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Gordon Lawrie

Tender is the Night

31/1/2014

 
Christine studied the man lying with his back to her, asleep.

She smiled. She knew she should probably get up and go to the bathroom, but she wanted to retain the moment for as long as possible. The bed linen could wait until morning; it had been worth it.

John had taken her – probably both of them, to be honest – to a place she hadn’t been for years, had thought perhaps she wouldn’t ever visit again. He knew: he always insisted that he could tell from the glow around her neck.

Thank goodness life continued to be full of surprises.

Metamorphosis

27/1/2014

 
Gregor woke from troubled dreams to discover that he was eight months pregnant. Transformed in his bed, he lay on his back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his large belly, slightly domed. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. He had developed breasts, and such was his size that he could barely move.

"What's happened to me? It must be a dream,” he thought, and tried to turn over and sleep. But it wasn't a dream.

He shook his head. “I must stop eating kebabs.”

A New Poem

25/1/2014

 
Ye cannae write that, Rabbie!” Jean said. “Just because she gie’d ye socks agin’ fir yer birthday!”

Burns read his new poem aloud. “There gaes ma Auntie Aggie’s face, Queen Grumpy ‘o the pudden race... It’s perfect,” he declared.

“How about another nice animal poem? They’re popular. Like those ones about mice and lice. How about a cat?”

“Emma Baird does them.”

“A dug?”

“Jane Reid.”

“Tiger...?”

“Some Englishman called Bill Blake. And ah need a rhyme wi’ ‘Aggie’.”

“Ach, cam awa’ an hae yer tea. It’s yer favourite.”

Burns looked at the plate. “Short, fat, hairy legs, rhymes wi’ Aggie’s....”

In-Flight Entertainmant

24/1/2014

 
Far into Andromeda, Agnes looked out of the window.

“I wonder what it was really like flying those cramped old space rockets,” she said. “How did they stand it? No shower, no pool first thing in the morning. Ugh!”

Charlotte nodded. “It took so LONG. Thank God we live in the age of megalightspeed travel. When are we due to land?”

“A couple of hours more, Charlie,” Agnes said. “Time you were going. How long have you got, by the way?”

“The room’s booked for forty minutes.”

Charlotte set off to fetch that Australian from the top deck. He’d do.

The Target

17/1/2014

 
It was almost his now, not moving. He got himself into position until it appeared squarely in the finder. Don’t let it move now. Modern technology could do wonders, but a moving target was still difficult.

Was it looking at him? Two baleful spheres eyed him one last time. A rectangular piece of paper was stuck to its face.

Gently, as he’d been taught, he squeezed the trigger. Done. The perfect photograph. He returned the camera to his pocket.

He spun the parking ticket machine around his index finger, blew away the remaining smoke, and returned it to its holster.

Surrounded

10/1/2014

 
It might have been a trick of the light.

Watching television, I gradually started to sense that the figures on the screen weren’t the only things moving in the room. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the subjects in the photographs on the fireplace and the wall had changed slightly; an altered expression, an adjusted posture, perhaps. My normally-gentle sister Jan appeared angry. Auntie Emma seemed to be frowning instead of smiling. Ann-Louise, my ex-wife, seemed to be holding something in her lap: a revolver? She certainly wasn’t smiling, for sure.

Then I realised someone was behind me.

The Body In The Library

3/1/2014

 
Holmes studied the victim’s body in the library. Head beaten with a blunt instrument. Blood, yes, but also water on the carpet. No murder weapon.

“I’m baffled,” Watson said. “It’s cold in here.”

Suddenly, Holmes leapt to his feet. “It’s elementary, Watson!”

“Elementary?”

“The butler did it,” said Holmes. “Ring for him!”

Moments later the butler, Jeeves, appeared. “You rang, sir?”

“You beat the victim to death with a block of ice, which melted. As butler, Jeeves, you’re the only one with access to ice.”

Jeeves bowed. “As you wish, sir.” Then he added, “Shall I bring the handcuffs, sir?”

What Drones Do

3/1/2014

 
The queen bee had called the drones to order. “Tell me,” she asked, “exactly WHAT is your function around here?”

The drones spoke in unison. “Our duty is to obey, Your Majesty. Our duty is to serve your every need. Our duty is to otherwise loiter about and let the women do all the work.”

“So do I really need you?" the Queen said. "I mean, apart from the occasional bit of hanky-panky... and I could settle for a vibrator.”

Suddenly, the drones formed themselves into a giant boy-band, singing: “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got wing...”

    Flash Fiction

    Flash fiction is very, very short fiction indeed - short stories of any sort of length from a Haiku to ten minutes' reading. Good for when you're in a hurry. This series is a selection of contributions to Friday Flash Fiction, where there's a limit of 100 words. I try to make all mine exactly 100 words.


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    (FREE!)
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    If you enjoy these stories, why not download Gordon's first two collections of these, called '100 Not Out' and '200 Not Out'? Available for all types of e-readers including Kindle and iPad, for free. Completely free, no strings.

    Click on one of the images below...

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