Tag Archives: Flash Fiction

Friday Fiction – Another Brick In The Wall

Short and sweet this week – I hope you have friendships like Emily and Sarah’s and I hope you value them as much as Emily does. I do, and I do, even if I don’t get around to saying it often enough.

Today’s pic is from Bjorn Rudberg.

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Another Brick In The Wall

I hadn’t seen her for years; we’d dropped from inseparable to Christmas cards, to Facebook stalking. Then she called me up.

“Sarah, it’s Emily.”

I recognised her voice immediately. My brain flashed memories: the Boyzone concert, a shared bag of chips on the wall outside school, shared secrets and Forever Friends bracelets with half the heart each.

“I’m getting married,” she said. “I’d like you to be my bridesmaid.”

“Me?” I said, stunned.

“Babe, you got me through teenagehood and a crush on Keith Duffy. You are exactly who I need beside me on the biggest day of my life.”

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Friday Fiction – Nothing Before Everything

My story for this week came in an unusual way and I can’t decide how I feel about. Please do be honest in your comments, I appreciate it even if it stings! And if you like it, that’s great too!

Rochelle hosts, long-term Fictioneer, Sandra Crook, whose writings I recommend highly to you, provides this week’s picture.

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Nothing Before Everything

“If you could time-travel, where would you go?”

“Or when?”

He laughed, sending tingles through me. “I guess.”

“Seventeenth century,” I said. “All those romantic Shakespeare scenes, being acted out for real, men wearing tights, and…”

“Less pollution too,” he said, kicking an old milk bottle.

“Maybe not,” I said, thinking a lack of rubbish collections might outweigh even our plastic culture. “Just different kinds.”

“What’s so great about men in tights, anyway?” he said.

My legs itched under uniform grey wool. “Nothing, but if I have to wear them, everyone should suffer along too.”

That’s when he kissed me.

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Friday Fictioneers – Perspective

Well, I finally finished reading the last of last week’s submissions yesterday evening. If you didn’t get a comment from me, it’s because the internet ate it (is that the modern version of ‘The dog ate my homework”?). I enjoyed the diversity, as well as the quality, but I think we can safely say I won’t be reading all the entries again for a while. I got nothing else done this week. My respect for those who do it every week has just hit new levels!

This week’s prompt is from returned Fictioneer, Doug MacIlroy. Our leader, Rochelle, is one of those I mentioned above. They both write stunning stories, so I urge you to check out the links. As for me, my story is hopefully a little less obtuse than last week’s, but who knows – I eagerly await your comments.

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Perspective

Dear Diary,

Downloaded a new book: The Diary of Anne Frank. This girl was stuck in an attic for years. Mum said I should read it to get some perspective, but it just makes me cry. She had so little. Like, she couldn’t talk to her friends or anything, because back then they didn’t have computers and whatever.

Had to stop reading it when it got dark – we can’t risk any light at night in case it seeps through the curtains letting the soldiers know there’s someone up here. Dad says tomorrow we’ll do a Google maps tour of home.

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Friday Fiction – As Seen On TV

This week’s FF post comes with a moderate language warning. Also, a note that none of the characters in this story reflect any actual persons alive or dead. That’s always the case with my writing, but in this instance one of the Fictioneers might notice a nod to her profession!

For those who don’t know, The Great British Bake-Off (aka Bake Off) has been a great hit with women of a certain age and disposition in the UK recently. so much so, it’s spawned The Great British Sewing Bee and presumably other hobbies and activities are lining up to follow. Just wait until the adult entertainment industry catches up and add The Great British Fu… I digress.

Quick, before I have to upgrade that warning, here’s Renee’s photo (the way it loads on the iPad I saw the bottom first, hence my interpretation), and my story. Comments always welcome.

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As Seen On TV

“Shit!” Charlotte dumped the piping bag in the bowl. “Shit, shit shit!”

She shouldn’t have used fondant. A nice spreadable buttercream, or rolled-out royal and she’d be done by now. But no, she had to try fondant. They made it look so easy on Bake-off.

Now, she had rivers of sticky icing racing down the cupboards. Soon it would reach the floor, and Andy had already called to say they’d left the airport.

The door slammed and Charlotte drew breath. They couldn’t be here already.

“Hi Mum!”

She breathed again. “Ah, kids, perfect timing. Who wants to decorate Grandma’s cake?”

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In Mon – Fridge Monster

It’s been a few weeks since I posted for InMon and I will say now it might be a while before I can again, but I’m glad to be here this time, and with a story for the prompt “fridge monster”. I hope you enjoy; your comments are welcome either way.

The Fridge

“Jules, could you pass Mummy the butter please?” She’s holding the big knife and sawing away at a loaf of bread on the counter, so she doesn’t look up when she says it. Just asks, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And it is, right? All I have to do is walk to the fridge, open the door, grab the butter, close the door, take it to Mummy. Easy. All things I have been able to do for ages. When I was a baby, like my little sister Mary, I couldn’t, but now I’m three and a half, I could do it. Easy, right?

But it’s not easy at all.

See. There’s a light in the fridge. And the light only comes on when you open the door, and then if you look really really carefully when you close the door, you can see it going off again just before it’s shut.

And Mummy says the light is powered by magic, but Miranda at daycare says there’s no such thing as magic and Miranda is five and goes to school, so she knows things.

So if there’s no such thing as magic, who turns the light on and off? And why? Why would the whoever it is only turn it on when I’ve got the door open? Because when the door’s open, there’s light from the kitchen anyway, so the only reason they would turn the light on is to shine it on whoever opens the door. And the only reason they would do that is to decide whether to attack you.

And if they live in the fridge, they must be pretty small, so they probably wouldn’t attack Mummy or Daddy. And Mary’s too small to open the fridge, so they couldn’t reach her. So that leaves me. And the whoever in the fridge hasn’t eaten me yet, so it’s probably pretty hungry.

I wish it liked cheese. Then it could just eat the cheese in the fridge. But it doesn’t. And that only leaves me.

“Come on, Jules, I need you to help me out.”

Mummy’s getting angry, but she doesn’t know about the whoever in the fridge. She thinks it’s magic. She wouldn’t want me to open the fridge if she knew.

 

 

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In Mon – Is That a Real Place?

More fun prompts over at BeKindRewrite this week. This take on one probably isn’t that original, but I enjoyed writing it and definitely feel I could work more with these characters. Have a look, leave your thoughts, and/or stop over to Steph’s site to use the prompts yourself.

Getaway

The bar was quiet and our host was friendly, setting down drinks then hovering behind Alice. “So what brings you to this corner of the globe?”

“Walking,” I replied, hoping he’d leave us alone. “We’ve heard there are fantastic trails up into the mountains.”

“Sure thing,” he said, pulling over a chair, “We’ve got a load of maps and guides you could take a look at in the Snug.”

“Great.” I picked up the menu and tried to leave the conversation at that.

“I also know a few more secluded trails if you’d like a personal touch. There are places I can show you where you won’t see another person for hours.”

“Except you,” Alice muttered.

Our host laughed. “Well, of course.” He pulled his chair in. “But I can be unobtrusive when I want to be.”

Unlike now, I thought. I caught Alice’s eye and she smiled, reading my mind.

“Do you remember on our honeymoon?” I asked her, excluding him as much as I could from the conversation.

“The Lover’s Island!” she laughed, then she turned to him. “We booked a private island getaway for a day. Then a bunch of Italians turned up with a picnic.”

Now that she’d included him, I tried to hammer home the privacy point. “I paid good money to get some alone time with my wife.”

“Ha, yes,” he said, “Well you’ll definitely find that here.” But I could tell he didn’t really get it. Instead he began to explain the flora and fauna we might chance to see if we took him up on his offer. Alice and I continued briefly our reminiscences, then gave up and read the menus while he droned on.

“… And the mandrakes are spectacular. Although not at this time of year, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what he was talking about.

“Mandrakes are real?” Alice said. “I thought JK Rowling made them up!”

“No, they are quite real. Nice cheap hallucinogen, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Now we’ve never been offered those before!” Alice laughed. “Someone tried to sell us Speed in New York once, and we smoked weed in Timbuktu.”

“That’s a real place?” asked our host, finally standing up.

“Yes, believe it or not. It’s a city in Mali.” He was looking at me blankly. “In Africa,” I added.

“Not like the movies, then?” he asked. “Not quite so many skyscrapers and yellow cabs.”

“What?” I think Alice and I spoke at once.

“New York. You must have seen the movies – all skycrapers, yellow cabs and Americans with loads of money. I assume it’s a bit different if it’s in Afrcia.”

I probably just stared at him. For all I know, my mouth was hanging open.

Eventually Alice spoke. “You’re kidding, right?”

The man sighed. “Did you pass the train station when you drove into town?”

“Sure, but it was all boarded up.”

“Exactly. When I was a kid, I always said as soon as I left school, I’d travel the world and see places. Then the day before my eighteenth birthday, they closed the station. I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.”

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Friday Fiction – Preserving Beauty

Wow, FF hasn’t been this difficult for me in a long time. The picture from Danny Bowman is so bleak and yet stunning, I wanted to do it justice with my story, but the ideas clanked out slowly and the resulting first draft was much too long and pointless to be worth sharing. Sometimes, the muse just doesn’t want to get out of bed – I know how she feels!

But here, at last, it my offering. I hope it’s worth the wait.

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Preserving Beauty

Marie nipped the flower from a crevice in the rock and into her book. She glanced around and sighed. In preserving beauty, she had crushed the volcano’s only hope of bearing life.

Tears blinded her as she stumbled back to the Observation Station. She and Louis had shared a hope once, but she too was barren wasteland.

“I ruin everything,” she sobbed.

“Another quake,” he whispered. “We need to evacuate.”

Blackness seeped into the crevice, scorching roots and stem as the research team retreated. Tucked away, the hope of the mountain survived: pollen caught in the leaves of a sketchbook.

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