Tag Archives: flash fiction

October 29, 2014

Courage at the End – Friday Fictioneers

This is my 100th Friday Fictioneers story, which means that I’ve written 10,000 words since I’ve started the Friday Fictioneers. Here’s to 10,000 more. Also, those of you who got here through the Friday Fictioneers portal saw that I have a new icon, different from my normal Delta Sigma one. This signals new things to come. More details to come later.

Courage at the End

The couple sat with the vaccine lying between them.

“You take it,” the woman said.

“Then you and the baby will die. Let the baby have it.”

“But if we die, who will care for him?”

“We have to do something soon.”

They sat there silently, as time slipped away.

* * *

“That’s it?” the professor asked.

“It’s up to the reader how it ends,” the student said.

“Are you kidding me? You can’t be timid as a writer! Choose an ending and stand behind it.”

“Fine, they give it to the baby.”

“The baby? That was the stupidest choice! You fail.”

33 Comments | tags: dilemma, disease, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, post apocalyptic, professor, vaccine, writing | posted in Friday Fictioneers

October 22, 2014

Waiting for Hubby – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Waiting for Hubby

“Aren’t you cold out here, Grandma?”

“No.” She stared out at the monochromatic sea, ruffled by a chilly breeze. “I’m just waiting for my husband. He should be here soon.”

Poor Grandma. Her mind was adrift, like a ship becalmed on a foggy sea. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Grandpa was ten years gone and buried.

I was just leaving when the sea erupted in spray and a huge man emerged.

Grandma caught my look of shock. “My first husband . . .”

“Poseidon?”

She laughed. “That water lily? No, this is Njörðr.”

Good on you, Grandma. Good on you.

33 Comments | tags: fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, grandmother, Njörðr, Njord, ocean, waiting | posted in Friday Fictioneers

October 15, 2014

The Numberless Clock Society

By David Stewart

This week I tried Rochelle’s brand of historical fiction, as sort of a tribute to her excellent storytelling. Of course, being me, I couldn’t do it straight, so this is alternate universe historical fiction.

The Numberless Clock Society

The meetings of the Numberless Clock society were held in a lower room of a Glasgow pub.

“Imagine no clocks: no schedules or appointments to keep,” I, the leader, railed after a few pints. “Imagine banks, empty and powerless. We need to dump the gold coins into the ocean and extricate ourselves from the stranglehold of the invisible hand of commerce. That’s Locke’s true state of nature.”

Adam was in charge of figuring out how to take down the financial system. However, in time, he drifted away and eventually joined the enemy camp. He even stole my words, the traitor.

35 Comments | tags: Adam Smith, anarchist, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, historical, invisible hand, Locke, state of nature | posted in Friday Fictioneers

October 12, 2014

“I’m Sorry”

By David Stewart

“I’m Sorry”

“I’m sorry.”

I wanted to punch him, to smash that smarmy, false-penitent expression off his face. I spit at him through the bars. “What gives you the right to be sorry?”

“You don’t want me to be sorry? To regret what I did?”

“So that what? I can forgive you and you can die in peace? My wife didn’t die in peace or her parents or my parents or any of the thousands of people under your charge.” If it wasn’t for the bars protecting him, I would have choked him. “You herded us like animals! You fed us slops and garbage and sent droves off to the gas chambers, for years! And now, now you’re sorry?”

“Yes,” he said, head bowed.

I stormed off and spent a sleepless night wrestling with thoughts and images that would not die. I returned to his cell at daybreak and sat watching him until he awoke.

“I cannot forgive you,” I said. “Not today, at least. But tell me, why did you do it?”

“I was young and needed a job,” he began. “I started at a desk, but I was diligent and got promoted. After that . . .”

We talked all day. There were millions of bricks in that edifice of hate between us but with those two words, “I’m sorry”, a few bricks had fallen. As the day went on, they continued to fall.

15 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, concentration camp, death, fiction, flash fiction, forgiveness, prison, sorry | posted in Dusk

October 9, 2014

Beating Swords into Saxophones – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Beating Swords into Saxophones

The Earth was snoozing peacefully—the sunny Sunday afternoon of history—when the aliens came to prod through what remained of human civilization, oohing and ahhing in incomprehension over our ruined cities and quaintly antique technology.

They found our weapon caches delightful. The casing of a Minuteman made a pleasant booming when hit with the butt of an M-16 and .50 bullets strung up on trip wire cable laughed and sang as they tinkled together in the wind.

Then one poked at a landmine, with explosive results. “Save that for the concert,” the leader said. “That’ll be the grand finale.”

28 Comments | tags: aliens, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, music, post apocalyptic, science fiction, weapons | posted in Friday Fictioneers

October 5, 2014

Describe Your Typical Day

By David Stewart

I woke up late, of course. I swear that nothing short of Ragnorak could get me up on time. I have seven alarms, all set in sequence, with increasing volumes. It wakes up the deaf guy three houses down, but not me.

The clock said 7:45 when my brain finally decided to allow my eyelids to open. The sickeningly familiar jolt of adrenaline got me out of bed and into the shower before I even realized I was awake. Ten minutes later, I was out the door, briefcase in one hand, bagel in the other, sprinting for the bus stop.

I couldn’t miss the bus. If I missed the bus, I’d be late for work again, and if I was late again, I’d get fired and if I got fired . . . a dark web of consequences fractalled out in front of me. Can’t miss the bus.

I was 100 meters away when I saw it. “No!” I screamed in impotent rage, like a weaponless berserker. It passed me, not slowing. I threw the bagel at it. No effect. I threw my briefcase, which bounced off the fender. No effect.

An open patch of wet concrete was in my way and I tripped and landed headfirst in it. As I floundered through it, I saw the bus about to disappear around the corner. “Stop, you filthy—” I screamed, adding an arcane racial epithet for Belgians which was both uncharacteristic for me and totally unexpected.

The bus stopped. The driver stepped out. I could tell by the look in his eyes that his ancestors were Belgian.

I made it to work by 8:57, filthy and bruised, but not late.

The door was locked. It was Saturday.

26 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, bus, fiction, flash fiction, funny, morning, routine | posted in Light

October 2, 2014

Indefinable Allure – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

When I first saw this picture, my reaction was, like everyone else, “What is this?” Then I realized it was the perfect photo prompt because it could pretty much be anything. This story is rather meta, so I apologize to those who aren’t familiar with the other Friday Fictioneers writers. To the group, I can only say I wish I could have included everyone but, well, we only have so many words to work with.

copyright Kent Bonham, who really took the picture.

Indefinable Allure

Rochelle wandered disconsolately along the beach. The Friday Fictioneers movie had hit a snag: few directors were interested in a 100-word script.

Still, casting was going well. She’d convinced Russell and Perry to play the rebellious teenagers and Doug would do well as the shaman. Elephant had agreed to play the murderer—a little too quickly, she thought—but then again, an Elephant can’t refuse the role of a lifetime. Then there was KZ’s character…Rochelle shuddered.

She glimpsed something lying on the sand. It was grotesque, unidentifiable…perfect. The directors could wait. She now had the perfect movie poster.

32 Comments | tags: beach, casting, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, movie, quirky, weird | posted in Friday Fictioneers

September 24, 2014

Code Red – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Code Red

When you build your civilization on the chin of a sleeping giant, certain precautions are essential. The citizens of Menton all remembered the Twitch of ’62 and the Slight Yawn of ’78. Now, there were rumblings far below that portended something greater, possibly even a belch.

“Upgrade to code red,” the security officer said. The soldiers carried the luminous signboard around Mouth Rift and propped it against the giant’s nose.

A moment later, gale force winds started rushing into the nostrils. Sneeze sirens blared.

“What did you do?” the officer yelled.

“Nothing! Just used a new paint called Cayenne Red.”

45 Comments | tags: code red, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, giant, sneeze | posted in Friday Fictioneers

September 17, 2014

Salt Flats Terror – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

This is by far the longest Friday Fictioneers story I’ve ever written, although don’t worry: it’s still 100 words exactly. It’s experimental, as many of mine are. I think it’s pretty clear, but please ask if you don’t understand it.