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Ideas Not Derived From Experience But With Observable Outcomes, by Sam Smith

6/11/2016

 
Not mindless, not no thoughts at all, simply that John Logie Baird was waiting his turn. Leaning slightly upon his tapered cue he watched his opponent, in this their third game, as he walked back and forth around the table, pausing to line up possible shots, chalk his cue tip. And it was during this third game when the radio, in the Glasgow pool hall, began to play Tchaikovsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme.

​Surprised, JLB looked about him. No-one else appeared to have noticed. Not his opponent crouched over the table, nor the players at any of the other tables. JLB however became acutely aware of the threaded changes in the rococo tracery being misaligned with, and yet absorbed into, the click and cushion thud, drop and undertable roll of pool balls, the murmured exchange between players. And on the table directly before him the non-absolutes, temporary positions of the different coloured balls on the green baize, placement and force of a shot, spin of the white ball, contact with a colour, cannon off another, bounce and direction from the cushion, actual as opposed to intended outcome of the shot; Tchaikovsky dead before JLB was born, what JLB knew of the work of Edison and Marconi, position of all the again stationary balls, cello weaving between the new, fresh action required.

“Where’re you off?” his opponent asked as JLB slotted his cue back into the rack.

“’Later,” he quietly said.

Where's Billy, by Fliss Zakaszewska

2/11/2016

 
It was not the sort of day where evil lurked, but then evil doesn’t wait for dark and stormy nights. The sun beamed down, slowly beginning to warm up the frozen earth after a bitter winter.

Patsy paused and listened. All was still and mousey-quiet. That wasn’t right. She turned – where was Billy? He’d been there a minute ago.

Then she saw him! He was lying so still in the water. She grabbed hold of a branch and stepped in, ready to pull him out, but a rogue current made him bob in the water, pushing him further away, almost out of reach. Patsy pounced, but the water bounced and gurgled, leaving nothing but icy wetness streaming out of her hand.

There she was stuck, one foot in the water and one on land, in danger of slipping in too - and Patsy had stumbled into deeper water with the last attempted. The girl lunged once more, crying out in frustration and then again in horror as the water rose and breached ‘safety level’, as she felt liquid ice against her skin.

“Patsy! Whatever is the matter? And I’ve told you about playing in the stream… oh, for heaven’s sake, you’ve got water in your wellie.”

“It’s Billy! He’s fallen in and I can’t get him out!” Tears streamed down her face.

Mummy took a few slow and measured steps out of the back door and looked at the stream. “So he has.” With that, she knelt down on the bank, reached out and plucked Billy up in her cupped hand.

“Here he is.” He glistened wet in her hand as she twisted his middle to unscrew the toy. “You do love your Billy Barrels, don’t you? It would have been a shame if you’d lost the very last one – especially as that’s the one that has little Billy inside.”

Mummy smiled. “All’s well that ends well. Come on, let’s get you and Billy into the house and dry you both off. Your wellies will certainly need to dry before you can wear them again. Then I’ll make us both a nice cup of cocoa and we’ll put all the ‘Billy Barrels’ back together. That way you’ll keep the ‘little ’un’ safe.”

    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.


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    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
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    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.

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