Tag Archives: Flash fiction

Cruising for burgers…

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The way I understand it: The creatures get onto vessels so that they can view me in my natural habitat. They have some reverence for yours truly, no small amount of fear and (might I be so bold), a little awe.

Theirs is a strange existence. They cover their bodies in fabric, move about on a two dimensional plain and have seemingly restricted themselves to the smallest bit of the planet.

Disproportionately loud.

Not particularly tasty.

Far inferior to the blubbery, bewhiskered rodents that serve themselves up for lunch on a daily basis, but then in ever food-chain there are apex predators and there are light snacks…

 

Written for: Friday fictioneers

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Fall at the first hurdle…

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Knowing that time was short he traded his vast estate for a lump of Orwellium, the rarest metal on earth, so that when his blood-sucking offspring discovered the treasure map they’d discard the seemingly worthless stone that held it in place and set off on a costly and ultimately fruitless quest…

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Lovely day for a beheading…

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Reginald was strangely blasé about the whole thing.

Occupational hazard of being part of the landed gentry, I guess!

He’d had a good run of it, taxing the hell out of his serfs and romping in the haystacks with an array of morally elastic wenches. So what if his coiffured head was shortly to be separated from his velvet covered body?

He was led to a field awash with spent chopping blocks and the discarded cadavers of his extended family.

‘Looks like you won’t be getting those 30 guineas I owe you uncle Francis!’ Reginald gave the executioner a wink. ‘Man, I’m tired of winning!’

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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He woke up and it was all a ludicrous dream that he later wrote up into a best-selling novel…

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…For his crimes against humanity Dan Brown found himself on a blackened island at the centre of a sulphurous lake. Amidst noxious flames demons whispered that the pope was out to get him and that a sacred manuscript had been secreted somewhere deep inside his colon…

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

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Nemesis Convention…

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‘Last year’s Nemesis Convention was held in a heavily fortified hollowed out volcano!’

Des Troyer slammed the door on his cape and cursed.

‘Times are tough my friend,’ Kat Tastrophy replied menacingly.

‘It looked way nicer on the invitation.’

‘Well, that’s what happens when you miss your sales targets three quarters in a row. Successfully dissolve a few more superheroes in acid and we’ll see about holding the next meeting in space.’

‘Oh no, look, Booby-Trap’s car’s parked out front!’

‘That’ll be where the front door went.’

‘God I hate that infernal temptress, always out-blackmailing me…And I never know where to look!’

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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They grow up so fast…

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August 12th – A day that would forever go down in infamy – the day we harnessed the power of children’s adrenaline. It seemed so simple at the time – take them to a fairground, let them become excited, or better still, a little afraid, (painlessly) extract the chemicals from their tiny bodies and convert them into chalky bricks of unbridled combustibility.

The energy crisis was solved over night!

But then came the drawbacks.

The children became bored with their escapades and ceased to produce the desired fight or flight responses, but by then the world’s economy had been built upon their backs, forcing scientists to find new and ingenious ways to stimulate the release of hormones, heightening tolerance, pumping up body mass and creating something wholly other – unwieldy, petulant and indestructible.

If only we’d gone with green energy, or fossil fuels, or even good ole nuclear – anything but this…

 

Written for: Friday Fictioneers

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Ostrification…

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Back when the world was young a selfish seed was sown. It plunged its roots deep, taking in more nutrients than it should and depriving the flora amongst which it flourished, till finally, tall and proud, it experienced a new sensation – thirst.

For generations to come, children played under its pale branches, never stopping to wonder why it was the only tree to stand petrified in a sea of green.

 

Written for: Twittering Tales

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