Blog Posts - Friday Flash Fiction

Viewpoint, by Pamela Kennedy

27/3/2020

The room was cozy and clean and featured a spectacular skyline view. Everything was wonderful!

Mrs. Barton found the staff quite accommodating. She knew she was being given special treatment when the manager and his assistant warmly greeted her and presented her with a beautiful floral bouquet.

One request was imperative. The crib must be removed. A proper bedding arrangement was needed.

George and Anne, the manager and assistant, said that they would see to it straight away. Upon exiting, they prayed that their mother's jumbled mind would continue to view this nursing facility as a five-star hotel.

Chicken Mami, by Jonathan A. Watson

27/3/2020

In a small humid shop right off of Montilla Boulevard, a bowl of chicken mami puffed warm moisture into my nostrils. My mouth relished the fleeting spoonfuls, while my eyes savored the evanescent view around me.

A noble Agusanon politician crafted plans while sipping soda. Two millennials fixated their euphoric eyes on each other, ignoring their plates. An old woman, gnawing on siopao, flashed a toothless smile to her grandchild.

As I dipped my spoon downward, metal scraped desolate plastic. “Ah.” I said to myself. “Delicious yet brief.”

Corruption, heartbreak, and death settled at the bottom of the empty bowl.

True Love? by Emma Hardwick

27/3/2020

I used to buy her chewy sweets. She loved to munch on curlywurlys, Maoms, Fruit pastilles. I used to be the gum she loved to chew. Now I’m trodden flat on the tarmac, outside her posh London flat where busy men and women commute to work. Ignored and forgotten, feeling doubtful of being scraped up and chewed again.

The Going Away Dress, by Wendie Lovell

27/3/2020

Elated, she watched her green dress billow out like a parachute floating from the cliff top to settle on the sand, still wet from the intermittent rain.

From her vantage point, she waited to see its fate. Would it get washed away before he came looking for her?

His handsome silhouette appeared in the dimming light. He stopped to scoop the dress up in his arms and bury his face in it.

She'd always liked to play games with him.

This time it wasn't a game. She'd gone for good.

Oh how quickly love could turn to hate!

Memories of Christmas, by Mae Bell

27/3/2020

Though the rain beat against the window and the thunder boomed outside, dark clouds acting as a blanket for the bed of the sky, the warm fire crackling inside reflected blissful memories of winters past; playing soldier in snow forts, baking cookies for Santa... The warm scent of apple cider drifting from the kitchen and snuggling in the love seat with Momma.

And soon, Daddy would be home, and Christmas would begin. Soon. But not yet.

As lightning flashed brightly in the candle-lit room, Maya snuggled and wrapped herself into the quilt. Momma bent down and kissed her cheek.

Black September, by Sue Clayton

27/3/2020

She stumbles through the murk into my arms, bruised and battered, a smoldering cinder ghost in a shredded dress, feet bare, eyes filled with unspeakable images.

“You’re safe.” I promise her inconsolable grief-stricken body.

We visit Ground Zero. Jet planes spin white trails in a blue sky full of hope; sunlight fills the deep void below.

“Did you see bodies falling, Momma?” Our son asks in childlike innocence. “Why didn’t you catch them?”

Her fragile body stands motionless, face damp from silent tears.

“I saw them, baby." She wraps burn-scarred arms around her child. “But I couldn’t catch them.”

Millie, by Marjan Sierhuis

27/3/2020

Millie looks forward to greeting those who visit the farm every day.

This afternoon, voices grow louder and louder as they near her enclosure in the barn. She is hungry, but lunch will have to wait. Her guests are far more important.

Quiet roommates. Behave yourselves. Stand in the corner.

“Visitors, please ignore the sheep and the pigs. Come to me first,” she mutters under her breath.

Children ooh and aah and squeal with delight when they suddenly see her. She is ready to receive them. Millie will make them feel special.

The Heroine, by Sandra James

27/3/2020

Hailed as a heroine, Melanie’s tombstone bears eternal testament to her sacrifice for her fellow men and women.

She volunteered to be infected with Covid-19 and subsequently test a possible cure. Potentially millions of lives could be saved and although an undetected heart condition claimed her life, a vaccine using her antibodies was developed and saved the world.

Why she did she risk it? She could have stayed in their cosy suburban home with Ralph.

Only I understand. I’m his first wife. Give me the virus any day!

Math Class, By Mark Tulin

27/3/2020

All year, Jake tried to attend math class.

He had every intention of going, but something got in the way.

He forgot his book, woke up late, his car wouldn’t start, and once he got off at the wrong exit.

But Jake was determined to make it to class for the final week.

His best friend reminded him that he had missed too many classes and that the grades were already recorded.

“Even if you went the last week and completed every assignment, you’d still fail."

Jake didn't care. He was proud that he finally made it to math class.

Viruses, by Mary Wallace

27/3/2020

I'm stuck at home. I talk to the cat and the boy who delivers my groceries; not that he brings what I order. I have my kindle, my TV, my phone and my computer.

Well, my TV has started pixelating, throwing up a "no signal" message, but I can play my dvd's. My computer seems to have downloaded its own virus, so it's back to pen and paper for writing. My phone has stopped turning on, over use I suppose. No social media!

It could be worse - sh*t- what's happened to the power?

You've got to be kidding!

Desperate Times, by Russell Conover

23/3/2020

Lance had voluntarily placed himself in self-quarantine. He knew the situation outside was dangerous, and his best chance at survival was to lie low until everything calmed.

He’d heard rumors that things would get unpredictable, and he didn’t know if he was up to even more excitement. Life was crazy enough as it was.

He checked his supplies: food, drink, clothes, entertainment. He could sustain himself for at least a week or two with what he already had.

And with the huge risks outside? So not worth it. Workplace karaoke sounded like an ordeal waiting to happen. Home it is!

First Taste of Forbidden, by Roshna Rusiniya

21/3/2020

The beach table is laden with delicacies capable of making one’s mouth water, but I only have eyes for the chocolate cake in front of me. I dig into it ravenously, ignoring the crowd who watch me amusedly. The cake tastes slimy and sticky, not exactly how I imagined it would be. But as I chew more, it keeps getting better. I open my mouth for another generous bite...

“Stop eating mud!” My mom yells, lifting me up at the same time. I twist and turn, making one last-ditch effort to grab the ‘cake’ before she mercilessly carries me away.

Curb Your Fear, by Yash Seyedbagheri

20/3/2020

I Skype everyone. Older sister Nancy, Mama, friends from my graduate program. Move this way, that way. I can’t see your face.

We speak in brief bursts and talk of anything and nothing. We laugh at Larry David wearing a MAGA cap, not outbreak statistics. We talk about thunderstorms, not toilet paper wars.

I want to tell them the truth. I don’t want to be alone. Give me comfort, false and fleeting. But I’d have to comfort too. All I have are dark quarantine jokes.

I try to close electronic distance, drown white walls.

Tears rise. I can’t quarantine them.

She Walks In Grace, by Sam Gibbs

20/3/2020

In our house you can’t grab a jar by its cap because she never tightens the lid. Milk spills, glass breaks, pills scatter.

The zippers on food storage bags are mere suggestion to her, so the refrigerator smells of onion and the cheese dries out.

But her eyes narrow and close like a cat's when she takes a big bite of a sandwich. And in her stockinged feet she walks like an elf; ineffably, heart-breakingly beautiful in the humble things she does a thousand times a day.

She walks in grace, and her feet never touch the floor.

Samosa Smile, by Jonathan A. Watson

20/3/2020

I remember when I first saw my favorite smile. A customer removed the samosa from my flat glass body, waiting nervously for an answer from across the table. At the spark of a "Yes", happy pearls beamed from between flushed cheeks as they sunk into the crispy snack.

Several cycles of soap and water passed by. Every weekend I'd excitedly watch flakes of dough pepper the smile as it ecstatically threw words and giggles to the other side of the table.

One night, salty rain fell alongside heavy words. The samosa was left untouched. I never saw the smile again.

Maintaining Safe Distance, by Cate Lloyd

20/3/2020

‘I’m okay here,’ he says.

We wanted him in the living room, but he is too busy exchanging memes.

I hear strains of the mature laughter that has replaced childhood’s irrepressible giggle.

‘Is he joining us?’ his father asks.

I shrug.

‘I know they all think parents are toxic, but self-isolation seems a bit extreme,’ he grumbles.

I mute the news. There is no serenity in that transmission.

‘It’s our job to make him separate from us,’ I smile, folding into him on the sofa.

I allow the thought that we will survive it to drift quietly through my mind.

A Fairy's Wish, by Pamela Kennedy

20/3/2020

The moon played peek-a-boo among the ribbons of clouds as the stars displayed their sparkle. Whispering leaves and grass, the serenading coquis and the humming bull frogs beckoned the woodland fairy from the hollow of the tree.

Fireflies lit a pathway to the terrace where the lovers were entwined in their own drama. Frolicking among the foliage, she took delight in knowing that on this night man and woman were in harmony with nature.

In the softest tone she sighed, "I wish I could save this moment forever...if only my wish would come true."

Celebration, by Sue Clayton

20/3/2020

“Can you feel the damp?”

“Yeah, water’s seeping through everywhere.”

“Rain’s been bucketing down for days. Ground’s soaked.”

“We need to get everyone together for a party.”

The word ripples throughout the region.

“Did you think we wouldn’t be coming along to join the fun?” Gate-crashers launch themselves into a whale of a shindig, full of life after their long, dry slumber.

“Let’s hope for early frosts,” the newly sprung blades of grass and tender green pasture stalks mutter amongst themselves as rampaging weeds dressed in broad-leafed coats, thorned hats and feather shawls hijack the celebrations.

Join Me, by Mary Daurio

20/3/2020

Our world spins, drunk on fear. My friend, Bill, says, “Stop! don’t come near.” As we call from the walk, screaming to talk, I realize he is scared shitless. Good job, toilet paper is now a commodity.

Medical treatment does its part. Too bad the human condition’s silliness is beyond healing.

Our human race, friendships too, have survived cataclysmic events, and with science and faith, we will this too.

Bill flings a paper plane. Its message, ‘Come join me for a pint of Corona when they lick this virus, and the world regains stasis.”

I holler, “Your house or mine?”

Short Memories, by Don Tassone

20/3/2020

The virus spread. Everyone hunkered down. Leaders reacted unevenly. Factories closed. The economy tanked.

Eventually, the virus went away, and the world was changed.

People realized how much they loved being together and even going to work.

The air cleared, and governments took a fresh look at climate change.

The economy bounced back. Bricks and mortar, and strong leadership, still mattered.

People remembered that being fully human means having real contact with other human beings.

But as the pandemic faded, the world reverted to its old ways. Until the next time, when it learned the same lessons again.

Facing the Music, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

20/3/2020

So many cases! How many died? Recovered? News headlines grab my eyes. Reporters drown my ears. Too much information to absorb. How many dead now? How’s my country doing? Yours? Are we going to beat this thing? What, self-hibernation? “No,” he says. “Self-isolation. Grocery stores and pharmacies remain open. We walk.” He’s right. But I’d rather hibernate. Got to give my head a shake. Forget this is happening. Social distancing? Isn’t that what the Internet does already? I turn the radio on. Music gets me moving. My voice joins in. He puts on a mask and steps outside.

Ran Out, by Doug Bartlett

20/3/2020

The lady was somewhat nervous as she stood, for the very first time in her life, before the judge in a Texas courtroom.

“The charge is murder, how do you plead?” asked the judge.

“Not guilty, your honor. It was self defense. He attacked me, took my purse and was attempting to rape me.”

“But ma’am you shot the man six times. Can you explain to the court why you shot him six times?” the judge asked.

“Well your honor, when I pulled the trigger for the seventh time, it just went ‘click’.”

“Case dismissed.”

The Broken Record, by Gordon Lawrie

20/3/2020

Crisis? What crisis? We're the best prepared country in the world for any crisis... no country is as prepared for any crisis as we are... I should know, I'm the best person in the world at dealing with a crisis... people tell me all the time that I'm great in a crisis... I can perform miracles... no one has ever performed as many miracles... I hold the record for performing miracles... people talk about a guy a couple of thousand years ago but I beat his record... everyone knows I'm the best stone-roller in the world... I hold the record...

The Punch, by Mark Tulin

20/3/2020

The massive punch came out of nowhere.

I was nine-years-old at the time, throwing a sponge ball against the wall when I felt a knuckled force in the pit of my stomach.

I instantly dropped to my knees, gasping for air.

My head spun in confusion, wondering why this random act of hostility could happen.

A hulking man stood over me. He had blurry facial features and a strange aura. He said in a muffled voice, “You were just in the way of my anger, kid. If it weren’t you, it would have been another person who crossed my path.”

Agoraphobia, by Bex Gooding

20/3/2020

It’s strange the things you get used to. Our ancestors lived together as families in the same house. I can’t imagine how that must have felt. Self-isolation was necessary a thousand years ago but now it’s the norm. Who needs another person messing up the house touching things?

We have the internet and video calling to keep in touch.

Our ancestors would say we’re agoraphobic but the planet has flourished.

Babies conceived in test-tubes; no physical contact. Much more acceptable, but nobody wants to go outside so we’re slowly dying out.

Sadly, nobody will read this.

I’m alone now.

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