Tag Archives: flash fiction

Killing Oliver Twist

I cannot forget the first man I killed. That instant is trapped in my memory, as if in jagged-edged crystal.

I was eighteen and manning a machine gun. He emerged from the morning mist, searching the ground for something.

I fired.

Life over.

I killed countless soldiers later, but I only remember him. He was British, so I named him Oliver Twist.

I kept wondering what he was looking for.

After the war, I went to London. I stopped a woman and said, in halting English, “I am sorry for Oliver Twist.”

She stared at me, but I felt absolved.

 


Daffodil Steaks

Frankie’s makes the best daffodil steaks. I go down there Sundays and get a 16-ouncer.

“That’s murder, you know,” a guy nearby said as I finished my meal, wiping canary-colored juice from my lips.

“Hey, I’m eating here.”

“They have feelings. All flowers do. I hear them cry at night, mourning their lost brothers.”

Wordlessly I got up and paid by retinal scan, winking to add a tip.

As I drove home past fields of towering daffodils, I rolled down my window. Maybe it was the wind, but I thought I heard weeping.

I rolled the window quickly back up.

 


Nursery Rhymes of the 1%

142-02-february-7th-2016

copyright Al Forbes

Ralph Owl and Eleanor “Pussy-cat” McGrint set sail in a beautiful pea-green 80-foot yacht. They left from Dover because that’s where Ralph’s investment firm was based and he needed to catch up on emails before they left.

“Hey El, where’s the honey?” Ralph called from the yacht’s kitchen. It was an 80-foot yacht so of course Eleanor didn’t hear him. He found her on deck. “Where’s the honey, El?”

“Who cares about honey?”

“We’re on this stupid boat for a year and a day,” Ralph said. “You really want to spend the whole trip with no honey?”

“Why are we starting off arguing about bleeding honey?” Eleanor shouted. She threw a fiver at him. “Get some flown in.”

That night in the Channel, the stars were out in a beautiful panoply of natural wonder, the universe on display above them. Ralph got out his guitar and started to play.

“I’ve got a headache. I’m going to bed,” Eleanor said. Ralph punched the railing in frustration and threw the guitar overboard.

After a while, Ralph went to the intercom and entered in the code for the bedroom. “Why are you so unhappy? I’ve bought you everything you could ever want?”

There was no answer.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I love you. Really.”

A minute later, Eleanor stepped out on deck. She was wearing a white dress that glowed in the moonlight. “I’m sorry too,” she said. “Start again?”

He went to her and they danced.

They danced by the light of the moon.

 

The Original Inspiration


Ex Nihilo

FF163 Jan W Fields

Copyright Jan W. Fields

Ex Nihilo

I idly hit a key and light explodes in the void. With a chord, whole galaxies form, their spiral arms blazing. I sit and pound out a vast unfurling creation, major geography meeting minor civilizations as the strains of death and rebirth crescendo.

I falter and the worlds fade. People are standing around dumbstruck, and I wonder if they have seen, really seen, what I have.

My mother hurries up. “I’m sorry,” she says, to the onlookers. “He wandered away.”

I hold her hand and we leave the store, the worlds still lurking in that machine, waiting to be found.

 


The Gate

FF162 Amy Reese

copyright Amy Reese

The Gate

“Passports.”

Gripping my young son’s hand, I hand the border guard the envelope, the colorful bills inside arranged like a rainbow of freedom. He peeks inside, then regards me for what seems like years. I start to sweat.

“Wait here.”

He leaves, with the precious envelope. That rainbow represents years of soul-numbing toil. I stare at the gate in front of us. I have dreamed about it so often.

Finally, he returns. “How many are with you?”

“Four.”

Slowly, he opens the envelope and removes half the money. He hands it back to me and winks.

And we are free.


Fit for a King

Fit for a King

The approaching rumble made the fine crystal tinkle. The party guests looked towards the window, wondering what new extravagance would appear.

“And finally, your Majesty, a gift from the sultan of Brunei,” the master of ceremonies said as a sleek white nose came into view, “a Bombardier Global 8000! He wishes you an excellent birthday, and many more to come.”

The guests all looked to see the king’s reaction. The small figure on the throne was not looking out the window. He was playing with a box that had recently held a $50,000 diamond-studded teddy bear. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said.

 


That First Cup of Optimism

Happy New Year everyone! This is my first story of 2016 and so I wanted to make it an upbeat one to set a tone for the year. I wish you the best possible 2016.

This picture is one that was first used about 3 years ago and was my 4th ever Friday Fictioneers story. You can read it here if you want.

FF4 - Jean Hays

copyright Jean Hayes

Jared took his first sip of coffee in 2016. It was instant, but such was life. Even unemployed and confined to the house, he still felt good about the coming year.

He should open his own cafe. It would have to be in his house, and the bank would never give him a loan, of course. Still, Big Dan owed him a favor, after the . . . unpleasantness.

He went for the mail and his ankle bracelet beeped in warning. He looked back at the house and pictured his cafe in his mind, its neon sign welcoming in customers:

The House O’Rest.


All I want for Christmas is a not guilty verdict

Well, Merry Christmas everyone. It doesn’t look very Christmassy here at the moment, with the warm weather and green grass, but I guess I can’t complain.

This week’s Friday Fictioneers story is the first repeat that I participated in before, back in 2012; in fact, it was my 3rd story ever, which you can read here, if you want. I was tempted to use the same story, but I ended up writing a different one.

FF3

copyright Scott L. Vannater

 

Okay, I ate the milk and cookies. But I did not eat the Elf on the Shelf.

I know the empty little suit is incriminating but it wasn’t me. Go ask the dog.

True, the suit was found in my bed.

Okay, I admit I ate the elf, but I didn’t attack the presents. The shreds of wrapping paper were planted.

By whom? No clue.

Fine! I shredded the presents, but that was before the fat man climbed down the chimney. I didn’t kill him, I swear.

This is all very stressful, your Honor. I request a scratching post recess.

 


Outside the Window

Well, for the first time in quite a while, I’m actually posting this on Wednesday. Despite this being exam week, I’m actually not as busy as I have been in the past few months.

FF158 Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

A bomb exploded. Amna saw the orange death-flower blossom a mile away.

She ran water for dishes—

A helicopter thundered overhead.

rinsed a plate—

An angry line streaked from the ground.

washed the cutlery.

The helicopter exploded.

She refused to hide. This had been her home for her whole life.

Somewhere nearby, she heard the rattle of rifle fire.

They won’t change me, she thought savagely. They won’t win!

Her favorite cup, which she had been gripping unconsciously, shattered. She stared down at the blood dripping into the dishwater and realized, suddenly, that nothing would ever be the same again.

 


One Small Step for a Chicken

FF157 Luther Siler

copyright Luther Siler

One Small Step for a Chicken

Vanessa was one nervous chicken. She took a deep breath, and stepped out into the bright lights. Cameras flashed.

“Thank you,” she said. “I am proud to be the first chicken to be appointed as CEO of a Fortune 500 company. One small step for a chicken; one giant leap for poultry-kind.”

She was sweating through her feathers. Stress always made her— oh no, not now.

She felt the pressure but couldn’t stop it. Seconds later, a giant egg dropped onto the platform.

Shocked silence.

“Looks like I’m being productive already,” Vanessa said. The audience laughed, relieved.

She had this.


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