Weekly Flash Fiction

I Miss You

12/9/2023

Just a couple of evenings ago, we sat together in the window sharing a bottle of wine. Now, your chair is empty. For some, an earthquake, flood, or enemy fire deprives the departed and their loved ones of a last chance to say goodbye. Perhaps an aeroplane or traffic accident.

How I wish yours had even been like that.

You didn’t know him. It was a random attack from behind by a madman. All I can hope is that you didn’t suffer, my love, but I can’t even be sure of that.

All I know is that I miss you.

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Gary's New Book

19/6/2023

I typeset books for other authors. Today, my friend Gary texts asking if I’ll fix his new manuscript. I’ve done his before; they’re a nightmare.

“How much would you charge, Chuck?” He always calls me ‘Chuck’ for some reason. “It’s a mystery thriller.”

“Sorry, can you give me more info?” I say.

“80k words starting…”

He’s a mathematician, I’m not; it’s gobbledegook. I ask if it’s all like this.

“Naturally,” Gary says, “that’s the mystery. Impressed?”

“Thrilled,” I say, absently.

“There you go, then, a mystery thriller.”

I quote him £1.00 per word, £80,000. Gary says he’ll shop around, thanks.

Darkness at the Break of Noon

19/5/2023

Disturbingly, this is based on a real case.

Mummy asked me to collect you from school at lunchtime for your dentist appointment. She didn’t tell you about it? It’s all right, you don’t know me, but I live nearby and I’ll look after you until Mummy comes. Make yourself comfortable in the back of the car and fasten your seatbelt. Happy? We’re off.

OK, so this is my house. Your house isn’t very far away, you’re quite safe. Here’s a cheese sandwich and a drink. It tastes funny? It’s OK, drink up.

You thought I was a woman? Yes, I was wearing my wig then, but it’s OK…

Morals

12/5/2023

Once upon a time there were morals.

Morals were conventions where people tried to be honest, treat one other nicely, and respect diverse opinions. When your neighbour needed assistance, you tried to help.

Then everything changed. People were told that if your neighbour was down, it was a sign of strength to stamp on their throat and finish them off. The worst were businessmen and politicians, but some claimed to be “religious”. You called those with whom you disagreed “liars spreading fake news.” Some became rich; most became poorer.

Morals ended. Nowadays you can’t even find the word in dictionaries.

Ghost Writer

5/5/2023

Once, I had a “writing buddy” – she and I traded advice about books we were writing. No subject was off limits, and I valued her advice. Perhaps you know her: she’s a well-known writer of ghost stories.

Then one day it ended. Out of nowhere, she announced that she wouldn’t be contacting me again. I’ve no idea why, she never said, and these days you can’t ask too persistently, for fear of being accused of harassment.

So she and I became mere ghosts to each other. The other day, I think I caught a glimpse of her shadow, online. Maybe.

Ghost Trams

28/4/2023

Occasionally, a Ghost Tram could be seen running through the Edinburgh streets. The tram's passengers gazed vacantly from the carriage windows, seemingly unaware of the world outside. For the most part, the passengers seemed to be alone.

Although these Ghost Trams stopped at every station, no one ever seemed to get on or off; everyone waiting took the next tram instead.

One day, as I was standing on a platform, a ticket inspector explained the mystery.

“Ghost Trams take the souls of the departed to the terminus,” he explained. “You only make one journey.”

Then he added, “Here’s your ticket.”

David and Goliath – the Rematch!

21/4/2023

(Image: Banks mural, Ukrainian postcard)

Vladimir Goliathyevich Putin squinted down at the tiny figure facing him just five metres away across the judo mat. He’d been waiting for this opportunity for well over 2,000 years.

“Revenge at last, Davidenko. You’re a cheat,” he roared.

“I won fair and square last time. You’re just a sore loser.”

“Nonsense, you used tactical battlefield missiles. Wasn’t in the rules.”

Davidenko shrugged. “If you like. OK, no missiles this time. I’ll win anyway.”

“We’ll see, let’s fight!” said the giant bully, grabbing the smaller man’s judogi. Within seconds, he was flat on his back, exactly as the previous time.

Light Candles and Carry On

10/3/2023

Sheltering in the hoped-for safety of the subway, the young woman and her sister huddled together as sirens sounded and bombs exploded in the distance. There was little point in worrying about a direct hit; what would be would be. Instead, they worked on their laptops, putting such dark thoughts away. Better to concentrate on their latest contract, to earn some money, and to pay taxes with pride towards the war effort.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Yet another strike had knocked out the local power station. As usual, everyone simply lit candles and carried on. That way lay victory.

Vermin

10/3/2023

Despite the best efforts of coastguards, thousands of desperate migrants arrived across the English Channel on the shores of South-East England. Far from being sympathetic, the Conservative UK Government was prepared to turn them back, send them to Rwanda, and genrally treat them like sub-humans. All the time, egged on ny the right-wing red-top press.

The rats kept arriving. Each morning, thousands could be found in the coastline’s towns and villages. Overrun, the authorities took the drastic step of rounding them up, gassing them, then dumping the remains out at sea.

Then, as in most countries, loads of refugees began arriving, fleeing from warzones, drought-stricken areas and persecution. They kept coming. Each morning, more could be found on the coastline.

“Ah,” the authorities said. “We know what to do. It worked last time.”

There were protests. “But these… are people!”

The protesters’ names were taken. They, too, were last seen leaving on the refugee boats.

Harry and Me

11/11/2022

Harry died at the Somme on the 1st July, 1916. I wasn’t with him; I was too young.

A fine footballer, his entire team volunteered together. Harry didn’t return. The team lost out on the championship as a result.

Harry also died in the Battle of Britain. I was too young then as well.

I wasn’t with Harry when he died in the Falklands, Northern Ireland and Afghanistan. I wasn’t too young this time.

Harry did my dirty work. Our democratically elected politicians asked Harry to risk his life so that I didn’t have to.

It’s just a pity that…

Encounter With a Spider

16/9/2022

My wife discovered a spider in the bathroom today. We are arachnophiles, and my wife is fluent in Spider, so a conversation ensued.

“Hello, spider,” she said. The spider grunted.

My wife cut to the chase. “You eat aphids on my houseplants. Why don’t you eat up the clothes moths as well? My woolly hat is full of holes.”

“Too hairy.” A spider of few words.

My wife was incensed. “You’ll eat any moth you’re given.”

“I don’t like your attitude,” said the spider.

“It wasn’t your hat it chewed,” my wife said, tossing the spider out of the window..

Ariadne

2/9/2022

Each Friday, Ariadne flitted elegantly from bar to bar, nursing mojitos until some man took the bait.

Dave bought her champagne that night. He had one thing on his mind only, she on something faintly similar: predictably, they ended up in bed. He couldn’t resist her, she simply needed him.

Things began as you’d imagine, but changed when he entered her. Immediately, he found himself trapped, consumed by her, until she had devoured him totally. Dave’s screams went unheard.

For the next few days she stayed indoors to conceal her swollen belly, but by Friday, it was time for more.

Funeral for a Friend

19/8/2022

Jim sighed.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to say farewell to our friend..."

The small group of family and friends present chuckled: they knew that 'the departing friend' could be difficult. Jim's teenage son, who could hardly be called a mourner, was curious to see if excrement could burn effectively.

"...dust to dust, ashes to ashes, in sure and certain hope..."

Nobody actually wanted a resurrection. Instead, they celebrated as the flames consumed Jim's manuscript, consigning his dreadful first novel to the past for ever. As the pages slowly became charred flakes of history, everyone danced for joy.

Einstein's Breakfast-Time Thoughts

9/8/2022

Einstein closed his eyes and thought: he worked best on a full breakfast.

Suddenly, he understood! Newton insisted that everything must have an equal and opposite reaction. There must therefore be an inverse relativity, where if (e=mc2 divided by k1) and (-e=mc2 divided by k2), 0≤k1≤1, 0≤k2≤1 and k1+k2=1. This would allow selective time travel, so all cancers, say, could be treated by rolling back to their beginnings.

Now… how to explain that to lesser beings?

He began in the usual way: he climbed off his owner’s lap and onto the keyboard.

In the Fields

5/8/2022

I recall our holidays together, not so many years ago.

Wandering through the fields, I pointed out barley, maize, sunflowers, maize and, especially, wheat. We both agreed that our flag looked just like a cloudless blue sky above never-ending wheat fields. We saw wild flowers, cornflowers and dandelions – more blue and yellow – and there were poppies everywhere. You loved those red poppy patches then; you wouldn’t like them any more.

I’d visit, but I don’t know where to find you in those same fields now. Perhaps I never will.

What parent wouldn’t give their life in exchange for their son’s?

The Verandah Incident

22/7/2022

They sat on the verandah in the baking sun, hats pulled down over their eyes.

‘Sure is hot,’ Jim said.

‘I’m trying to ignore it,’ Mike said. ‘Pretend it’s not hot.’

‘But sure is hot.’

‘Don’t keep saying that.’

‘What? Sure is hot?’

‘Yes. Be quiet.’

‘But sure is hot. What else is there to say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But sure is hot.’

‘I’m warning you. My patience is wearing thin.’

‘See – that’s cos it sure is hot.’

‘Quiet.’

‘Sure is – ’

Just then, Mike drew a gun and shot Jim dead. As the blood trickled past his feet, he felt cooler already.

Inspiration

8/7/2022

Owen Dudley Edwards was my tutor in Irish history, not literature, but the idea's the same.

Long ago, as a final-year student, he’d held me spellbound with three-hour tutorials delivered in his soothing Irish cadences. Now, listening to those familiar tones at a promotion of his latest book fifty years later, I understood that he’d been younger back then than I’d realised.

Afterwards, I asked him to sign his book. “You won’t remember me,” I said. “1973-74. You inspired me to become a writer. I wanted to thank you.”

He hesitated, then smiled. “No, of course I remember you. How are you?”

He didn’t really remember me. He was just being polite, but that was OK.

A Hot Summer Evening Dinner

24/6/2022

The evening meal was simple to prepare, perfect for a hot summer evening. In a large pan, I warmed two finely-chopped chillis and some sliced garlic in a little butter. (I find butter works better than oil for this dish.) I set some peeled prawns and chopped parsley aside for adding later. When the water in the separate pasta pan was boiling, I added 8oz of linguine and salt.

Weary from my exertions, I flopped into a chair. I yawned and rubbed my eyes. The pasta would take eleven minutes.

Then I discovered that the chillis were very, very hot.

A Lexical Meeting

27/5/2022

Utterly obsessed with Wordle, Karen would now only speak using five-letter words. When she bumped into her crossword-fixated friend Diana, things became rather lexical.

“Hello, Diana! You’re doing great, maybe?”

“Not coarse, shtank (anag). Sounds like howru?”

“Brill, Diana.” But Karen was looking at Google Maps on her mobile phone.

Diana wanted to help. “Have you been defeated?” she asked.

“Where might Pizza Dario exist?” Karen wondered.

“First letter of the alphabet!” Diana exclaimed. “One and tiwonk back.”

“Which roads might reach there?”

“Four down and three across,” said Diana, pointing.

Karen’s face lit up. “Thanx, Diana – seeya!”

Fliss and the Taxi Driver

20/5/2022

Approaching the taxi rank, Fliss recognised the driver of the cab – her next-door neighbour JImmy.

“Is this taxi free?” she asked.

“Sure is, Fliss.”

She jumped in. At the end of the journey, he said, “That’ll be £8.00, please.”

Fliss got out. “You said your cab was free, Jimmy.” She set off without even looking round.

“I always knew you were mean, Fliss!” Jimmy called after her. “It’s time the rest of the world did, too!!” She flicked a finger at him.

The following morning she awoke to discover a figure of 8 in weedkiller on her front lawn.

Curse of the 20th April

20/4/2022

I’m 70 on Wednesday, 20th April.

Nowadays, very few people admit to sharing a birthday with Adolf Hitler, born 133 years ago: most are dead like Napoleon III. Mel Brooks made a very funny film about how tasteless it is to share anything nice with Hitler.

But there’s a little-known curse on 20th April birthday-boys. Before we reach our “allotted span”, we must prove their decency by cleansing the Earth of an evil dictator, or forever be cast into the Fires of Hell.

With just 5 days left to avert my fate, has anyone any suggestions about who to assassinate?

At the Zoo

22/3/2022

Written for the Andrew Siderius Memorial Flash Fiction Contest. This was the picture prompt.

Dan, on an office team-bonding zoo visit, has had a little too much beer. Stopping at the “Zebra Enclosure”, he reckons they’ll like his striped shirt.

‘Hi, there!’ he yells. Making loud donkey noises, he insists he can translate and pretends that the zebras and he are meeting up for beer and pizza later.

They move on to the lions, but the enclosure is being repaired and visitors are not allowed. Drunken Dan, though, is having none of it, and somehow finds his way inside.

He quickly discovers that lions like his shirt, too. They don’t wait for pizza.

Russian Knotweed

4/3/2022

There’s a new, invasive species in my garden: Russian Knotweed. My neighbours have been pestered with it, but I thought I’d managed to keep it at bay.

Russian Knotweed spreads mainly through a network of underground rhizomes, so that you’re never quite sure if you’re safe. The first inkling you receive is when you realise that the lawn is strangely ‘spongey’ and the land underneath is unstable.

Eventually, though, Russian Knotweed will burrow into every structure, even my home. Once there, it can’t be shifted because it’s too powerful.

No one seems to be able to help me. Can you?

Psychopath

4/2/2022

The first person I killed was the class bully. He was particularly dangerous in the school toilet, extorting money at the point of a knife. He went under a passing lorry in a quiet street. If you push them under the rear wheels, the driver can’t see what happens.

I was just practising, of course. My real target was my own father. He was heavier, so I needed to brace myself – opposite and equal actions and all that – but I managed. It was quicker than I’d have preferred, sadly.

Why should I feel guilty? He abused me, he deserved it.

Serial Killer

25/1/2022

Death was instant – a quick blow to the head, followed by a sharp knife across the victim’s throat.

Eyes gleaming, the killer went to work in a frenzy. He ripped out the deceased’s heart, lungs and liver, rinsing each in turn thoroughly in cold water. The corpse was fatty, and the assassin threw in some for moisture. Finally, adding some porridge oatmeal, salt and spices, including mountains of black pepper, he declared that the minced mixture would make a perfect dinner.

What to cook it in? Waste not, want not, of course – the victim’s stomach.

Biodegradable.

Compostable.

Responsible.

Delicious.

Haggis.

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