Blog Archives

El Niño, by AJ Cartwright

16/12/2021

Dark clouds loomed over frenzied masses. Rain pelted the hordes as they pushed and shoved, clamoring for positions on the pier.
The submarines filled quickly, leaving untold numbers behind. Deluged in hysteria, the crowd screamed, shouted and rioted.
The shadows deepened as the rising wave approached.
The subs dived, and the wall of water swallowed the lands.
#
The sounds of sobbing and relieved exhales permeated the confines of the vessels. Most stared blankly, stunned with the uncertainty of their futures.
The subs touched down on the seafloor, domed cities towering over them. The remnants of humanity left to start anew.

The Star, by Yola M. Caecenary

16/12/2021

A girl stood in the dark, facing only the lights in the room that came from the fir tree. She gazed at the bright star on top of the tree and pondered.

A story came to her. It was about the wise men who followed a star and found a newborn Child in a manger.
The men worshipped the Child and presented Him with beautiful things.

An evil would harm the Child if these wise men went home via the same route they took. Realising how precious the Child was, the wise men took another way and the story remained.

Good Will To All, by Gary Thomson

16/12/2021

Santa directs his sleigh through a sky webbed with tracer bullets and rocket explosions. Rudolph’s nose is blacked out.
His Nato commissioned guidance system assures him a perfect landing atop a shell pocked roof.
Urgent plea from a letter sounds in memory: My brother… wounded in bombing… please help.
He enters through a hole in the roof. Stops near a candle lit bedroom.
From his bag he withdraws a packet of drugs and dressings. Places it on a nearby table.
Cradling the reins, he glances toward a window, and muted sobs of a grateful sibling.
“Donner, Blitzen, hard away now.”

The Two of Them, by Paula F. Reid

15/12/2021

Carol singing, disjointed and out of tune, escapes from the mission’s open door, evaporating in the frosty air. He turns towards her performing a theatrical bow. Exposing his toothless grin, he lifts his flask, clears his throat to make the toast, “Merry Christmas princess,” takes a swig, and stumbles backwards.

The bench catches him; his arms in disarray, his head slumps back and he comes face to face with the star filled sky, then darkness.

He’s abruptly awoken by slobbering kisses; reciprocating, kisses her cold nose. With a twinkle in his eye, he sings “and to all a good night”.

Birds of a Feather, by Colette Coen

15/12/2021

First it was a parrot, plunked on her shoulder for a photo op. ‘Lovely, mama and la chica. Photos €10 in lobby manana’.
Next a peacock snatched a crisp from her hands as we picnicked.
The eagle was a near-miss at a bird show on the mountain, close enough to mess her hair. Then the far-travelled vulture landed on her toes.
The photograph shows only my legs. I was too distracted by the falcon being teased along the row of tourist heads to frame the shot. But she doesn’t need a photo. She sees feathers whenever she closes her eyes.

Holy Night, by Rob Wolf

15/12/2021

Colorful twinkling lights sent faint orbs of comfort through the crisp city wind. Sitting looking out over the harbour, Lawrence sat in limbo, waiting to hear whether his father would make it through the night or if he would be planning a trip to attend his funeral. He felt the gap between what he cherished of him and the inevitable sadness that would eventually consume him.
He heard carolers in the distance, behind the sound of busses and car horns. As they grew closer, the strains of “sleep in heavenly peace,” rose above the din, and he knew.

Free to Roam, by Colette Coen

15/12/2021

Go: One goes on foot; the other, the bus; a third takes the only car.
Stay: I slowly walk around the house, surveying my queendom. One empty room after another. The kettle not on to boil; the fridge closed. I take a few steps up the stairs and stop. Listen. No Zoom, Teams or Classrooms.
Free: I am mindful of my breath; silence enveloping me; thoughts free to roam. If I choose to go out, no one can follow me or ask where I have been when I return. Left to my own devices. Isolated. Alone. Soon?

A Cheesy Chanukah Story, by Peggy Gerber

15/12/2021

The menorah glowed softly in the window as Rachel chanted the melodic Chanukah prayers. Afterwards she sobbed, “Grandma, it’s the last night of Chanukah and I didn’t get my wish.”

Rachel’s grandmother enveloped her in a hug and rocked her back and forth murmuring, “ I’m sorry sweetie. I know you miss Daddy.”

Later that night, Rachel answered a video call from her Mom and saw she was crying. She froze until her Mom shouted, “Look! Daddy’s awake. He’s breathing on his own. He wants to see you.”

Rachel’s father smiled and blew a kiss. She giggled, “Happy Chanukah Daddy.”

Love Story on the Road, by Daniela Montalvo

15/12/2021

The morning light and the soft summer breeze is a stark contrast to the hard pavement. I close my eyes and remember waking up to her... My nostalgia slowly fades into memory as it is interrupted by my growling stomach. Getting up -my body aching from the night- the smell of freshly baked bread reaches me from Walmart. I see them walk in: lovebirds in their sixties- wild, long-haired, and free. At that moment, it’s the feeling of dropping my backpack to the ground after a long day of riding my motorbike into the sun. I’ll love and be free.

Recycled, by Sandra James

15/12/2021

Her neighbour invited the shy young mother to the Tupperware party attended by several family members and other neighbours.

Conversation turned to an eccentric aunt. ‘You know she even recycles Christmas wrapping paper,’ said one cousin, rolling her eyes.

The young mother cringed, hoping her red face didn’t arouse interest for she always recycled, even though it wasn’t fashionable in the 80s. She cradled her growing bump. She wanted him, or her, to have a future.

December 2021… she smiles as she wraps her forty-year-old son’s present in paper saved from last year. Finally, recycling rocks!.

The Red Kettle, by B.G. Smith

15/12/2021

Christmas Eve. Parents stuff dollar bills and loose coins in the red kettle before rushing into the department store to make last-minute purchases. I ring the bell and offer my jolliest, "Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas." Most don't bother to acknowledge me. I'm just another guy in a Santa suit.

They're not wrong; my glory days are behind me. The North Pole Association has a mandatory retirement age of 75. My birthday was last August.

Billy Powell—I gave him his first bicycle—drops a few quarters in the bucket.

"Merry Christmas, Billy."

He never looks up from his iPhone.

Normally Nice Not Naughty, by Lisa Miller

15/12/2021

An early morning delivery arrives at the Pinyon Pines Apartments. Right away, the woman from #A notices the name missing. She double-checks the address and waves. Probably, a long-lost package. Or perhaps a secret admirer is responsible for this.

Instead, the shame tracks down the stranger for her. Few walk by her door. And then, crickets. Finally, she hands over the goods, guilty of the charge. Each Christmassy-looking negligee is put back in the legal owners’ bag. With the belief, only coal will be in her stocking this year. And, the unseasonable heavy rain will cancel the snowy Christmas forecast.

Daddy’s Little Girl, by Sankar Chatterjee

15/12/2021

She was eager to learn. However, country’s conservative religious leaders prohibited women’s education beyond primary school. In teenage years, she organized protest marches. One evening, the religious goons captured her to rape, beat, and shoot a bullet into her face. Found unconscious, she was air-lifted and brought back to life by prominent western surgeons.

Continuing education overseas, she also championed women’s empowerment, earning UN’s highest humanitarian award. At the ceremony, a TV-interviewer wondered how she became such a rebel. She pointed toward a mustached gentleman in the front row: “That’s my dad who never clipped my wings to soar higher.”

The Best Gift, by Bernard Arogyaswamy

15/12/2021

I’ve always kept my few friends and relatives at arm’s length. But when the pandemic struck and my clock chimed eighty, I saw the dark side of independence.
Jayaram, my neighbor’s son, dropped in last month and offered to read to me or just chat to complete a class project. He’s shown me the richness of literature and rural India. He revels in my tales of corporate America.
As Christmas nears, I ignore the revolver I bought to dispel loneliness. I need Jayaram’s company, he wants to build a career. A fair exchange of Christmas gifts

Happy Christmas Santa, by Shelley Kirton

15/12/2021

She‘d made his favourite dinner; roast reindeer, cranberry sauce – well deserved after his hard work. But, he was a big consignment for the Rudolph’s to manage along with the gifts. And as for getting down chimneys, well, he had a nimble elf who did that part of the job but woe and betide if the kids found out. And where was he now? His deliveries took longer and longer, but he’d not let kids miss out. Maybe he’d got lost, the Global Positioning Sleigh system inaccurate? A lame reindeer? Then faint bells sounded in the clear night. Happy Christmas, Santa.

Fluid, by Kai Double

15/12/2021

I’m pretty sure it’s watching me. Even from across the room it knows I’m scared, knows it has the upper hand. Moving any closer would be completely insane. I’m staying right here and that’s final. I don’t care what my parents are saying, something’s not right with the water. Besides, they’ve been acting strange lately. Ever since, well ever since they drank that…stuff. There’re no other words for it. It’s stuff. I can hear the almost hypnotic voice of my mother in my head. Gloopy, gluey and good for you. That’s what she would say. I’m not convinced.

Genie in a Bottle, by Marjan Sierhuis

14/12/2021

Zoe loves to visit antique shops. But today doesn’t prepare her for the find of a lifetime. It is an oil lamp. A good replica of one she has read about in fictional stories.

A gentleman suddenly appears at her side. “I see you have your eye on the lamp. It comes at a price.”

“You name it. I will pay,” says Zoe with determination.

Later, she leaves the shop with a smile on her face.

In the evening, she rubs the lamp, and a genie appears.

“Sorry, all out of wishes. A high demand this holiday season.”

The First Sceptic, by John Cooper

14/12/2021

While Shepherds Watched…

“So let me get this straight.

You’re telling me that you were sitting out there in the dark when you had a visitation from some ethereal Messenger and that as a result we now have to leave our nice warm fire and our flocks, to the mercies of whatever predator may be out there in the shadows, to go down to the town and look for some random cowshed where there may or may not be a mother and her new-born baby, who may or may not be the Son of God.

…Is that correct?”

Rehearsal, by Peter Burr

14/12/2021

“Who gives this woman to this man?” said the priest.

“I do,” said Robert.

Dottie said, “Please say ‘Her mother and I do.' I spent eighteen years raising Janie. You traveled.”

“Stop it right now. Which do you prefer, Janie?”

“You! Tradition!” their daughter said.

“This is not the bride’s call,” said Dottie.

“You’re right. It’s my call,” said Robert. “Wait and see.”

When prompted at the ceremony, Robert said “I do,” then sat in the pew next to his wife.

“I see,” whispered Dottie, sliding the penknife deeply into her husband’s thigh.

Robert’s cry was one for the ages.

Starry Night, by Jennifer Duncan

14/12/2021

In the pale light of the lamp, the mother comforted her fussy baby. She rocked him in her arms and sang sweet lullabies. They swayed together as minutes flowed by. Cheek to cheek, they slowly waltzed andante around the room. She smelled the sweetness of his hair and felt the gentle curve of his neck.

When he finally dozed off, she tiptoed over to the window and gazed at the dark sky pin-pricked with stars. She hoped in her heart that her love would keep him safe. She feared the risks and heartbreaks of life.

And she thought about Mary.

Encounter with the Angel, by Richard Doyle

14/12/2021

Her half-wing loomed over her left shoulder. I was struck by her steady gaze and serene poise. Questions percolated through my brain. What could she possibly want? What should I ask? Why tonight? Why me? She thrust her hand forward as if to touch and I backed away. Her eyes creased in sympathy. I relaxed and started breathing again. I knew what I would do. My half-wing emerged from the darkness behind my right shoulder.

Finding Hope, by Padmini Krishnan

14/12/2021

The clouds swarmed the sky in a confusing pattern as the scentless wind escaped the cracks of the hospital ward, further stifling the 6-year-old girl on the ventilator. Sheela looked away, the wrinkles under her eyes made her look more like an elderly doctor and less like an intern. Were they going to lose this girl to the second week of the deadly pandemic?

A minute passed, quiet and uncertain. The wind lost direction and the girl found her breathing rhythm. Stunned, Sheela looked up, youthful hope in her eyes. A rose subtly blossomed in the corner of the ward.

Pinecones and Holly, by Janice Siderius

13/12/2021

The rental cabin was perfect. Jennifer had always wanted a traditional Christmas with mountain snow. Her fiancé, Bernard, looks wary as he tries to light a fire.

“My family prefers a beach resort for the holidays. No fires needed there!” Bernard says as he struggles with the logs.

“I have always wanted a simple, old-fashioned Christmas. When you’re done there, let’s go out, find a tree, and decorate it with pinecones and holly.”

“Pinecones and holly? We are missing the annual Christmas party so you can have pinecones and holly?” Bernard snapped back.

Jennifer knew then the relationship was terminal.

Serial Killers Anonymous, by Alex Blaine

13/12/2021

Hi, my name is Kane. It has been two years since my last victim. I've killed 137 people. I love to see the life force drain from my victims' eyes.

I am as unappreciated as Van Gogh in his prime. But I am still an artist, like Pablo Picasso. There are so many creative ways you can commit art. Mine just involve bodies that are brown bread.

I hope you looked to the sky and saw the sunset this evening, as I have to confess: I lied. I poisoned the tea. Now all 47 of you are going to die.

Greetings, by Jim Woessner

13/12/2021

My parents only had four types of friends—relatives, co-workers, church members, and Hallmark—and there were strict boundaries separating these categories. Relatives were the only ones allowed in the house, usually only on holidays. The exceptions were an uncle who was divorced and his live-in girlfriend. Co-workers were restricted to work. Church members were restricted to church. And the vast majority were the invisible Hallmark kind who sent cheerful cards once a year indicating that they were still alive and their children were the most successful to have ever lived on the planet. “Merry Christmas to you and yours.”

<<Previous

Forward>>

"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

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 delat before they appear.

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. On the rare occasions where there are more than 50 stories, we'll post an earlier set, probably around 5.00 UK time.

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?

Editor's Choice

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