Blog Posts - Friday Flash Fiction

Bundle of Joy, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

17/1/2020

First whining. Then, gasps for air. The sounds were persistent.

Bertha veered into the dumpster wherein she tossed the day’s garbage. Something was causing a nearby bag to move in jerks.

Bertha had a rough day. Now this? Back in her apartment uneasiness set in. Would’ve someone inside that bag needed help?

She put on gloves to confront the situation. When she ripped the bag to form an opening, two frightened eyes stared back at her. A puppy let out its front paws one by one.

She welcomed the dog into her living space.

The original owner was not found.

Half a Kilogram, by Marjan Sierhuis

17/1/2020

She reduced her calorie intake. She ingested foods high in soluble and insoluble fiber. She doubled her servings of green leafy vegetables. She reduced her consumption of sugary drinks. She ate a variety of nuts and seeds. She increased her water intake. She worked out thirty minutes in the gym. She climbed one flight of stairs, and then took the dog for a walk.

After fourteen days and a weight loss of only half a kilogram, she asked herself, “What gives?”

She came to this foregone conclusion: she was eating her food too fast.

Tweeting, by Yola M. Caecenary

17/1/2020

A not-so social media friend asked me what I was doing. Tweeting was a straightforward answer I gave.

“I don’t hear any, ” he said after a period of silence.

“Hear what?”

“Your chirps.”

I stuttered with no reason and tried to explain to him the concept, in the most modest way I knew. He seemed to understand. Time placidly ticking until he came with a statement which jaw-dropping me.

“If that allows us to tweet like birds without having to be loud, it ought to be able to make us flying without fleeing.”

I short ceased tweeting and muted.

The Nice Boy at the Party, by Gordon Lawrie

17/1/2020

Charlotte awoke, face-down. The bed was strange, the room was strange, she felt more than a little strange, too. She looked at her watch: almost eleven.

Memories of the previous night were hazy. She'd met a nice boy at the party. Perhaps he'd been kind and put her to bed. Charlotte could see her coat on a chair by the window.

She got up and found the bathroom. She slipped her jeans and knickers down. It was then, as she sat, she spotted his one mistake: her knickers were inside out. Suddenly, Charlotte's life would never be the same again.

Out of the Game, by Milo Anderson

17/1/2020

I got my beloved silver road racer ready to move.

Things hadn’t been going so well for me lately and she was about all I had left. Still, I was feeling hopeful as I cruised along the most expensive streets in town, past rows of bright, green houses.

I thought I’d be able to turn a corner soon and things would be good again, for a while.

But it wasn’t to be. As I stopped in front of that big, red hotel at the end of the road I knew I was flat broke. I’d lost another game of Monopoly.

You Can Count On It, by Sandra James

17/1/2020

He loved to annoy her, push all her buttons until she cracked.

Then that infuriating smirk. “Don’t get upset,” he would say sarcastically. “No need to get angry; count to ten, then pause and let yourself relax.”

Usually she would stomp off followed by the echoes of his laughter but today she decided to take his advice.

She picked up the baseball bat. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

She paused and reflected on her handiwork. Yes, he was right, she felt very relaxed.

A Soupy Genealogy, by Mark Tulin

17/1/2020

Watching Auntie Barb make matzo ball soup was merely beautiful.

She said it’s not about mixing the matzo meal and other ingredients, but the love she feels seeing satisfied faces.

“It’s sacred,” she said, “channeled through me from the ancients.”

Usually, cooks put one matzo ball in, but Auntie Barb added two, which made the concoction more potent. The matzo balls were firm but moist, absorbing the chicken broth and making it extra savory.

As I ate, I thought of all the people who went before me, a soupy genealogy of sorts. I felt my history unfolding with each ladle.

Heart by Heart, by Lisa Miller

17/1/2020

Childhood, I tried many things. All willingly - until piano lessons. So I watched the teacher’s hands, remembering, determined not to learn a note. Naturally, the teacher caught on fast.

Step-by-step, I struggled to read the tedious sheet music, resisting, mad at my mother. Memorizing did help with my stage fright at piano recitals. And throughout life, my go-to for overcoming shyness.

My family’s piano made it back to me yesterday. I never gave it much thought, if any, through the years. Nervous, my fingers immediately fell into place, playing a simple song by heart my daughter now will learn.

The Peel, by Carole Novak

11/1/2020

Yadi grabbed a banana on her way out the door. Coach always advised a small snack before running. She got in her 2004 Beetle and headed to the trail. While still driving, she lowered the window and tossed the peel into the grass. A deer appeared out of nowhere. Yadi turned the wheel and crashed into an oak tree.

When she came to, she tried to open the door. The pain was excruciating. She had four broken ribs and would not run for eight weeks. The banana peel would remain undisturbed beneath the oak tree for the next two years.

Not Always Appreciated, by Michael D. Brooks

10/1/2020

He thought of himself as a nice guy with a misunderstood reputation often reviled and despised. Most people went out of their way to avoid him, some attempted to cheat him or simply eliminate him from existence. He tended to think that people were more afraid of his line of work rather than him.

Ironically, a few brave souls sought him out and attempted to employ his services. Some were immediately successful and some were not. For the latter, he would just give them a rain check and get back to them.

Death had all the time in the world.

Unhappy Years, by Yash Seyedbagheri

10/1/2020

New Year’s Eve. Wife Betty and I imbibe champagne, year before us nascent. It’s the year we hope to pay off bills. Make dents in student loans. Rediscover our old quirks, our fondness for Tolstoy, making love to Tchaikovsky. It’s supposed to be the year of small luxuries. An HBO subscription, bottle of wine.

We toast to joy and crushing constraints on our lives.

A week later: We toast to dysfunction. Bills are piling up, toilet’s burst. We need to fix the damn drywall. We can at least drink. Laugh at idiocy together.

There’s always next year for happiness.

New Year, New Disappointment, by Henry Bladon

10/1/2020

It’s a tradition of sorts: I grab my fountain pen and (normally) a notepad I’ve been given for Christmas, and then I start. I’m careful to number them in order of importance. This year, when I finished my long list of resolutions (more extensive than usual), it was with some satisfaction that I replaced the cap on my pen. But my wrist hurt, and my fingers were sore. I also rubbed my tired eyes and stretched and yawned, but worst of all I already knew that of all the self-made promises, I wouldn’t be keeping a single one of them.

From Here to There, by Aisha Wiley

10/1/2020

On the right night of the right moon, when the veil between the worlds is thin, you can step inside a photograph. Go from here, to there. It was an old tale, shared over campfires and at the end of wakes. Uncle Jack told it best. Sem smiled, remembering his gentle voice.

His sister’s version was dramatic. Of course.

“Watch where you stand, they’re snatchers!” she warned. “Stay near photos of people you like. Better to be grabbed by the good ones, and not the meanies.”

Sem looked up at the waxing gibbous moon. Behind him, Jack’s memorial picture shimmered.

Climate Change, by Cate Lloyd

10/1/2020

Thirty-eight years ago, it had been a time of firsts: first breathtaking kiss, first shy birthday gifts, first ruthless Scrabble match, first sofa purchase, first bewildering fight.

Finally, a glorious first anniversary, and a proposal out of which came the marriage of two souls committed to a long, shared walk towards sunset.

Then, a month ago, sunset arrived unexpectedly with a numbing, wintry bite.

Now it would be another year of firsts: the first uncomforted keening, the first night in unshared sheets, the first anniversary marked alone.

Lying in bed, she told him, “you always liked to win, didn’t you?”

Second Chance, by Bex Gooding

10/1/2020

Joe regretted stepping off the bridge as soon as his feet left the railing and now he was standing somewhere looking at his dead father.

‘Dad? Are you real?’
‘Oh yes. I’m here for you. Was your life that bad son?’

Joe didn’t know what to say, he shook his head and began to cry. Suddenly pain shot through his chest. Perplexed, Joe looked at his father who smiled. Another shock ripped through him.

‘Defibrillator. You’ve got another chance son, don’t waste it.’

His father winked and disappeared.

Joe woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by his loving family.

How Did I Get Here? by Cindy Patrick

10/1/2020

I smile at the pretty cashier. I ask, “do you take this card?” She looks like she will appease me (seeing an old woman) shuffling along with my cart. “No”, she replies, “that’s not our store”. How will I buy my Pine Sol and crackers, I wonder? A lady comes out of nowhere and tells me I have left my purse open. Did I bring my purse? Another staff member offers to call me a cab although I came there on foot. It isn’t that I’m befuddled by age. I had my regular breakfast of a half bottle of gin.

The Greystone Oak, by Rich Gravelin

10/1/2020

Cracked leather thigh-highs, coffee-stained waitress skirt tiptoes in after midnight. He triggers the lights, spewing rye-fueled hate.

“You’re late,” hickory handle slapping cupped palm erupts; lightning splitting trunks.

“Put the axe away.”

“I’m taking that oak come morning.”

“Leave it; that tree’s survived hundreds of years.”

“It’s funny, using an axe to fell a tree, just to make more axes.”

“My father always hated you.”

“Get over here!”

Nerve endings pulsating, stress fractures suffering under knotted burls, nicotine manicure swings liquor bottle as leaves rustle with the tempest.

“Dad used to sing, ‘hickory or ash, not oak for an axe.’”

The Volunteer, by Mark Tulin

10/1/2020

“Do you have anything planned for today?” the barista asked the customer waiting for a latte.

The lady said that she's headed for her volunteer job at a homeless walk-in shelter.

“What do you do there?”

“Serve meals, play cards, and whatever's needed.”

“Must be nice to do something good?”

A homeless man interrupts the women. "Excuse me, ma'am, can you spare a cup of coffee?"

The barista told the man that she couldn't give out free drinks; it's against company policy.

The volunteer smiled. "It's your lucky day, sir. I know where you can get coffee and a donut."

By Heart, by Lisa Miller

10/1/2020

Childhood, I tried many things. All willingly - until piano lessons. So, I memorized the music by watching the teacher’s hands, determined not to learn a note. Naturally, the teacher caught on fast.

Step-by-step, I struggled to read the difficult sheet music, resisting, mad at my mother. Surprisingly, memorizing songs helped my stage fright at piano recitals. And how I hated those.

My Mother’s piano made it back to me yesterday. I never gave it much thought, if any, through the years. Nervous, my fingers immediately fell into place. Playing, a simple song by heart. I didn’t know, was there.

Parts, by Susan L De Miller

10/1/2020

In group therapy we talk about our children. I listen to the grim stories of what children are addicted to. We offer silken condolences, and sighs of “Oh my, you poor dear.”

It’s my turn. I take a deep breath.

“My daughter, she’s addicted to donating. Not money, but parts of herself. She started with blood and plasma. Then her eggs. Last year it was bone marrow, and right now she’s at home recovering from donating a kidney. This morning she mentioned she wanted to donate part of her liver next.”

I wait for sympathy, but there is only silence.

Glo-bal War-ming, by Gordon Lawrie

10/1/2020

"Ya'know, Leon, every country has its share of wind-bags," Chester drawled.

"Think so?" his friend replied. They sat, as usual, on the veranda, gazing across the prairie. Coloured balloons were tied to a nearby fence.

Chester nodded. "I know so. I blame glo-bal warm-ing." Again, the words were dragged out. "The heat pumps up the air in these Wash-ing-ton po-lit-icians. Like those balloons on that fence."

"Got any ideas?" Leon asked.

Chester picked up his rifle and blew off a red and a blue balloon.

"Yup," he said.

Leon nodded, "Yup."

Tomorrow, they'd repeat the conversation, shoot more coloured balloons.

The Challenge, by Marjan Sierhuis

10/1/2020

He lurks outside a bistro wearing a baseball cap, black sweatshirt and a pair of sunglasses. As Avery studies the window display across the street, she notices his reflection in the glass. The familiar figure rattles her senses.

When he starts to pull up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, she wonders if he is hot under the blazing sun
.
“It serves him right,” she mutters to herself.

After a few minutes, Avery continues to walk along the sidewalk. Shopping will have to wait another day.

Who knew buying her husband a birthday present would again prove challenging.

After the Kill, by Bobby Warner

10/1/2020

The stars glare down from above. The campfire is almost out. The night becomes darker and darker.

Apparently someone made a remark that set me off. And I lost it. I jumped up, got hold of Larry Miller first, then Chuck Layman. George Marks came for me with a tree branch, then he went down.

I'm ex-Special Forces. I know how to kill quickly and efficiently--and I did. They're all gone, and I'm all alone with my deed. What the hell do I do now? None of my training dealt with something like this!

Dumai* by Yola M. Caecenary

10/1/2020

*Dumai is a town in Riau, Sumatra, Indonesia.

I sat on the old swing in front of my house.

“Hello,” greeted a voice.

“Hi,” I said.

“You are not from here.”

“I was from here. I moved when I was seven.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“For?”

“The boy who lives next door.”

“I am a boy and I live next door.”

I looked at him. “No, you are not him.”

“But, I am a boy—“

“But you are not him! I still remember him. He said he would wait for me when I return.”

“When did he say that?”

“In 1987.”

“Today is 2020.”

“No!”

Where's My Boarding Gate?, by Aditya Anantharaman

10/1/2020

I was excited. I was going to a new school. I had packed my luggage the previous night and had hardly slept.

He had dropped me off at Heathrow. I had assured him that I would find my way through the airport.

I used the self-service kiosk to check-in. But I couldn’t find my boarding gate. Everybody looked at me with bewildered expressions when I showed them my boarding pass.

I had to call him for help.

“Uncle Harry, nobody here seems to know how to get to Gate 9¾…”

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