Blog Archives

Big Girl Panties, by Arlene Antoinette

23/5/2017

The judge told her to take responsibility for her decisions; to put her big girl underwear on, and take control of her life. Amy left the courthouse, walked to the nearby discount shop and purchased her first pair of big girl underwear.

Amy called her ex-boyfriend David, the good looking one, who used her to finance his motorcycle, co-op and child support payments which had been three years in arrears when they first met. Amy told him that she wanted to be reimbursed $50,000.00 (a little less than the amount she actually paid out on his behalf during their two year courtship). After his initial laughter, she added the possibility of a lawsuit and the laughing stilled.

Later that morning she went into work and asked for a meeting with the director. Amy demanded an increase in her salary that would reflect payment for the three positions she was presently covering, company bookkeeper, secretary, and janitor. She also asked for a reduction in work hours from 12 to 9. The initial “no” response was rescinded once Amy placed her letter of resignation on the table.

Before going to bed that night, Amy called her mother and hushed her before she began her tirade of how disappointed she was that Amy was 42, unmarried and childless. Finally she felt strong enough to tell her mother she was content with her life, would marry when she found the right man and if God decided to bless her with children she was okay with that and if not, she was okay with that also.
Amy hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and removed her big girl underwear silently praying it would be just as effective the following morning.

Exemplary Sportsmanship, by Sankar Chatterjee

11/5/2017

In a family, full of supporters of the East Bengal Club, a football team in Calcutta, young Gautam Chakraborty was the supporter of the rival team Mohan Bagan Club. His elder cousins and several uncles, though shocked, used to blame the fact on genetics. His mother came from the neighborhood of Shyambazar, a strong bastion of the supporters of the Mohan Bagan Club and thus the connection. But, it was the summer of East Bengal Club. Under the leadership of a quiet but strong mid-fielder Shanto Mitra, the club had a great season. In the season finale, they beat their arch rival Mohan Bagan Club by a score of 2 – 0. Mr. Mitra, subsequently went on to become the coach of the national team.

Manik Paul, an accomplice to the elder cousins, went to the local market to bring back a shad fish (an icon of the East Bengal Club) and decorated it with red vermillion and flowers. That evening, Gautam along with his mother came to visit his cousins. The cousins along with their accomplice welcomed him ringing a prayer-bell along with the presentation of that decorated fish. Oh! The horror! The Shame! Fortunately, his loving uncle was passing by. He immediately gave a piece of his stern rebuke to all the perpetrators, thus rescuing and consoling Gautam. But all this happened forty years ago.

While checking the daily sports news on his computer screen, Mr. Chakraborty, now middle-aged, came to the announcement of the expiry of Mr. Shanto Mitra of old age. He remembered that summer of humiliation along with the greatness of Late Mitra. As a true sports-lover, he signed RIP on the condolence page with a heavy heart.

Ronkonkoma, by Bruce Levine

5/5/2017

For ten years my wife and I lived overlooking Lake Ronkonkoma, Long Island, New York’s largest freshwater lake; largest and one its most beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I spent a year taking over four hundred pictures for a "Photo Journal". Photos at all hours of the day and from a variety of locations around its perimeter. Photos in the early morning when the mist hung just above the water line creating an almost ghostly haze. Photos of the fall rainbow of colors as the trees along the banks became a palate only nature could create before the black lace of the bare branches cast their shadows on the still water during the beginnings of winter. And as the freeze turned the water from liquid to solid and ice boats traversed the lake in circles or raced across its diameter as the season raced toward spring and the golden rays of the sun bouncing off the surface. Or as the sunsets cast themselves in glorious panoramas filling the lake and sky with color.

But we never saw Ronkonkoma, the Indian princess for whom the lake is named and who, legend has it, committed suicide in a canoe in the middle of the lake after being denied her true love by her father. Or her lover who, like "Romeo and Juliet", once he saw his love’s dead body, followed her in death.

Since then, and for two hundred years, the "Lady of the Lake", as she is known, has taken one adult male in revenge for the man she was not allowed to love in life.

Of all of the photos I have none include Princess Ronkonkoma nor did we ever see her from the window of our house.

Maybe Princess Ronkonkoma will reveal herself one day, but her lake will remain a thing of beauty and we can only hope that she finds the happiness we enjoyed from the lake she christened with her name.

A Letter To My Ma, by Fatima Okhuosami

4/5/2017

You ask me how it is that Paapa never write all this time. I tell you all now and I telling it fact.

We get to Kano safe and meet the new smuggle man. He bribe the officers at Niger border and they letting us pass without no papers. We walk long long way till we reach the new village and our new smuggle man. We eating small food and drinking small water peoples give us or steal when nobody looking.

The new smuggle man ask us for extra but we no agree. He tell his mens we no want pay so, they and beat us bad and take half our money but, Paapa be telling the man he go to hell fire so, they break his head with bat and take all his money. I tell him no worry and be sharing my half with him.

We enter truck to Agadez next day and must hold the wood proper or we fall and die in Sahara desert and no one even be stopping to bury you or say the Lord’s over you. In Agadez, we wait four days for truck to Libya. We cannot see well cos of morning to night hot sun. You not knowing me; your first son if you see me that time. I looking like dried up corpse.

We hiding when rich mens come in their big big cars looking for slave. We looking right back when them poor Niger peoples squeezing nose mocking our ugliness.

We finally get truck and be on our way. The driver be telling us good things of Libya and how we be making money fast moving fine powder place to place. We pass three stop on the way and pay $5 for each. We reach next stop and the bandit people stop us.

All of us come down and lining up. $5 per person they shout. We all pay until it is Paapa turn to be giving his own but he start to shake.

The bandit point his gun at him and shout;

"You no want to give Boubacar his money boy?"

"You be wanting to die for my desert?"

I run to Paapa and whisper ask for his money. Him telling me he spend it for Agadez when we wait for truck and I not around. He spend it on Coke and Porridge.

I having only $5 remaining for last stop and I cannot giving it for Paapa so I fall at Boubacar feet for hot dry ground and begging for mercy. I wetting the sand with my crying. He just start laughing crazy with his tobacco teeth and I be thinking he letting us go and I happy but he raise his gun and blow two bullet into Paapa head. I watching him fall and his life blood flow and I scream and scream till I not fit make a sound no more.

They say go now and we driving away. Nobody even be covering Paapa body.

Longer
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Longer Friday Flash Fiction Stories

Friday Flash Fiction is primarily a site for stories of 100 words or fewer, and our authors are expected to take on that challenge if they possibly can. Most stories of under 150 words can be trimmed and we do not accept submissions of 101-150 words.

However, in response to demand, the FFF team constructed this forum for significantly longer stories of 151-500 words. Please send submissions for these using the Submissions Page.

Stories to the 500 word thread will be posted as soon as we can mange.

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.

One little further note. Posting and publishing 500-word stories takes a little time if they need to be formatted, too.
Please note that we tend to post longer flash fiction exactly as we find it – wrong spacing, everything.