Weekly Flash Fiction

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?"

A Homeless Christmas

24/12/2020

For one homeless family, it's their third Christmas living like sardines in just two spare rooms in an uncle's flat. Underneath the tiny tree is a handful of presents, all for the two children.

The ten-year-old boy has two parcels. One is a new pack of playing cards, the other is The Pan Book of Card Games. Quickly, the mother leaves the room, fearing that her son will see her tears of shame.

But the boy is thrilled. For him, a new world has opened: cribbage; bezique; solo whist; gin rummy; and so many others. It's his best Christmas ever.

Terminal Neurostupidoma

27/10/2020

The surgeon was showing the patient an x-ray of his head.

"Bad news, sir," said the medic. "That mass in your brain is terminal neurostupidoma."

The patient shrugged. "Nothing wrong with me, doc."

"Typical symptoms are complete deafness and blindness. You feel nothing."

"Deaf? Blind?"

"What's climate change? Black lives matter? COVID?"

"Don't exist. Bullshit, all of them."

"As I said, sir, deaf and blind. That and your hat."
The patient stood up, marched over to a wall mirror and pointed to his red baseball cap.

"So? It's a regular cap. Popular brand – AGAM. Everybody's wearing them."

"Not everyone, sir."

The Girl in the Crowd

2/10/2020

Sometimes, I see her in distant crowds. I try to ensure she doesn't see me, but I suspect she's picked me out once or twice. I'm not sure who's likely to be more embarrassed by memories of our brief liaison, her or me. We simply needed each other at the time, but it turned out that her need for me was even more short-term than my need for her. And it was hardly ideal for morale to discover that I wasn't even her only one.

I'd still love to know what she saw in me during those few short weeks.

Remembering Tom

11/9/2020

As she did that same day each year, Jane sat on the park bench, gazing at the gap in the skyline where Tom had once worked. Why, she asked herself? Thousands dead in the aeroplanes, in the buildings, and amongst the emergency workers; countless thousands more in the years of reprisals that followed. What God could condone such unspeakable evil?

Jane clutched an old red Nokia 3210 mobile phone, remembering Tom's last words: "I love you." She brushed a tear away.

A hand gently touched her arm. "Come on, Mum, let's go home. It doesn't get any easier, does it?"

Analgesic Housework

4/9/2020

Bleak Factory

14/8/2020

Kismet Quick surveyed his asbestos processing factory, relishing the noise and intense heat, then did his hourly worker count to ensure that no child was slacking.

Suddenly he yelled, "Mrs Screech! Where's Hamill?"

A round, red-faced woman appeared, breathless. "Jack Hamill's with me, getting his finger sown back on, Mr Quick."

"Why? Does he NEED them all?"

"Well – "

"Get him back to work. Iodine on the missing finger!"

Mrs Screech nodded, returning with the injured boy. Beneath her own machine, Emily smiled, knowing that, as the only ones with sensible names, she and Jack were destined for each other.

When God's Patience Finally Ran Out

7/8/2020

God looked at Her inbox and sighed. Ever since She'd gone all IT and invited prayers online or via social media, She'd been swamped with demands for action on one topic: sexual harassment. Mainly from women, the complaints were of inappropriate comments and, of course, intimate touching. One third of all women confessed that sharing a lift with a man alone made them afraid. Then there was Harvey Weinstein and the #metoo movement.

By 2019, God's patience had run out. They were quite right. It was time to make everyone respect each other's personal space. Time for a new coronavirus...

Might Be Something in It

17/7/2020

They were both reading: she was browsing Women's Health, while he was deeply engrossed in Golf Monthly. Suddenly, she broke the silence.

"It says here that couples who share the housework have much better sex lives." She didn't look up.

"Hmm?" He didn't look up either.

"I put the dishes in the dishwasher." He didn't reply, so she continued, "There are still pans to wash."

"Hmm?" No more.

She sighed, stood up. "I'll deal with the pans, then I'm off to bed."

"Goodnight, love," he said, eventually.

"Goodnight," she called back, then added more quietly, "Might be something in it."
.

Strip Battleships in Lockdown

26/6/2020

"C3."

"Hit," Sarah sighed, slowly removing her bra.

In Lockdown, they'd discovered the delights of Strip Battleships on Zoom. Each 'hit' obliged the other to remove an item of clothing.

Now, each sat wearing just one thing. Sarah missed with D6. From her sofa, she noticed that, behind Chris, the cooker needed cleaning.

"C4."

"Damn!" Sarah cried. She stood up, turned around, and slid her knickers to the floor. "Satisfied?"

"Very. Ready? GO!!"

They arrived at their bedroom simultaneously. Battleships got them in the mood every time, except that once when they accidentally dialled her mother into the game, too.

Chopin Waltz in D flat

10/4/2020

In COVID-19, Simon saw opportunity: master Chopin's D flat "Minute" Waltz.

Even for concert pianists, the Minute Waltz requires nearly two minutes' performance. No virtuoso, Simon's record was over five. Now, trapped in lockdown, Simon set about practising non-stop each day from morning till night.

Two weeks later, he could play the entire piece in under four minutes; by week six, in just three. During week twelve, Simon smashed the two minute barrier. Then... silence.

Days later, police discovered Simon's decaying body slumped over the keys. No one had noticed: his neighbours had long ago self-isolated from his piano playing.

The 74 Last Words from the Cross

10/4/2020

One day soon, ladies and gentlemen... one day soon, I know we all shall walk together in harmony... that people of all genders, of all ages, and of all races and religions will discover the shared joy of our common diversity... that those blessed with wealth, good health and good fortune will rejoice in sharing it with those less fortunate... that we will no longer fear the oppression of those paid to protect us –––––

The bullet fired from the crowd at that point pierced her skull at an angle of 34˚, simultaneously exploding her brains and the hopes of humanity.

<<Previous

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

A Homeless Christmas

Terminal Neurostupidoma

The Girl in the Crowd

Remembering Tom

Analgesic Housework

Bleak Factory

When God's Patience Finally Ran Out

Might Be Something in It

Strip Battleships in Lockdown

Chopin Waltz in D flat

The 74 Last Words from the Cross

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