FFM24: It's Raining MenShe's finally done it, Dani realized as lightning streaked across the sky, the damn writer had lost the last bit of grey matter keeping her from the cuckoo bin. The forecaster had predicted rain, but not this kind of rain. The first drop to hit the pavement was six feet tall of glistening, rippling sex beast. He should have died instantly, but since the writer was out of her vulcan mind, he landed gently beside the first and just as shirtless.FFM24: It's Raining Men1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Love me,” he said, holding out a hand.
Dani groaned, pretending not to look. This was so wrong.
All around the world, people stopped to watch this mysterious rain. Traffic stalled. Inside, the forecaster who had predicted a wonderful summer shower hid in his office, studying the readouts. It just wasn't possible. Men don't fall from the sky like rain.
“You've done it now,” Dani shouted, “Don't pretend you can't hear me. I know you're typing this right now. You have to stop this.”
Kaleen, the writer, ignored he
CupboardingMagnolia and Bertie were sitting side by side in bed, reading.Cupboarding1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Magnolia put down her Georgette Heyer and turned to her husband. “Do you think the romance has gone out of our marriage?”
“Hmm..?” said Bertie, flicking through his copy of Aeroplane Weekly.
“We never seem to do anything together any more,” said Magnolia. She put her book away on her bedside table. “Why don’t we go out for a meal on Saturday? That new Chinese restaurant seems promising. We could have sweet and sour chicken or some nice stir-fried pork.”
She looked into the middle- distance. “Oh, I can just smell it…” She paused. “Hang on, I can smell it.”
She put her hand on her husband’s arm and he looked up at her. “Do you smell that?” she asked. “Someone cooking?”
“Don’t be daft,” said Bertie, going back to his reading.
“It seems to be coming from…” Magnolia g
EternityDown by the lake, a child stands overlooking the water. Her dark hair is damp from a drizzle of rain not long passed, and her shoulders are lightly hunched beneath a pink jacket. Her small hands cup something tenderly as she seats herself on the grassy knoll by the water's edge. Once settled, she carefully tips the object into her lap, creating a bowl with her dress.Eternity1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her hands dip quickly into pockets and pull out items that she lays beside her with reverence: a crumpled sheet of paper, a pen, and a lighter. She ignores the pen and lighter for now, smoothing the paper and folding it attentively. Spiders drop from the trees above and she periodically swats them without giving it much thought.
When she is finished, she holds up a paper boat and examines it. Satisfied, she uses the pen to mark it with what she feels is an appropriate name, leaning sideways to avoid spilling the object from her dress. She holds the boat up again and nods in solemn satisfaction, slipping the pen back into h
Almost a Love PoemI can almost feel your skin,Almost a Love Poem1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
When your hand almost brushed against mine again.
We almost took a picture of just us two
And we almost got away with it too.
You almost stared at me for more than a moment,
And I nearly blushed before I noticed
How you almost smiled just for me
So that it was you that I would almost see.
Every time we're almost alone,
I think there is something you and I both know.
If we can somehow have a little more time
Maybe one day our hands can almost intertwine.
If we could almost kiss that'd be great too,
Because then you would almost love me like I almost love you.
ApocalypseContrary to popular misconception, the end of the world is not global warming, a nuclear fallout, or a mechanical uprising. Zombies do not erupt from their graves, aliens do not suddenly decide to invade. There are no horsemen, vengeful Gods or wayward comets. Lightning does not smote the wicked and angels do not lead the worthy to peace. The end of the world is not a mass disaster; there is no exploding sun, tidal wave or earthquake. Instead, it is those quiet moments happening all over the world, every day.Apocalypse1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Resting my hand on the gentle curve of my belly, I croon sweet nothings to my baby. I have decided that "it" is a "she", though the ultrasound confirmation is still several weeks away. Still, I have heard her heartbeat, and I am looking forward to hearing it again later today. I sit like this for an hour or so, soaking the sunlight into my skin and communing with the life growing inside me. I am lulled by the sound of traffic in the street, but the unmistakable drone of my hus
His EyesIt has been three months since we heard from the mainland.His Eyes1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Speculation abounds. Some catastrophe has befallen them there: a plague has ended them, perhaps, or a war, or something so dreadful that we cannot even imagine it. We are left here to starve, slowly, as we wait for news and supplies.
At noon we saw a boat on the horizon.
Through the spyglass we saw that its occupant was a lone boy, and that his skin was patterned with lesions. Sula saw something in his eyes, he said, though he would not speak more clearly of it; but he was so shaken by the sight that he begged us to shoot the boat down at a distance.
We were without choice but to obey. We pitied the boy, perhaps, but if he carried a plague – as indeed he must have – any show of mercy might have doomed us. We fired the cannon as soon as he came within range.
At nightfall we burned the flotsam brought in by the tide. There was no sign of the boy's body. With luck the current carried it away, to be eaten by the fish.
FFM19: Where No Sock Has Gone BeforeHis socks blinked at him. Jim hunched his shoulders. The socks tried to mimic the motion but since they had no shoulders they just kind of bunched up a little. Captain Bob, as usual, was not impressed.FFM19: Where No Sock Has Gone Before1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“It's life, Jim, but not life as we know it.”
“Shut up, Bob, this is serious.”
Captain Bob gave him a look that made him immediately regret his outburst. It was the “I'm your superior officer and I have the airlock codes, so no one will think twice if they see your body suddenly floating in space “ look.
“So am I,” Captain Bob said, “Stop leaving your dirty uniforms next to the radiation shields. It's an old ship, there's bound to be some spill off.”
The socks agreed.
But it wasn't until his uniform pants tried to bite him that Jim truly learned his lesson. He spent the rest of the voyage in the laundry room, learning how to operate the machines. Captain Bob was still not impressed.
post mortem.Some days,post mortem.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we grow old:
little love letters,
dated and sealed,
on the roadside,
with the fag-ends
and drifting crisp-packets
of the fast lane.
Pre-inventing the WheelLon was an I.T support worker. He was also a caveman, so perhaps it would be more accurate to call it lowercase ‘t’ support.Pre-inventing the Wheel1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Me rock no right way up,” said Gurp.
Lon looked at Gurp’s rock with an expert eye. “Gurp try drop it pick it back up again?”
Gurp dropped the rock. Then he picked it back up. It was still upside-down.
“Hmn,” said Lon, mulling the problem over. “Try throw it at wall.”
The rock clattered off the wall and landed on the ground the right way up and only slightly chipped.
“Gurp thank Lon,” said Gurp as he resumed aimlessly hitting bits of cave with his rock.
Lon strolled out into the sunshine chewing cloves. Some of his fellow proto-humans were sat a little way down the hill trying to make fire. One in particular seemed to be having trouble.
Krog was waving a single stick in the air furiously, a somewhat perplexed expression on his simian face. “Fire no work,” he complained.
strange habits (FFM 4)Coming home had always been a challenge for Natasha. The music was constantly just a little too loud, the ghosts in the corner too rowdy, the poltergeist in the attic too fond of guilt-tripping, or just plain tripping. Everything in the old house seemed to crowd Natasha, to shout and jeer and laugh; she even found the ornaments distasteful and a little embarrassing. And all of that, that was before she even began thinking about her family.strange habits (FFM 4)1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Nonetheless, here Natasha was, making the seven hour drive back to the house she'd grown up in. Only on one day of the year did her family enforce attendance, enforce 'social behaviour' and 'family spirit'; it wasn't worth the consequences of not going.
Natasha drew out the trip as long as she was able. She stopped multiple times at petrol stations, buying a chocolate bar, or a drink. She tried desperately to ignore one over-friendly cashier, who wouldn't stop asking questions;
"Why aren't you out partying? Young thing like you, I'd'
Here, There, and Everywhere“I've had it.” Paul grabbed his guitar and strode out the door.Here, There, and Everywhere1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“You can't—” Ringo ran after him. “Hey, you can't leave!”
Paul spun to face him. “You know what? We aren't—weren't—even that good. Losing a member can't make it worse.”
The audience glared.
Ringo glared back. A handful of people from a handful of villages—there were fewer people in the tent than there were cigarette stubs. As they continued to play, he saw several groups come in, look at the three-Beatle stage, listen to a few bars of a three-Beatle song, and leave. He suspected that their potential fans living in Kottspiel—who could hear the music from outside the tent—weren't bothering to come in at all. It was obvious what was wrong.
“There are meant to be four Beatles,” said John. “We'll need another Paul.”
“Paul. Ha!” Ringo jutted his chin at the audience. “They're the proble
FFM 3- The Not Spy “I am absolutely, one hundred percent, not a spy,” I said, which was true. My answer, which is still true, had nothing to do with the fact that I was tied to a chair, and that a very attractive woman in a red cocktail dress was pointing a potentially lethal gun at me.FFM 3- The Not Spy1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” she said, which was rather rude. I was definitely up for an interrogation. I had a lot of experience standing up to horribly interrogative types of things, like my mother-in-law, so I was confidant in my ability to not disclose the location of the Chicago apartment-that-is-not-a-spy-hq and is not easily accessed by the key that I hide in the hollow buttocks of a clay frog.
I was sore, the cuffs on my wrists were uncomfortable and, if the captured agent had been anyone but me, they would have been overkill. I was just glad that I’d had time to put on a shirt that morning, or
MonstersThere are monsters in the corner. I can see them; their eyes a bright golden yellow, shining like a cat’s in the dark. I can’t take my eyes off of them because if I do, they’ll move.Monsters1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Are you even listening to me?” she asks.
I can’t look at her but I know I have to otherwise she’ll think I’m crazy. “Yes,” I say quietly. I turn back to the corner and they’re gone. The eyes have vanished and there’s nothing there to prove they ever existed. But I know they were there because they’ve been with me my whole life.
“I have to leave for a week, are you going to be OK on your own?” she asks, her hands on her hips.
I nod, still not taking my eyes away from the corner. They’ve gone and I find myself praying to a god I don’t believe in for them not to come back. I look back at her trying to find some solace in her eyes but she’s just frowning at me. I wonder what she thinks of me? Does she t
Vapid.I alwaysVapid.5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a kiss requires
is two pairs
and a willingness
for the dream
of a raft
you might find nestled
between the hundredth
pair you try;
even more broken
in the pursuit
of a love that
Singing Flames He sat staring into the singing flames. She sat down beside him, long black hair casually draped around her shoulders. They fell dangerously close to the licking flames as she bend over to look at his face. "You look familiar." She tucked her hair behind her ear, but it fell down again instantly.Singing Flames1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He looked up from the fire. She was wearing a short, black dress, blood-red lipstick and a pair of casual sandals. There was sand in-between her toes. He wanted to brush them clean.
"I'm sure I've met you before," she said. The flames were reflecting in her amber eyes.
He looked back into the flames. Leave me alone, he thought. He was rubbing his hands.
She wasn't. She was grabbing him by the cheek, turning his head towards hers. "It's not polite to look away when you are talking to someone."
"I'm not talking. You are."
She let his head go. His eyes went back t
CursedWhen I was five I told my teacher that my mother magically appeared whenever I was doing something wrong.Cursed1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Miss Jones laughed. “All mothers do that, Jill.”
So it wasn’t until I was about thirteen that I realised that my mother was unusual in this respect. Picking my nose, yelling at a friend, trying to copy someone else’s homework—no matter how far apart we were, if I did something bad my mother would abruptly appear at my side glaring at me.
And she still does.
Mum doesn’t talk that much about my curse. I only know that it came from my father. Well, he was Mum’s husband—he wasn’t actually my father. Hence the curse, I suppose. I’ve never met him but he’s some kind of natural magician. Very rare.
The situation felt bearable as a child. I didn’t know any different and I was reassured by it, to be honest. But as a teenager going through a rebellious phase… Smoking, bit of graffiti, kissing boys. And more. My mot
It's a Wonderful Spoof“Goodbye, cruel world!” Greg prepared to take a long jump off edge of the bridge—he didn’t want to bump into the side on the way down.It's a Wonderful Spoof2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light. Barely managing to stop himself falling off in surprise, Greg looked to his right. A glowing, winged figure was perched on the railing. “No, stop, don’t do it,” he said, not particularly enthusiastically. He took his cigarette out of his mouth for a moment to have a swig from a three-litre bottle of cheap cider.
“Who are you!?”
“I’m your guardian angel.”
Greg just stared.
“I’m not being sarcastic. I literally am.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth, freeing up a hand to offer to Greg. “The name’s Lawrence.”
Greg shook his hand. “Greg.”
Lawrence screwed his face up, as if talking to an idiot. “Yeah, mate. I think I picked that up at some point over the last forty or fifty years. N
blackout (FFM 3)At some point, I start to become aware of what's going on around me. Not all at once; it's a flash here, a voice there, a touch on my shoulder. But gradually, I'm waking up. I open my eyes, blinking at the bright light. I'm on a couch. There's a girl standing with her back to me, holding a cellphone. I know her, I think.blackout (FFM 3)1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
All at once, I'm panicking, terrified. There was danger. I had to hide. No-one was supposed to find me. I fell. I couldn't get up. Why? How did I get here? She turns at the sound of my quickened breath.
"Sarah, you're awake! How are you feeling?"
I can't respond, I feel sick, I don't know what's happening. I'm hyperventilating.
"You must be freezing. I'll grab you another blanket."
She leaves. I doubt she even realised how awful I felt. Or maybe she didn't care. Confused, bewildered, I tried to remember.
* * *
It's dark, and I'm running, but I've never been very good at walking in high heeled shoes, so I stumble. A lot. I'm running, and it's dark a
FFM 4: VillainyI read the note on the door twice to make sure I wasn’t missing a joke or something, and stormed into the apartment on numb legs.FFM 4: Villainy1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“What the fuck is this?!” I stammered, holding up the paper in a clenched fist. Morton just peered over the top of his laptop. “Where’s Alma?” He shrugged. “There was a ransom note hung on our door!”
“Oh yeah,” he murmured. “I thought I heard some rustling around this morning, but I figured it’d be better not to investigate too much, y’know?”
“What?!” I could feel my voice reaching a cracking point.
“What? If I’d checked, I would be just as fucked as her. Do we have enough to pay the ransom?”
I double-counted the zeroes. “Fuck no, we don’t!”
“Man. That sucks, I’m gonna miss her a lot.”
“Are you shitting me!” I couldn’t eve
EllipticalHe talks to CometsElliptical1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
tells them Secrets and Tales
they listen with rapt attention
sometimes crashing and burning
sometimes passing innocuously
through the Universe
Sometimes, the Comets tell their own tales
streaking tails of tales across the night sky
passing sleeping cities, flying over pastures
we watch with rapt attention
sometimes crashing, sometimes burning
but never innocuously
We wish, we hope, we dream
of catching Comets in a jar,
keeping them like wildflower jam
and spreading them on brainy toast
and savoring every Cosmic bite
But, He talks to Comets
tells them they belong among the stars
to sail away and find a new lover
Far away and return when they feel free
Musical ChairsThree women.Musical Chairs3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This