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Perfect

25/10/2014

Surely a compulsive obsessive, he sought stories that not only consisted of exactly one hundred words, but also of an equal length of ten words and fifty characters per line. He spent months – years even – editing different word combinations in a Word document in pursuit of a flawless masterpiece.

One day he was done. The perfect story was ready to copy and paste into Friday Flash Fiction.

LinkedIn, of course, doesn't do right-justification of text, and to his despair it all went haywire after he pressed the 'Add Comment' button.

In contrast, he got his suicide attempt right first time.

Bitter

24/10/2014

She found entertainment in being unpleasant: to neighbours, to friends, to her few remaining relatives. Her grown-up children tolerated her out of duty. Above all she hated men.

Though she claimed to be a Christian, her actions and attitudes said otherwise. She thought her lectures and advice amusing and informed; aquaintances found her tiresome.

Eventually she launched a lawsuit over some trivial affair that she insisted on pursuing right to the Supreme Court. She won, but had to use all her savings and sell her home to pay costs.

When she left the neighbourhood, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Take It Easy

24/10/2014

“Must we do it like this, Jeremy?” Wendy asked.

Tonight though, Jeremy was going to have his way; Wendy just needed gentle coaxing.

"It'll be all right. Just relax."

"We've never done it this way before. It feels so unnatural."

"Trust me."

"It's a bit tight," Wendy said. Ignoring her, Jeremy eased her into position and slipped gently in.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I suppose not."

"You'll allow me to reverse you into the garage in future?"

"I suppose so," she sighed, adding, "Is this how you speak to all your cars?"

"Only the ones that speak back."

The Dangling Conversation

19/10/2014

Another Friday Flash Fiction story inspired by a song.

"Can I help you?"

"I doubt it," said the old woman. "I know more than you."

"You sound like you're calling from the US. Why are you phoning?"

"I want to complain. You're extremely rude."

"You'll allow me to reserve the right to disagree with you."

"That's OK. The US Constitution allows us freedom of speech."

"This is Europe. We don't have the First Amendment. We just try to be polite."

"That's your problem," said the woman.

"Being polite or not being from the US?"

"Both."

"Well thankfully, we in Europe do have one right..."

(Suddenly, the telephone goes dead...)

(©Paul Simon 1966 – I'm sure he won't mind it being used here for reference.)

Even The President Of The United States Sometimes Must Have To Stand Naked

18/10/2014

The Friday Flash Fiction challenge was to write a story using a song as inspiration.

Immigration: a tall black American steps forward; a large, imposing officer studies his passport.

"Whereyagoin?"

"Washington."

"Whereyabin?"

"Afghanistan."

"Gonna have to ask you to follow me." Then in a private office, "Gonna have to strip-search you, sir."

"What???"

"There's been a death-threat to our President, sir."

"But I am the President."

"Passport says your middle name's Hussein. From Afghaneestan. You could be a disguised bomb."

"I'm not – "

The officer's drawn gun stops him. One humiliating ten-minute strip-search later, the President is released.

Returning to his desk, the officer waves the next man, a blond Austalian, through.

"Proceed, Mr Assange."

The Venetian Grand Prix

10/10/2014

Holding a Venetian Grand Prix was the idea of Barney Flintstone, the F1 boss himself. Although many of his closest associates tried to point out that the city was full of canals, Flintstone insisted that the cars would simply adjust using 'wet' tyres. In the meantime Venice would provide a break from the usual circuit monotony, and glamour to match Monte Carlo.

All the cars sank on race day, but George and Amal, Vienna's new Doge and Dogess, oversaw everything with pride. And Italian honour was satisfied when Ferrari comfortably won the vaporetto race ahead of Mercedes and Red Bull.

No Soft Landing

10/10/2014

Written to celebrate the arrival of a new baby far, far away, one that I'll never meet but simply took an interest in – on the same day as I came home from holiday.

Some journey!

I shouldn't really complain. Sure, the ticket didn't cost very much, but being forced to spend nine months in the crash-land position and fed the same monotonous food is no party, believe me.

Then, passing through immigration took nearly two days – it seemed like that – out of darkness into a big bright interrogation room where they strip-searched me, weighed me, and took all sorts of "measurements".

You wonder why I'm crying now? All I want is a little food and some sleep. And while we're at it, can anyone direct me to a toilet?

Ah, sorry, too late.

The "Boy, Did She Regret That Move" Trilogy

3/10/2014

A LinkedIn contributor suggested that the theme for the first Friday in October 2014 might involve finshing stories with the sentence "Boy, did she regret that move." Here are three offerings.

Strip Chess

Playing strip chess with new boyfriends is always hazardous, but Judith's wine-fuelled challenge to Dave that night was especially so; he hadn't mentioned he was an International Grand Master. By move twenty-four he'd shed only his shoes and socks, she was already in her underwear.

Suddenly she saw her chance. "Knight takes rook – check!" she announced.

As Dave removed his shirt, Judith realised she'd forgotten about his queen.

"Queen takes knight," he said quietly. As Judith made to undo her bra, he added, "I think your king might be next. That's checkmate, isn't it?"

Boy, did she regret that move.

Panic

She stood, motionless, sweating, in the midday sun. Nearby, but not too nearby, her husband, yelled at her not to panic, that he'd get help. But he seemed paralysed with fear almost as much as she; he could only grab their son's hand to keep him safe.

Her child's little ball still lay there, just out of reach. He'd thrown it there by mistake, she'd gone to fetch it, fewer than twenty steps beyond the fence. Now all she could think of was the round metal disc she found herself on as a result.
Boy, did she regret that move.

The New Residence

It had seemed such a good idea. They'd struggled to fit into their previous "bijou" flat, but this house had five bedrooms and two public rooms, three bathrooms and a huge kitchen. The garden was extensive, there was a double garage, and the whole property was £100,000 under budget.

Turned out that the roof leaked, there was dry rot throughout the entire building, rats infested the basement and – only days after they'd moved in – the garage collapsed on their car, writing it off.

To top it all, the house turned out to be haunted.

Boy, did she regret that move.

Strip Chess

Panic

The New Residence

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