Flash Fiction for 24 #9

Time for the next instalment of my Flash Fiction challenge for 2024. As ever, the prompt comes from ‘The Very Short Story Starter’ written by John Gillard. The prompt for this one is a real or metaphorical fire. Now, time to read and enjoy the drama…

On Fire

A hooded figure dressed in black loitered by the rear entrance of the restaurant. In one hand, a bottle of clear liquid with a cloth rammed into the neck. The other hand played with a disposable lighter. A lorry thundered past, at which point the figure smashed in a window. They held the bottle out and with one smooth motion, the lighter produced a flickering flame.
Flame and cloth met, engulfing the latter in fire. With one swift throw, the bottle flew beyond the broken glass into the building.

Angelo was rudely awoken by a nudge in the back.
“What you do that for?” He grumbled, half asleep.
“I heard something downstairs,” replied Sally, his girlfriend and restaurant manager.
“So go and check it out,” he moaned, turning back onto his side.
“No fucking way. You go!” Sally hissed, nudging him even harder.
“Fine,” Angelo sighed. He got out of bed, picked up the baseball bat that lived by his nightstand and crept towards the bedroom door in his vest and boxer briefs.
He slowly twisted the doorknob and eased the door open. A wave of smoky air rushed into the room. Surprised, Angelo took an involuntary step backwards. With the door open, they both heard the unmistakeable sound of a crackling fire in full flow.
“Is that a fire?” Sally screeched.
“Yeah,” Angelo nodded. “Get some clothes on and get that window open.” He pointed to the bedroom window.
“We’re on the first floor, we’ll fucking die if we go out the window!” Sally screamed as she scrabbled for her bra and pants.
“Never-fucking-mind those!” Angelo yelled at her.
His next sentence was drowned out by the sound of sirens getting very close. Shutting the bedroom door again, he rushed to the window, almost knocking Sally onto the bed.

He looked out to see the dark night lit blue. Below them on the street, two fire engines had pulled up and a dozen firefighters were spilling out and assessing the problem. Angelo banged on the window pane, but he wasn’t heard.
“Are we gonna die in here?” Sally started to cry. Angelo turned to her. She sat on the bed wearing just a Nike gym vest, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Not if I can help it,” Angelo promised hastily. He looked over at the door. Smoke was starting to creep under it and fill the room. He looked around for something to break the window with and realised he was still holding the bat.
“Stand back, baby,” he told Sally. “I’m gonna smash the window.”

A few days later, Angelo and Sally stood in the remains of their restaurant. They’d escaped in the nick of time – Angelo leaping from the window as the bedroom door gave in. Even now, there was still some damping down going on. The Fire Investigator stood ready to ask his questions.

Across the street, sat in a bright red Porsche, a mysterious blonde woman surveyed the scene of devastation with a satisfied smile.

There you go. Some drama and a little bit of mystery. Make sure to return for the second story of the month!

Flash Fiction for 24 #8

It’s another fine Friday night, which means you are hoping for some more Flash Fiction, right? Right! Well, tonight’s post is based on a random selection of text, or sentence, from a book/magazine/whatever. I just happened to have this year’s Super Bowl program to hand, and this is what came of it…

Random Selection

“Even casual NFL fans know who the centers of attention are during Super Bowl week.”

Tommy waited his turn. He’d waited patiently for the New York Times guy to ask his stupid, convoluted question and now the Quarterback was answering it – or trying to – in a way that gave the impression that he gave a shit. Once he appeared to have run out of steam, Tommy’s arm shot straight up in the air. The team’s PR rep, a tallish red-haired girl, nodded at him, and the pointed the QB in his direction.

“Yeah, hi. Tommy Wilson,” he paused briefly, “Arizona Daily Star.” Everyone was suddenly looking at him. “I just wanted to know why you fucked my wife last night?” If he hadn’t been so angry and hurt, he probably would have enjoyed the chaos that followed as he tried to rush the stage and dive at the throat of the bastard. Unfortunately, there were plenty of security guards to drag him away to safety.

And this concludes the business of this post. See you next month and beyond!

Flash Fiction for 24 #7

Hello there, and welcome to the latest of my Flash Fiction posts for 2024. This week’s prompt from ‘The Very Short Story Starter’ was to blindly put my finger on a map and write a story featuring the nearest city. And that’s what I did…

Map Of The World

Andreas sat in the departures lounge at Manchester Airport and checked his watch for the twelfth time that hour. To say he was nervous was an understatement. It was his first time flying with RyanAir and he’d heard all the jokes which, despite them being jokes, didn’t help a man who was a nervous flyer at the best of times.

He checked his watch for the thirteenth time and listened and watched out for the announcement of his gate for boarding. Andreas took a momentary break from the worrying to take a drink from his bottle of sparkling water purchased from the WHSmith about two hundred yards away to his right. He checked his phone to see if he’d received any message from Chris, his partner, who had decided not to travel with him to visit Andreas’ parents. Not after the debacle of Christmas last year – a drunken brother-in-law had denounced all same sex relationships over the Boxing Day raclette and only Andreas’ seventy four year-old mother had managed to separate the fisticuffs that ensued. This wasn’t just any visit though. It was his parents’ Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary party and the whole family was going to be there, including the offending brother-in-law, Kevin. Why his sister had married a man called Kevin, Andreas had no idea. But it was too late for that now.

Eventually, to Andreas’ relief – or was it dread? - his flight was called. He stood up and flung his rucksack over his left shoulder before making his way to the gate in question. The flight itself was pleasantly uneventful and the plane landed in Vienna on time. As a result, Andreas was fairly relaxed as he waited for his baggage to come around the conveyor. He was even relaxed when, after waiting for half an hour, his suitcase finally made its way towards him in a state you could only describe as “battered” – the zip was broken and one of the trolley wheels was missing. To his credit, he was still relaxed as he stepped through to the waiting area to see Kevin stood there smiling.

Stay tuned for more in the coming weeks and months!

Flash Fiction for 24 #6

Welcome to another Flash Fiction effort taken from the, by now, well-known “The Very Short Story Starter” by John Gillard. Tonight’s effort is inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s bet that he could compose a story in six words – he did so with “For sale: Baby shoes, never worn” and won his bet. So, my task was to beat Hemingway, and compose a story in five words or less that was comprehensible, meaningful and complete. I had a couple of goes, and you can find my efforts below…

Can You Beat Hemingway?

1) I found myself in Glastonbury.

2) High Noon: quickest draw wins.

3) Aliens exist – I’ve seen them!

Thus concludes tonight’s incredibly short flash fiction post. If you blinked, you may have missed it!

Flash Fiction for 24 #5

Good evening, dear readers. It’s Friday and that means this can only be another of my Flash Fiction posts taken from the book I’ve been using – The Very Short Story Starter by John Gillard. Tonight’s prompt is a travelling salesman and five separate journeys between cities. Read and enjoy!

Travelling Salesman

They say it’s ’grim up North’, well today it really is. The rain is coming down in a constant downpour and, over the radio, I can hear the thud of the windscreen wipers as they struggle to keep up. I need to be in Bradford by nine thirty – no chance.

Well, only ten minutes late. I don’t know what the fuss was, I called ahead! I know the NHS is stretched, but there’s no need for rudeness. Anyway, it’s still raining hard and I need to get to Leeds. At least I’ve got a bit more time to get there.

That was better. At least they looked interested. Maybe it helped that we had common ground – us Mancs really do get everywhere! My built-in cushion has gone though, so I’m having to eat on the run if I’m getting to York for my next meeting – the joys of travelling sales.

Why do I do this job?! I travel from here to there, from there to wherever and people can’t even pay me the courtesy of calling me before a meeting to cancel? I have to hold my tongue, though, because this is a big account. One more meeting in Hull…

At least the rain finally stopped! You have to look for positives in this life. Trying to sell drugs to the NHS should be the easiest job in the World. Except the NHS has no money. Thanks to the Tory arseholes for pushing Brexit and slowly killing our public services.

And that’s it, folks. I hope you enjoy tonight’s little piece of fiction, and remember there’s another one to come in March.

Flash Fiction for 24 #4

Friday has come round again and it’s time for the latest of my Flash Fiction stories. The latest one has a prompt of a trash can – that’s a rubbish bin to those who despise the Americanism. Enjoy!

Trash Can

The lid on the wheelie bin rested on the pile of torn rubbish bags within it, unable to close due to the sheer volume of discarded refuse inside. Food waste spilled from one torn bag, as if dragged out by a ravenous nocturnal beast. Looking down the street there were many, many more bins in the exact same state. The pavements were littered with the detritus of people’s lives, yet no people seemed to have lived here for many a year.
Where had they gone? Had they been abducted by aliens? Killed in some mass genocidal act by a foreign leader?
A little far-fetched don’t you think?! There were no cars in driveways – that suggests an orderly departure rather than a sudden disappearance. No signs of destruction that comes with struggle and death.
No, this is merely an area intended for the Government’s ill-fated, doomed to fail HS2 route.

Stay tuned for the next Flash Fiction efforts in March and beyond!

Flash Fiction for 24 #3

Good evening. It’s Friday night again and as a treat, here’s another of my flash fiction efforts for your ‘enjoyment’. This one is about someone finding themself in a place that they don’t recognise.

Unrecognisable



‘Where am I’ and ‘How did I get here’ are two pertinent questions right about now. I’m racking my brain to answer one or both and I’m coming up empty.

Maybe if I get up and walk around? Okay, no, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen! Jesus Christ, my head is killing me. Putting my hand to my head proves harder than usual. What’s that tugging on my hand? Some sort of cable? I can hear the sound of heavy breathing nearby, and my heart, or at least I think it’s my heart, is beating so damned loud, someone’s bound to hear!

Why is it so dark? Are my eyes even open? I’m still not sure where I am. 



Soon, my eyes become accustomed to the light, or lack thereof, and as I look around I can see I’m in a room with machines, blinking lights into the darkness. I look at my hand and now I see it’s a drip tube snaking away to an elevated pouch above my head.

My head is still causing me pain but through the resulting fuzziness, I can probably say I’m in hospital, but how the fuck did I get here?!

Flash Fiction for 24 #2

Good Evening. It’s Friday again, and so here, for your hopeful enjoyment, is the latest flash fiction offering.

The Wrong Number

“Hello? Can I help you?”

“Ah, yes. Good Afternoon. Is it possible to speak with Mrs Wilson?”

“Mrs who?”

“Mrs Wilson? Mrs Andrea Wilson?”

“Who is this?”

“My name is Fred and I’m calling from Microsoft.”

“Well, Fred from Microsoft, I’m afraid you have the wrong number. Lucky for this Mrs Wilson.”

“It’s very important I speak with Mrs Wilson. Her computer is at risk if I don’t speak to her.”

“Like I said, Fred, you have the wrong number. And if I can be totally honest, you don’t sound like you work for Microsoft. You sound like someone who rang a person in order to scam them out of money. And that’s a fucking shitty thing to do, if you ask me. How can you live with yourself if this is how you get your kicks?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m stuck here doing this all day long. I get nothing from it. I’m just lonely and miserable.”

“Fred? If that’s your real name? This is a pretty wild diversion from the usual script. I should know, I’ve had these calls myself before.”

“It’s not Fred. My name is not important. I just like hearing someone else’s voice besides my own.”

“Ok. Can I still call you Fred? It’s easier than calling you ‘mystery caller’”

“Sure.”
“Well, Fred, why do you feel lonely? Why are you trying to scam people if you hate it?”

“Because I owe money to dangerous people. This seemed the easiest way to pay. I’m lonely because I have nobody.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Does this thing pay?”

“No. People aren’t as gullible as they used to be.”

“I see. So how will you get the money you need to pay these people?”

“I have no idea. I probably won’t.”

“What will happen then?”

“Either they kill me, or I kill myself first.”

“There must be another way. Can’t you go to the authorities?”

“No, that will make things worse.”

“How can things get worse?!”

“They send me home and I die there. I have to make more calls. Goodbye.”

And that concludes the story. I hope you’ll return for the next one!

Flash Fiction for 24. #1

It’s the year 2024. In order to prevent my creative juices from drying up while I get round to deciding where to go with my many* writing ideas, I’ve decided to try and write 24 flash fiction pieces inspired by The Very Short Story Starter by John Gillard throughout the year. Conveniently, it works out at two per month, which I’m pretty sure I can manage! Anyway, here for your literary delight (hopefully) is the first one.            *when I say many, I mean A LOT!

I sat in the Italian morning sunshine, drinking espresso on my hotel balcony. From my vantage point, as I lifted the coffee cup to my lips, the handle held tightly between my left thumb and forefinger, I could see the calm, still surface of the lake. It was too early for the tourist boats or speedboats to be racing up and down, instead the clear waters were inhabited only by the occasional early morning swimmer, gliding silently through the water.

I put down my cup and, after a very quick glance at the newspaper lying on the small bistro table beside me (for it was an Italian newspaper and my skills of translation were poor to say the least) I stood and leaned over the balcony rail. Through my tinted sunglasses lenses I could barely see, so bright was the sunshine reflected off the surface of the lake. But somewhere down there was the woman who was waiting for me.

It was only a short walk from the hotel to the lake shore, and I made my way down after a quick wash and teeth clean. Resplendent in my Milan football shirt and bright blue swimming shorts, a plain black baseball cap protecting my balding head from the heat of the day and my bare feet in an old pair of Nike trainers, I arrived at the beach and scanned for my companion. It was a stoney pebble beach so I carefully made my way towards a familiar pink towel spread in the shade about a hundred yards from where I stood. Her bag was there – I’d recognise it anywhere – but she was not. Probably enjoying a paddle at the water’s edge.

I set down my bag containing a towel, a bottle of water, my wallet and the latest Richard Osman novel, looked around to see who was nearby, and satisfied that nobody unsavoury was lurking, slowly walked down towards the water. I hadn’t gone far before I caught sight of her coming towards me. Her curvaceous figure was enveloped in a plain black swimming costume, her flowing brown hair hidden beneath a generously-sized straw hat. I stopped and allowed her to reach me. We smiled and our eyes met behind designer sunglasses. I held out my hand and we walked side-by-side, hand-in-hand back to our towels. Together we lay in the sun and I thought I was in heaven.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little piece of fiction, and are already looking forward to the next twenty three?!

Final post of 2023

Good Evening all. It’s the 29th December and I’m finished with work for the year. The weekend is upon us and to celebrate my final blog post of the year, I’m giving you another of my flash fiction stories. This one is all about ‘Foreshadowing’, so I hope you enjoy…

Tom was in a hurry. He scooped up his wallet and keys and darted out of the front door of his flat. As the door slammed shut behind him, a pink plastic card toppled off the small table and landed on the floor – an organ donor card. Tom dashed through the rain to his car and was soon speeding down the country lanes towards civilisation. To be more specific, his girlfriend Nell, who was probably by now on to her second Martini.

The heavy rain made it difficult to see, but as the windscreen wiper blades flashed at full speed before his eyes, he could just about make out the centre lines in the road. His concentration was broken as he heard the familiar sound of his ringtone – “Born In The USA” by Bruce Springsteen – and as he fished in his trouser pocket for the phone, he slowed the car slightly. He brought the phone up and saw his mom’s image on the caller display. She could wait, he told himself, and dropped the phone, unanswered, on to the passenger seat.

To Tom’s amazement, as if it was even possible, the rain had gotten heavier. He glanced at his watch as he came to a junction. “Damn” he swore, “should have put this thing on charge” as he realised the battery of his smart watch was almost empty. More importantly, he was now almost fifteen minutes late for what may be his last date with Nell. Unless, of course, she was willing to move across the Atlantic with him to America, back to his birthplace.

He finally made it into town and found a parking spot about five minutes walk from the bar he was meeting Nell in. It was still raining, albeit a little lighter now, as Tom hurried along the pavement, trying to avoid the puddles. He was rehearsing what he was going to say to Nell about this new Head Writer job in Los Angeles when he looked across the road and saw her sat in the window of the bar – their usual spot.

She must have seen him because she raised her glass in his direction. Tom waved back and stepped into the road to cross over. He definitely didn’t see the oncoming van before everything went dark.

That’s it for this year, there may be more posts in 2024, if you want them.