Weekly Flash Fiction

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..

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Ariadne

2/9/2022

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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.

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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.

Outside the Bethlehem Holiday Inn

17/12/2021

The King Trio, a tribute Kingston Trio band, stood outside the Bethlehem Holiday Inn. Three hours late for their gig, the hotel had given their rooms to other guests.

Bally wasn’t amused.

“I told you not to rely on the star-nav, Gazza,” she said. “Now we’ve no money, nowhere to stay and it’s freezing!”

Suddenly, the third group member, Mel, spotted three shepherds running towards a nearby barn. “They won’t sleep outdoors in this weather,” he cried. “Grab the carry-out! Follow them!”

Inside, though, was mayhem: animals everywhere, and a family oddly-lit like table lamps.

“Jesus,” Bally said.

In Any Colour

16/7/2021

We'd spent a hot afternoon trailing around the city centre clothes shops, trying to find something she could wear to that evening's party. I said she'd look great in a bin bag, but she wasn't convinced. She was fat, she said, the wrong shape – and depressed.

Later, sitting in a cafe, she threw in something else: she'd felt that some of the sales assistants had assumed that she was only there to shoplift. Because she was black, she said. You wouldn't understand, she said.

An honest smile is attractive in any colour, I said.

Suddenly, right then, she looked stunning.

Moronavirus

5/3/2021

"Next!"

A man sat down on one of many chairs lined up across the stadium: he was that day's patient no. 2,394. A bored-looking nurse stood waiting, ready to deliver yet another moronavirus vaccine.

The man grunted and rolled up his sleeve. The nurse delivered the jab.

"Feel all right, sir?"

"Feel nothing at all," the man insisted. "Climate change is a hoax, there's no pandemic, guns are the answer, Black lives don't matter – "

The nurse leaped back. "Stand back, everyone," she sighed. "The pandemic has mutated into yet another deadly strain of human. We need a new vaccine."

Analgesic Housework

12/2/2021

Sometimes, in the afternoons, she would catch herself staring wistfully into the middle distance. Why did it have to be, she would ask herself? Then she would take a deep breath and throw herself into some analgesic housework, or perhaps she'd bake a cake. But a walk offered too much opportunity for remembering.

Her husband had struggled even more, and eventually, she'd lost him, too, unable to live in a home filled nowadays with only sadness and memories. She didn't blame him: no parent is ever prepared for the loss of a child.

At least she had a clean house.

Strange Girl

5/2/2021

It began with a strange occurrence: a pool of vomit in the tenement block's garden. Had someone jumped over the fence? A fox, perhaps? When it happened again a few weeks later, at exactly the same spot, a few neighbours wondered, whispered, but no more.

Lynsey's room was directly above, three storeys up. A nice kid, attractive and successful, when she began wearing long-sleeved tops and jeans, where before she'd worn cami tops and skimpy shorts, no one paid much attention.

One day, she left and was never seen again. Finally, Lynsey had found a way to make people notice.

Take It Easy, Take It Easy...

29/1/2021

Me and my son are taking a spin in my new wheels, a used Presidential "Beast" with 'Trump for President' scored out. For monsters like us, perfect.

"Dad," my son asks, "what's your favourite sport?"

"Monsters like shooting disobedient writers, son. The ones that can't follow instructions. Bullet through both arms at once, great fun."

"Not the head?" the boy asks.

"Doesn't work. They've no brain."

A little further down the road, we stop at a MacMonsters. "Fancy a writerburger, son?"

"Yes, please, dad. Can I have ketchup?"

"Sure, but only a vegan burger bun. Gotta think of the planet."

A Hot Date

22/1/2021

This is cheating – it isn't actually fiction.

It's 1972, and it's a promising early date. Her parents are away from home, and she's cooking that seventies' retro classic, spaghetti bolognese. In the kitchen, she invites me to taste the ragu: we agree it needs a little cayenne. So she goes to shake the little pot... and the entire top comes off, depositing a mound of red powder into our evening meal.

I insist that we scrape what we can off the top, then eat it. It tastes... spicy.

49 years later, we still eat lots of spicy food, but these days I do most of the cooking.

A Modern Marriage

15/1/2021

Their marriage was based on mutual understanding. Like many millennials, they never spoke, whether in the street, sitting side-by-side on the sofa, or even in bed. Their sole medium was the mobile phone.

At first, they communicated in textspeak: "Fancy something 2eat? A little 4play leading to 6?" Eventually, they moved on to homespun emoticons – :( or :) or even :x, but these offered even less scope for literary discourse. Then of course, emojis followed.

One day, disaster struck – she dropped her iPhone down the toilet. Unable to speak, he assumed she was being unfaithful and the inevitable happened: D4s.

Snowmen

8/1/2021

From the kitchen window, Mark was relieved to see Jason happily constructing a snowman, using carrots, rocks, and old hats and scarves of Steph's. It was their first winter since Jason's mother's suicide, and Mark knew Jason missed her desperately.

Mark stood briefly watching the boy safely occupied, then turned away content. But an hour later, Mark was concerned that he'd heard nothing for ages.

Racing into the garden, he saw two snowmen – one was clearly a small snowman, the other a snowwoman. Jason, meantime, had disappeared. Then he spotted the red tears beneath the snowwoman's eyes.

Mark screamed.

Hogmanay Fireworks

1/1/2021

Hogmanay, 2020: the famous Edinburgh street party fireworks display has been cancelled because of coronavirus.

Like many couples in their mid-eighties, Catherine and Jack will welcome 2021 in their bed. They're still having fun, though, imagining their own bedroom "fireworks" – rockets, Catherine wheels, jack-in-the-boxes, roman candles, bangers – anything with double meanings. Eventually, Catherine invites Jack to "light her fire", and they burn brightly for almost twenty minutes.

Later, as they lie exhausted, Catherine says, "So, now we've discovered that mysterious 'COVID vaccine side-effect' they warned us about. If we asked, do you think they'd give us a booster next week?"

<<Previous

Encounter With a Spider

Ariadne

Funeral for a Friend

Einstein's Breakfast-Time Thoughts

In the Fields

The Verandah Incident

Inspiration

A Hot Summer Evening Dinner

A Lexical Meeting

Fliss and the Taxi Driver

Curse of the 20th April

At the Zoo

Russian Knotweed

Psychopath

Serial Killer

Outside the Bethlehem Holiday Inn

In Any Colour

Moronavirus

Analgesic Housework

Strange Girl

Take It Easy, Take It Easy...

A Hot Date

A Modern Marriage

Snowmen

Hogmanay Fireworks

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