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Gordon Lawrie

Nativity Scene No.2: World In Union

25/12/2015

 
“She’s this way,” the father said, beaming with pride. “Kind of you to come.”
 
Six men and women filed into the bedroom. The girl slept in her cot, surrounded by soft toys: donkeys, sheep, cows.
 
“We’ve gifts for our Saviour,” said Theresa. Sure enough, they all had useful presents – baby oil, nappies, Baby-Gros.
 
“But...” said Ganesh, “isn’t she our Hindu God? Am I mistaken?”
 
“Is she Sikh?”
 
“Jewish, even?”
 
“Or a Prophet of Islam?”
 
“A new Buddha?”
 
The newborn’s father sighed. “She’s supposed to be without sin. Let’s not push her into making her first mistake too quickly, shall we?”

Nativity Scene No.1

25/12/2015

 
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“Sure you got the address right?” asked Bally. He and Caz were getting irritated.
 
“Stable Lane,” snapped Mel.
 
“Lotta money riding on this, Mel,” Caz said, threateningly.
 
“I’m doin’ my best. Even Land Rovers have to go easy towing caravans.”
 
“I ain’t losing to hicks on foot.”
 
“They’re not on foot,” Bally said. “Those guys are professional shepherds – they use quad bikes.”
 
Caz cursed. “Well we’ve got your sat-nav. They’ll never find that Travelodge in Bethlehem.”
 
Suddenly, Bally pointed skywards. “What’s that? Sure is bright.”
 
Mel gasped. “That’s the International Space Station. They’re following that!”
 
Caz cursed again. “That’s cheating.”

Ready For Santa Claus

25/12/2015

 
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This is inspired by a real person.

She was convinced that Santa Claus was an illegal immigrant, a terrorist and that his sack contained a bomb with which to blow up everyone up. She also believed he was a muslim, of which his long white beard was proof.


But our hero didn’t lack courage, no! On social media she fearlessly posted capitalised rants demanding Santa’s repatriation. She’d be READY AND WAITING when he came.

On Christmas Eve, she waited for him in the dark. Just after midnight, a hooded figure slipped down the chimney.

But the hooded figure wasn’t carrying a sack, he was carrying a scythe.

Ill-Starred By Moonlight

18/12/2015

 
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They’d met in a club, a holiday romance; one thing had led to another.

Now they were lying on the beach in the warm night.

“I love you, Claire,” said Asif. “Will you marry me?”

She knew he wasn’t being serious.

“I love you, too. But my parents insist that I marry a prince.” That wasn’t the real problem, of course. “Let’s count the stars together instead.”

 
Asif took the sky on the left. They counted 714.
 
“I’ve an idea,” he said. “Let’s elope.”
 
“Where to?”
 
“I have friends on Pluto.”

“That’s agreed, then,” said Claire. They kissed on it.

Spectrum Conference Centre, Oslo:    November 2015

18/12/2015

 
Norwegian Prime Minister Solberg arrives, exchanges pleasantries with the waiting press, then disappears into a room offstage. She’s followed by, in turn, Obama, Cameron, Hollande, Putin, even Pope Francis. Each expresses hopes for peace before vanishing.
 
Suddenly, the press room gasps. It’s Assad. He, too, speaks to the press, then disappears. Even the leaders of Daesh and the Syrian rebels show up.
 
Minutes later, Solberg reappears to announce that peace has been agreed.
 
Sadly, it transpires that all the politicians were merely the same thirteen-year-old boy performing astonishing impersonations. Pity. He made a lot more sense than the real things.

Star Wars XVII: Conquering The Masters

11/12/2015

 
This was written around the time of the Star Wars VII movie, of course.

(Long ago, on a golf course far away...)
 
Sergio Skywalker approached the hermit-like jedi master on the practice ground.
 
“Obi-Len Kenobi?”
 
“I’ve been expecting you, Sergio,” Len Kenobi said.
 
“How can I defeat Darth Spieth?”
 
“Believe in your powers, Sergio. But you must also practice. Show me what you can do.”
 
They swished some golf clubs with brightly-lit luminous blue shafts, but Sergio was no match for the wily Len.
 
“Believe you are strong, Sergio,” said Len. “But you must practice to defeat Spieth. The Masters is soon.”
 
“I will, Len, I promise.”
 
“May the 4s be with you, Sergio.”

Missed Opportunity

9/12/2015

 
Ten years ago I found myself checking out of a hotel at the same time as an American billionaire, his wife and a well-known comedienne. We were there on a cut-price deal; they weren’t.

In the years since, it’s become hard to tell who’s the real joker, except that recently the billionaire doesn’t sound so funny any more. He’s still rich, but he’s become a hatred-filled, dangerous, self-aggrandising bully. I should have seen it coming.

It occurred to me then that it was my chance to make the world a better place for the future. I chickened out.

Sorry, world.

    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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    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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