Category Archives: Flash fiction

My Expletive-&-Knife-Themed Mini-Break…

Is there anything more likely to bring nations together and bestow a collective sense of hatred than alfresco dining being interrupted by a mime artist? If there is I have yet to encounter it.

We all saw him approach – chalky white faced in a leotard and top hat – the destroyer of dreams (the previous morning it had been a euphonium player murdering the hits of Taylor Swift, but this would be way worse…)

But wait, that morning there was a hero in our midst. A fellow diner – German, bearded and flamboyant, jumped from his seat into the path of the cash extrapolator and:

  • Mimed eating his breakfast and rubbed his belly to indicate that he was content.
  • Mimed being trapped in a box.
  • Mimed stabbing the mime artist to death.
  • Held out his hand as if demanding payment.

To add insult to injury one of his friends mimed laughing and clapping (without his hands making contact).

The mime artist mumbled some obscenities under his breath as he walked away, prompting the German to say something that was clearly along the lines of: ‘He can speak – It’s a miracle!’

I would dearly love to take this busker-repelling tactic back with me to Blighty, but alas I am English. Such a direct, grumble-free approach simply isn’t cricket.

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Back at the colonial guesthouse in which I was staying my host asked me if I had yet seen Pablo Picasso’s ghost.

‘He lived in that building right there,’ she said, pointing to an adjacent window, ‘and his apparition can often be seen walking about, trapped in time.’

I smiled, but she seemed deadly serious.

Later that evening her husband called me to the veranda.

‘Martine, come quickly, regard, Pablo Picasso’s ghost, trapped in time…’

I stared down into an empty window.

‘…He was there a moment ago, but left when I called you over.’

Once again my mirth was met with utter sincerity.

‘Wait…he will return…Pablo Picasso…trapped in time.’

An old bald man with white side-burns and a stripy top came to the window, and for a second I thought I was seeing the aforementioned apparition.

‘What’s that in his hand?’ the landlord asked playfully, ‘Is it a pencil? Is it a brush? Hey Pablo…PABLO!’

Pablo flipped us the bird and slammed the shutters.

In the morning I was packing to leave when I noticed a large glob of chewing gum stuck to the sheets. A brief attempt at removing the offending item proved fruitless. I would need a sharp implement of some description. A perusal of the kitchen yielded a large knife. This did the job nicely. On the way back to return the item of cutlery, shirtless and armed, I encountered the landlady. Her warm features grew cold.

Justifications scrolled through my retarded mind:

…I thought I saw Pablo.

…I’m sleep-cooking.

…That’s the U-bend unblocked!

‘Buenos Dias,’ I beamed like a sociopath before making good my escape…

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Twittering Tales: When Women Rule The Earth…

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I call this one: ‘Men argue over who has the best camera whilst woman takes epic photo.’ And this one’s: ‘Men miss Bigfoot flying UFO…and…’

 

140 Characters

Written for: Twittering Tales

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We Should Unionise…

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Harriet’s husband came home early, prompting a mad dash across the bedroom, into a walk-in-wardrobe. There, the adulterer discovered a similarly naked man cowering amidst fur coats and party frocks.

His first heightened thought: Is nothing sacred?

They listened as a (potentially) murderous and drunken Goliath showered his wife with clumsy kisses before collapsing into an uneasy stupor.

A sliver of light illuminated their escape route – a bathroom and a flat roof beyond.

Creeping and held breath led them to freedom. Under the moon’s gaze, one crammed into a little black dress; the other resplendent in a ball-gown, they exchanged unfathomable expressions before parting company, their adrenaline sufficiently expunged for the time being…

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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Twittering Tales: Are you trying to make us extinct?

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“I know we’re delicious, but if we SheepWolves keep eating ourselves we’ll go the way of the dodo, the teriyaki turtle and the chocolosolot”

 

140 Characters

Written for: Twittering Tales

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It’s what he would’ve wanted…

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His wife (whom he hated) had promised to carry out his final wishes to the letter, but Geoffrey knew better than to trust a woman schooled in the subtle arts of emasculation. In secret he had a second will drawn up and passed to a trusted confidant.

As he laboured in the final stages of his illness he was warmed by constant rumination on how, in death,  he might best offend his god-awful family. Various conceits were considered: having his cadaver loaded onto a trebuchet and fired indiscriminately into the air, being liquidised and surreptitiously added to the reception punch (where he could quite literally become a pain in everyone’s arse), and orchestrating a remote controlled resurrection; his eyes flashing red.

What he settled upon was simpler and more grotesque.

Come the big day mock mourners were met with absence – no coffin, no flowers – Nothing save for a cream stove upon which sat a solitary oversized mug. As empty platitudes were flogged into apoplexy Geoffrey’s filleted remains responded by farting  and bubbling their way over the rim in a last glorious gasp of defiance…

Written for: Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers

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Friday Fictioneers: Revenge Runs Deep…

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It wasn’t enough that, after decades of cruelties and recriminations, he’d finally triumphed over his bitter enemy. The fertilised fruits of loss and shame required that his hatred rage on into victory.

And so, in the winter years of his life, he conceived of an idea that would keep the fires burning beyond any mortal tenure – A whispered rumour in the ear of his one remaining heir…

“…Carve an effigy of my nemesis, brought low in chains, and have it placed in a deep recess. Have children run to it on a dare, striking it with harmless cane so that, slowly and imperceptibly, through loss of both form and name, it no longer resembles a man…”

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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Twittering Tales: Can’t reach the ‘Off’ switch…

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Initially, being accidentally shrunk down to the size of an amoeba sucked, until he discovered other scientists the size of atoms and took up residence as their god.

 

139 Characters

Written for: Twittering Tales

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