Tag Archives: Drabble

100 Word Wednesday: The Rodent To Redemption…

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A picture tells a thousand words Jerry…

…Because I hired a private detective – that’s how!

…You promised…a million times…’I quit baby, this time I’m going cold turkey.’

…And now I found you back on the Frappuccinos! Do you want our offspring to die of diabetes?

Why can’t you ferret around in the bins like a real man, maybe bring home some leftover pizza or a delicious slice of mouldy bread?

Don’t you bring my mother into this!

No more chances Jerry. Fall off the wagon one more time and I’m taking the kids, the cheese and the whole shebang…

 

Written for: 100 Word Wednesday

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Filed under Flash fiction, short story

Love For Sale

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The remaining tenant proved the hardest nut to crack. They went at him day and night – an assault of white noise and legal taunts.

Old before his time, he shuffled to the courthouse and made his last stand:

‘I proposed to my wife in this home, toiled for forty years to keep it, and found a widower’s solace here. Please…’

A quadrupled offer finally dislodged him.

He withdrew from the courthouse and disappeared into the crowd, re-emerging many thousands of miles away – a skip in his step.

His wife came to the chalet door. He showed her a cheque for an insane amount of money.

‘Suckers!”

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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Filed under Flash fiction, short story

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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Filed under Flash fiction

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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You most of all…

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The reading of the will gave Julian the final confirmation that his mother had hated him. His sister got the house and his brother inherited the business ‘…and to you, my first-born, I bequeath the shoes I was wearing when I met your father, my favourite tan satchel and two volumes on Mesopotamian art.’

He was incensed.

‘I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, she knew how much I hated that satchel, and what am I supposed to do with high heels?’

His siblings presented an alternative view. ‘Have you any idea how important these items were to her? She cherished them above all other possessions.’

Many embittered years later Julian rediscovered the items in his vast attic whilst searching for something of greater worth. A slip of paper slid from the between the two volumes.

‘My darling. Not everything can be expressed in monetary terms. I poured my love into these trinkets, just like I poured my love into you… ‘

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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Filed under Flash fiction, short story

Wood I Lie To You?

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Lawrence described teaching as misinforming children for benevolent ends

The truth of the matter was that the cart had been left behind by Amish folk after their crops failed for a third consecutive year, but that seemed overly sad, and certainly not the kind of thing you explained to seven year olds. Alternative elucidations were called for..

‘At the end of an intergalactic war that stretched for aeons across the galaxy the robot warrioress was finally victorious, but her amorous husband wouldn’t let her rest, so she transformed herself into that rusty old thing where she hides to this day, waiting for his libido to subside.’

‘What’s a libido sir?’

‘It’s like an unreliable stick.’

‘What’s an aeon?’

‘It’s like the time it takes for Christmas to arrive.’

On another occasion he described the cart as a De-truancyfier.

‘You feed the naughty kids in at this end, and they come out the other side good.’

‘No way!’

‘Yes way. Just ask Stephen.’

‘Stephen moved to the coast when his folks split up.’

‘No,’ Lawrence shook his head and pointed into the haggard remains, ‘De-truancified.’

After many years of delighting children with his falsehoods one of the parents complained about Lawrence’s tall tales and he was encouraged to seek alternative employment. The cart was bought by a hipster who turned it into a boutique coffee stand.

Lawrence sold everything he owned and smuggled himself onto a slow-boat bound for Hong Kong. There he taught deliberately bad English and married a woman of high social standing…

At least that’s what everyone heard…

He may have made it all up…

 

Written for: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

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