.

Three Marys, by Ian Mitchell

16/12/2021

A barista had scrawled her name onto the cup, that’s why Mary rescued it from the bin hoping it would be lucky. Sheltering in the doorway beneath her bags and cardboard, her trembling skeletal hands lifted the cup pressing the lipstick smeared rim against her cracked lips. It stung, but better to feel pain than the penetrating cold. She imagined being that other Mary, sipping Gingerbread lattes, partying with friends and being happy and warm.
A hand appeared pointing at the cup and a gentle voice said “Mary that’s my name too, would you like to come home with me?”

A Talented Baby, by Tony Sharma

16/12/2021

“Conceive a baby- talented, brilliant and capable.” A Company’s conference room echoes.

After much labor pain, a talented baby is born. It chops off the company’s evils. Spiraling losses convert into skyrocketing profits.

After six months, the conference room echoes, “Our existence is threatened. Let’s act.”

Mr Nepotism’s canines bite into the baby’s flesh. The baby screams.

Mr Favoritism lands a fist on the baby’s face. Tears slip from the baby’s eyes.

Daggers of caste, creed and color are thrust into the baby’s heart. Blood gushes out…

The company could never raise talent beyond a baby... it always got murdered.

This Christmas, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

16/12/2021

Last year, we couldn’t celebrate Christmas together. Lockdown had already separated us.

This Christmas was perhaps not for me. The beautifully-lit trees appeared no more than dark, grotesque silhouettes. The aroma of flowers was painful. The smell of cakes and cookies agonised me. And Santa--Santa stood too far from the newly-orphaned to be seen or heard clearly.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning changed everything.

Someone took me to roses and served me cakes and cookies. Then the trees turned into beings with lustrous eyes and lively smiles on familiar faces and with hands so raised as to bless me.

Perspective, by Coco Jane

16/12/2021

“Men are pigs!” said Linda, tossing her auburn curls.

“Tell me about it,” replied Monica.

“Brad, that X-ray tech, just said the most disgusting thing about my—body. Dr. Harris grabbed my butt in this elevator—twice! And the new scrub nurse is constantly leering. Whistled at me in O.R. yesterday. Ugh!”

“Hasn’t happened to me,” said Monica, fingering her pimpled chin.

“We can’t even complain. Reierson in Human Resources thinks it’s funny! He’s the worst! The way he ogles Dr. Brindel is sickening—and she enjoys it!”

As they stepped off the elevator, Monica whispered, “So would I.”

Christmas Bundle of Joy, by Marie Johnson-Ladson

16/12/2021

Rose woke up in the hospital and didn't know why she was there or who she was. She was in a car accident, the doctors said she would be okay and her memory should return over a period of time.

It was Christmas day but she felt lost and lonely. A friendly man came to visit. She felt comfortable talking to him. Rose explained she felt alone and lost.

A nurse came into the room with a baby and the man said honey you are not alone I belong to you and this is our new Christmas Bundle of Joy.

The Driving Clause, by Paula Nicolson

16/12/2021

Dear Mr Claus,

Thank you for your application to renew your driver’s licence.

However, your comments, ‘I may not be able to walk straight, but I can still drive a sleigh,’ and ‘the reindeer know where they’re going, most of the time,’ were as reassuring as a faulty fairy light on a Christmas tree.

Taking into consideration your exemplary driving record (no points for 1,750 years) and that we wouldn’t want children to miss out on their presents this year, we’ve decided to renew your licence.

But any breaches of elf and safety, will go on the naughty list.

DVLA

The Company, by Sivan Pillai

16/12/2021

Countless times he had prayed to God, “When I die, let there be someone I love near me.”
He knew he was about to die. Alone.
The house lizard emerged from behind the wall clock. Long acquainted with him, it was never frightened of him.
It came close and sat looking at him with its large eyes. He saw all those dear to him beckoning him enthusiastically from those eyes. That was company enough.
As he closed his eyes for the last time, he was thankful God had granted his wish.

<<Previous

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

Friday Flash Fiction
Rules

Kinda obvious, really...

Fiction only
Stories of 90-100 words only
Don't be nasty or cheat
Include your name and a story title

EDITOR'S CHOICE
Each week, our editor selects a story or (occasionally) a poem as 'Editor's Choice'.

It's a personal favourite, no more. Do you agree?

Please feel free to comment (nicely!) on any stories – writers appreciate it.
Just at the moment, though, we're moderating some of them so there might be a slight delay before they appear.

Naturally, we reserve the reserve the right to remove comments we feel are inappropriate, or where there's a possibility they may come from a source associated with online spam or abuse. If you have one, please switch off your VPN and don't post from a public server.

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 larger number of stories (more than 25) are due to be published on the same day, we publish the later ones EARLIER around 4.00 am. On the rare occasions where there are more than 50 stories, we'll post an even earlier set, probably around 2.00 am UK time.

We have a FACEBOOK PAGE where regular contributors can share ideas and discuss stories. Why not join in?

We occasionally send out little newsletters running competitions – and subscribers are also our voting panel. If you'd like to join us, please click the Subscribe to newsletter button below.

Subscribe to Newsletter

No spam, we promise!

"Classic"100-WordStories﻿

Archives

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories