Blog Posts - Friday Flash Fiction

Too Soon, by Jack Wolfe Frost

8/3/2019

Sixty today. I forced a smile, fighting off the feelings of being old. It didn’t work. Part of me had looked forward to this day, but now that it was here... I think the fear was more dominant. I’d always known that one day I’d reach sixty, now it seemed too soon.

Work had just been a routine day. Perhaps this is what I need, a complete change. No-one at work had even said goodbye. A lone tear rolled down my cheek.

I reached the complex, handed over my card. The perfunctory official simply said, “Re-cycling booth 27”. Too soon.

International Women's Day 7019, by Gordon Lawrie

8/3/2019

My apologies for the second story of the day, but I reckoned this one couldn't wait a week – GL

Suddenly, Leyla stopped scratching at the rock. "Look, Maria!" she gasped. "Ever seen one of these for real?"

"Is that a...?" asked the younger archaeologist.

Layla pointed out the tell-tale features. "I've only seen pictures in books of those strange bits they had, but... I'm pretty certain."

Maria scratched her head. "I never really quite understood – what was their purpose?"

Leyla reminded her that sperm banks were only invented in the late twentieth century; the pair shuddered and giggled at the thought.

"Apart from that, not much," said Leyla. "When everyone realised the world was overpopulated, the solution was obvious."

Deployment, by Bex Gooding

8/3/2019

He looked at the others, exactly like him, all waiting for the order to deploy. Identical in their uniformity, it was impossible to tell one from the other. Their mission was simple; attack and kill. Families, individuals, it didn’t matter, everyone was a target. The old and the young were the weakest, most of them would fall easily, even the strong could be brought to their knees. There would be resistance, and a few would escape, but the overall success of the mission was guaranteed.

The order was about to be given. Anticipation gave way to excitement.

‘Influenza! Roll out!’

The Warmongers, by Sankar Chatterjee

8/3/2019

(Photo: Gautam Chatterjee)

The landscape appeared like a glorious canvas combining Van Gogh’s impressionism with Georges Seurat’s pointillism. Indian photojournalist Arjun Singh felt overwhelmed at nature’s beauty in front of him at the border of his country with neighboring Pakistan. He was covering a suicide-bombing happened just a week ago.

Soon, he heard the drum-roll of advancing war, when F-16 jet-fighters (US-built) of both countries began playing the cat-&-mouse game over distant mountain-range. He’s aware of millions of starving poor people on both sides, while millions of dollars got spent securing those war-instruments. Who benefits from their sales?

Mr. Singh knew the answer.

Condolence Duty, by Nicky Johnson

8/3/2019

After lightly knocking, Officer Clemens was greeted by puffy eyes, which was regretfully his accustomed salutation. “Oh, hello Officer. Is there something else about the accident?” she almost whispered.

He looked down at the round tummy. “Um, yes. I just wanted to let you know that I found out your husband was having lunch with a client at the hotel before the accident.” He watched some comfort seep into her being.

Driving away, he felt pleased knowing she would pass on fond memories. Handling the mistress staying at the hotel wasn’t so easy.

Perfect Storm, by Julie Achilles

8/3/2019

That night a storm raged, tearing wildly at everything in its path, showing no mercy. An anger had been dispatched from the heavens, the wind and rain its chosen weapons.

Dark-grey skies streaked with illumination, white and blue, lightning bolts accompanied by a symphony of thunder. The sea defenceless-submits, waves grow higher and crash angrily to the shore, stirring rocks and battering fragile cliffs.

All was thrown about. Hours passed filled with noise, relentless power sent destruction - a perfect storm.

Then, suddenly, all was silent, all was still.

God's anger spent, and He was pleased with His punishment.

Puddle Jumping, Zane Castillo

8/3/2019

We watch our daughter jump from puddle to puddle on the sidewalk. Her umbrella is completely forgotten in her excitement of making the water “go splash”. Raindrops race down her poncho as she dashes to each small and big pool that has formed on the ground.

Every so often, her head would whip around to see if we are paying attention to the splashes she is making from each leap. We smile and nod in approval.

We see her eyes widen in excitement as she sees a large puddle before her. We rush forward to join her in this spectacle.

Words Left Unsaid, by Marjan Sierhuis

8/3/2019

Cody sits by his father’s bedside and clutches his frail hand. The nurse tells him to go home.

“You need to eat and get some rest,” says Courtney
.
“I want to stay with father,” says Cody. “If he dies and I am not with him, I will never forgive myself.”

The bedside monitor suddenly alarms. Courtney notices that the EKG rhythm has become irregular. She knows death is now imminent.

Cody takes a few deep breaths. He is afraid to move.

He suddenly closes his eyes, and he starts to pray.

There is so much he still needs to say.

My Robot Husband, by Henry Bladon

8/3/2019

It could be called restoration, I suppose. Or reclamation, perhaps. I'm not really sure of the correct terminology. He's the same but different. I know I called him a robot when we used to argue, but I did love him. I really did. When he died I had him converted into a real robot and now we don't argue any more. And he finally does whatever I ask. The result of all of this is that I still love him, but not for the same reasons. It may sound funny, but life is so much easier with a robot husband.

Classic, by Fliss Zakaszewska

8/3/2019

Dear Ms Austen

An intriguing project, and with amendments, has possibilities. However, there are a few points to which you must attend as outlined in my full report, but in brief: POV wanders uncertainly and, until the third chapter, seems to be the POV of the father. Your grasp of the English language is masterful, but you are using far too much exposition and there is an urgent need to align far more with the ‘show, don’t tell’ principle. The title is weak; ‘Pride and Prejudice’ – really…?

And that is why Jane Austen’s masterpiece would not be published today.

Right-Swiped on Tinder, by Gordon Lawrie

8/3/2019

“I’m so glad I right-swiped you, Linda,” Mark said.

She clinked glasses. “Likewise.”

“Would you meet me again?”

She looked away. “Perhaps.”

“Only perhaps?”

“Look, Mark, there’s a problem.”

“Tell me, I won’t be shocked.”

She turned back towards him. “You won't understand,” smiling to reveal blood-covered fangs in her mouth.

“Goodness!”

“Did I shock you?”

“Not shocked, surprised.” Mark grinned, revealing his own razor-sharp fangs. “Dating apps are fantastic at finding matches.”

“Perfect! I’d love to date you again.”

“Can I see you home?”

“Yes, but no sex on our first night.”

“No sex. Perhaps a little necking?”

“Naturally.”

The Warlock's Curse, Shawn M. Klimek

6/3/2019

When a witch he recognized was buzzed into the building, Horace lunged to keep the door from closing, and then slipped in behind her. Racing the elevator upstairs, he reached the third-floor hallway in time to observe into which apartment she had entered. Approaching that door, he blocked the peephole with a bag of Chinese take-out and then knocked. It opened just enough for an elderly woman to peek over the chain.

“Oh, it’s you, Horace,” said Griselda, the Coven High Priestess. “No warlocks allowed.”

“But Griselda,” Horace pleaded, “I self-identify as a witch.”

“Ain’t curses a bitch?” said Griselda.

A Pound, by Fabio Crispim

5/3/2019

The cold had forced its way inside his bones. His breath danced as it escaped his lips in the dim yellow streetlights. There was no shelter here.

He shook his empty paper cup as the faces passed, footsteps clopping. He heard her then, her clops louder than the others. A pair of black shoes paused and a coin dropped into his cup, a pound? He glanced up and she smiled before disappearing.

Shaking, he pulled the cup and peered inside. A pound. He thanked them in his mind, shook his cup and was ignored for the rest of the day.

Cupcakes, by Mark Tulin

4/3/2019

I furiously pull into an illegal parking zone, leave my blinkers on, rush into the cupcake store and order a variety of four. They place them into a nice brown box with the word ‘love’ plastered on it. I dig into the cream at first and then devour the cake part. I am in cupcake heaven. I see crazy-colored rainbows and galloping unicorns as I relish my velvety dream, wishing that this sugary trance would never end. Like a cat, I lick the icing off my fingers. To think, I had been angry just a few minutes ago

Alone, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

4/3/2019

He plucked memories of her from the darkness staring at him. Chestnut hair. Ruby lips. Emerald eyes flirting with his deep brown. Her chatter, lively. Laughter, heartwarming.

Yesterday she cuddled with him. Left abruptly after stating an ultimatum. “I’ll be back,” she said. “If you fix what needs to be fixed.”

He contemplated what life would be like without her. Discarded the picture. More resolved than ever to work on a solution. He won’t let the other guys get between him and her.

Alone he sat, spray can in hand. Ready to battle the army of silverfish invading his apartment.

Best Couple, by Archana Nagarajan

4/3/2019

“Beautiful,” he murmured, hugging her from behind.

“Don’t,” she hissed, swatting his arms away, her plum lips stretched thin with annoyance. “You’re going to crush the silk.”

He withdrew his hands and backed away a step. She continued to focus on her reflection.

“When’s my birthday?” she demanded.

His shoulders slumped. “Haven’t we gone over this enough already?”

She glared at him in the mirror. “You said the same thing last year. Only for us to lose the Best Couple award by just one question.”

He sighed, “24th January.”

“Good.” She smiled perfectly. “Now get rid of that hideous tie.”

From Neuroscientists’ Convention, by Sankar Chatterjee

4/3/2019

A somber mood was prevailing. International efforts from past decades produced no effective treatment for dementia in Alzheimer disease. Then in a roundtable-discussion:

Prof. Moore (Oxford): Let’s advise people to tweet more.
Prof. Smith (Harvard): What?
Prof. Moore: Look at your strongman; even at seventy, wakes up at 4-00am to tweet all day, while governing.
Prof. Sorensen (Karolinska): But, they’re all lies, insults, and bully-statements.
Prof. Moore: We’re not moral ethicists, but scientists. Several other strongmen found success in him, so statistical benefit is there.

Gordon Jeffrey, the science-editor, Guardian tweeted to the world “Scientists claim the health-benefit of tweeting.”

Les Fleurs du Mal, by Guy Fletcher

1/3/2019

Josh noticed 3 sets of flowers on the memorial seat outside a church. He threw his cigarette away, not in the bin of course, and picked up a bunch.

"This will do nicely!" he sneered.

"Oh, you are so romantic," beamed Chantelle, "you've even written me a message. How sweet."

It read, "To Martha, miss you always, you loved this view."

She pushed the flowers back to Josh and stormed off swearing. Josh dropped and stamped on them in a petulant rage, then crossed the road. Unfortunately, a car narrowly missed him.

Your Turn, by Marjan Sierhuis

1/3/2019

Brad’s sleep is interrupted by strange sounds as he lay on the stretcher. He groans and pulls the hospital sheet over his head. But the noise remains accompanied by the occasional abdominal cramp.

His memory is foggy when it all comes back to him.
.
“The visual examination went well, Brad,” says Dr. Smith as he walks over and touches his patient on the shoulder.

“I told him it wouldn’t be so bad,” says Brad’s wife walking over and kissing her husband on the cheek.

Dr. Smith replies with a gleam in his eye. “I will schedule you for next week.”

Cannot Go Back, by Lisa Miller

1/3/2019

Norman’s face shines with self-satisfaction and pleasure when he pulls off his wife’s birthday surprise. But her mood darkens, face red when the same Singing Telegram from last year performs. A modest woman, pretty with golden hair, Norm teases her relentlessly reciting the most current blonde jokes along with tired one-liners featuring sex toys and used condoms. All eyes on her, he looks for her reaction when he announces her age along with a wisecrack about antique cars. A cold silence fills the room. Her second marriage has her longing for the first. Too late for a change of heart.

Paradise Left, by Nicky Johnson

1/3/2019

Old Man Jarrett wasn’t a recluse, nor was he that old. In fact, the handsome gentleman often fraternized with the locals at community events. He simply adored his vast acreage and felt no reason to travel. The majority of each day was occupied tending to a truly majestic butterfly garden while sipping coffee from a thermos.

In time, a lovely young lady rivaled the haven. Full of energy, she begged him to see the world with her. He consented. Consequently, as the plane plummeted, he prayed not for his life, but for forgiveness from his beloved butterflies.

Sunrise, by Don Tassone

1/3/2019

Haiti awoke in the darkness, slipped out of her small house and headed for the beach. She would be back in less than an hour, before her daughter and husband awoke.

She followed a dirt path, the moon lighting her way. The waves softly called to her, like old friends. She took her shoes off, the sand cool on the soles of her feet, and sat down where she knew the sand was soft and dry.

Haiti closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, then opened them just in time to watch the sun rise, as she did every day.

His Death, by Julie Achilles

1/3/2019

We both stood there looking down at him. Knowing he was close to death, I wanted no more of it.

Jordan was still full of anger, stored-up, revengeful, for all those years of endured abuse. I had never forgiven, yet, I knew this had to stop-now. Jordan delivered another hefty kick to his side and I watched horrified as he lay there. He cried out no more, he was done.

'Please Jordan', I begged. I begged for our abusers life.

It was too late and he was dead and Jordan stood beside me and cried.

Little Miss Dolittle, by Henry Bladon

1/3/2019

I thought I'd come to the park for a sit down. It's my second month not working and it's driving me mad not being able to talk to people. I'll soon be talking to the dirty pigeons. Well, at least I can use the time to have my hair cut and go shopping. And I can go drinking at lunchtime - with the pigeons of course, you should never drink by yourself. Ha ha, talking to the pigeons and then drinking with them. I'm Little Miss Dolittle.

Anyway, I don't know why I'm telling all this stuff to a squirrel.

I Knew A Guy, by William Beeker

1/3/2019

I knew a guy who bought new shoes that were a little too big for him but he liked the color and style and wore them to work anyway and during his commute a boy ran out into the street to catch his bus on the opposite side and the guy couldn’t get his big clumsy shoe on the brake in time to stop and he struck the kid with his car and the kid bled out in the street while his classmates watched from little plastic windows on the bus.

"Classic"
100-Word
Stories

Since Friday Flash Fiction began in September 2013,
100-word stories have remained its 'beating heart'.

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!

If you would like to try the
100-WORD STORIES
automatic RSS feed in your browser toolbar, click the blue "RSS" link below. For more help see the Help page

SUBSCRIBE to Friday Flash Fiction - 100-Word Stories

Friday Flash Fiction
Rules

Kinda obvious, really...

Fiction only
No more than 100 words
Don't be nasty or cheat
Include your name and a story title

Archives

March 2019
February 2019
January 2019
December 2018
November 2018
October 2018
September 2018
August 2018
July 2018
June 2018
May 2018
April 2018
March 2018
February 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
March 2017
February 2017
January 2017
December 2016
November 2016
October 2016
September 2016
August 2016
July 2016
June 2016
May 2016
April 2016
March 2016
February 2016
January 2016
December 2015
November 2015
October 2015
September 2015
August 2015
July 2015
June 2015
May 2015
April 2015
March 2015
February 2015
January 2015
December 2014
November 2014
October 2014
September 2014
August 2014
July 2014
June 2014
May 2014
April 2014
March 2014
February 2014
January 2014
December 2013
November 2013
October 2013
September 2013