Monthly Archives: July 2017

Six Words Stories…

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2. Shakespeare’s first sonnet not all bard…

3. Reader unable to open escapologist’s memoirs

4. Vindictive flamingos christen their son Floyd

5. Bullied magician’s wand disappears up arse

6. Depressed bible salesman receives good news

7. Sea-monsters’s small-talk met with gargantuan indifference

8. Folk musician’s music hated by parents

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(or ‘Adulterous Transformers! Cheating assholes in disguise!’)

10. Online troll’s girlfriend dumps him anonymously

11. Alien’s epic genital grabbing greeting faux-pas

12. A DJ’s quest for musical talent

13. Helen Pselph writes Self Help book

14. Obese astrologist’s ironically unpredicted heart attack

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Previous entry: Six Word Stories #5

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Filed under Flash fiction, Six Word Story

Friday Fictioneers: Progress

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‘…Power sockets in a swimming pool! One of the many reason homo-sapiens once stood on the verge of extinction.’

The teacher’s comments fell on deaf ears. In the foreground she sensed a trio of giggling girls, telekinetically tossing a hairbrush back and forth, and hidden away at the back several boys had clearly pooled their consciousness in order to play online games.

She gave a virtual sigh. Modern teaching was nigh-on impossible.

‘…And this – once the only means of communication; its ringing interrupting a deafening silence devoid of content. Can you imagine?

The kids stared at her blankly. For all their technology and privilege…

…They couldn’t!

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers 

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Filed under Flash fiction

Henpecked Incorporated…

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With Faithful Jenny deliberately scuttled there was no going back. The rip-tides in the bay were well renowned, and the lack of a body would be easily explainable.

He outstretched his arms and let go of everything – his materialistic trophy wife, the kids who hated him, the stock portfolio, the endless competing with other alphas – all expelled in a single glorious belch of freedom.

Hidden behind a rocky outcrop he encountered two other men – one standing in the mangled wreckage of a hang glider, the other kneeling by a bloated cadaver. He greeted them with nervous exhilaration and gave a false name as he’d been instructed. They reciprocated.

‘The likeness is uncanny,’ he commented, gesturing towards the cadaver.

”I paid extra. It’s a little macabre stealing from a morgue, but it’s not like anyone was murdered!’

A speedboat was moored at the tip of the archipelago. With a fair wind they’d be in Gibraltar by morning where a vagabond utopia awaited…

 

164 Words

Written for: Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers

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Henry’s Smoking Hot Octogenarian Wife #Writephoto

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Everyone knew she was naked inside that coffin – the mourners, the pall-bearers, the altar boys – everyone. She’d not exactly been backwards in coming forwards, and her final wishes had spread through the community like wildfire.

Henry’s eulogy was a masterclass in widower’s grief, but as he took to the pulpit he could tell that the congregation paid his words no mind. Either through lust or envy, they were all thinking about those big ole boobs.

‘Though we didn’t meet till later life…’

…He stole a glance at a man in the second row – Ron –  a Vietnam veteran whose thousand yard stare drifted towards a tree-line filled with an orgy of insurgents. He and Henry’s wife had been lovers during the 70’s and tales of their debauchery were the stuff of legend.

‘…We crammed an eternity into those few short months…’

Manny and Tony in the fourth row – the instigators of an epic menage-a-trois if stories were to be believed.

‘And though she had…a number of partners…before I was blessed to…’

At the back of the church an overly made up wreck in a leopard-print dress guffawed and warmed herself with the memories of a long distant kinky phase.

‘…I consider myself her soul mate.’

A conveyor belt whirred, the wooden tube penetrated a velvet curtain and the congregation stiffened somewhat.

Afterwards the priest solemnly presented Henry with an urn, turned to leave and, presumably thinking he was out of earshot, murmured: ‘What a piece of ash!’

 

Written for: #WritePhoto

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Filed under Flash fiction, short story

Immunity

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He took the role reluctantly and with a heavy heart. Events had sliced open a vacancy and duty required that he step to the plate, but such undertakings were not meant for family men. As the mantra bludgeoned:

They come for you via your children. 

So he gathered them together, his little ones, and told them of his quest, and then he kissed them goodbye.

The path was not straight and he become entrenched in subterfuge and recrimination.  Years passed, till one mundane morning he glimpsed his eldest daughter through armoured glass. He prayed she would see the number plate and recognise its significance; follow its clues and find what he had left for her…

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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Twittering Tales: Manoeuvres Against Humanity…

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Greg was a fine father, a great cook and always made the guys on the bowling team howl with glee, but he was also hogging the middle lane, so he was ultimately an asshole!

 

138 Characters

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Faraday Cage…

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It was a decade or more since the Faraday’s had sealed themselves away from the world, and the pathway that led through the trees to their ramshackle pile had long-since succumbed to the ravages of time.

Locals looked upon their solitude with derision. They had always been a strange family – naive and simple-minded – favouring books over apps, and community over networking. Their disinterest in all things technological morphed through time and gossip until it garnered cult status. The children who ran about in the fields with gay abandon were seen as unplugged epsilons – kept from their true potential by Luddite parents.

The very last sighting had been by a parish priest who witnessing the patriarch, Aldous Faraday, erecting a signpost on the boundary line that stated: ‘The ways of old fail to satisfy.’ With a weary smile the middle-aged man retreated over the brow, never to be seen again.

Their were rumours of course – kids venturing onto the grounds on a dare and disappearing, long finger-nailed savages, and claims of perpetual joyous laughter on the wind.

Away from prying eyes something truly terrible of fantastical was occurring…

Written for: Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers

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Filed under Flash fiction