We write for fun
The following are examples of a flash fiction exercise using a maximum of 100 words excluding titles:
The Guardian (by Ken)
The mother screams – the Lilo has disappeared. A crowd gathers; one man produces binoculars. Mobile phones proliferate. Distraught, the mother paces along the water’s edge; someone calls the Rescue Services.
Teddy remains on the tartan rug, guarding the picnic basket, the child’s clothes and the half-finished sandcastle. Murmurs drift back to him – the worsening weather, the treacherous tides. The sky darkens; the waves claim more of the sandy beach. Parasols are dismantled, belongings hastily gathered, children summoned from the shoreline.
The downdraft of a helicopter causes a sudden mini sandstorm.
Teddy topples backwards, furry feet pointing skyward, glass eyes unseeing.
Revenge (by Margaret)
Lift under repair – use staircase. With some trepidation, Maggie climbed the dark stairs
dreading what she might find on the fourth floor.
Outside Flat Seven an elderly woman was ushering out her dog. Hesitating, Maggie enquired if the occupant of Number Eight was at home.
“Yes,” the woman replied, Carlos works nights now, he’s just come back.”
The dog urged his mistress away, leaving Maggie alone on the landing. Now at last, she knew. Carlos was alive and unless she confronted him, his murdered wife – her sister, would never be avenged.
Maggie reached deep into her bag for the knife.
Untitled (by Sheila)
I hear your step and await your warm touch. You clasp me gently and together we explore the length and depth of your willing body, stretched before me. I feel your soft skin, the tiny creases that hide behind your knees, your rounded curves and your uplifted face.
You hold me firmly between your cupped hands, inhaling my gentle aroma. Daily we meet, in secret, hidden from prying eyes. Our liaison never disclosed, yet widely known. Soon, too soon, my bloom will fade, diminish, until I am cast aside and forgotten; one existence, gone completely.
Just a bar of soap.
Untitled (by Sheila)
Cathy chose the two thickest steaks from the butcher’s display.
The dining table waited, dressed in white linen and crystal glasses that reflected the candlelight. Soft seductive music floated wall to wall, heartbeats quickened.
The timer pinged in the kitchen; all was ready. Cathy carried the steaks on the very best plates; John topped off the salad with freshly cut avocado.She cut and lifted the first bite of meat to her mouth and chewed. John watched her. They ate in silence; looks of pure pleasure decorated Cathy’s face.
Finally, John stood for a toast.
“Here’s to your new teeth!”
Untitled (by Sheila)
The letterbox snapped shut. Carrie brought the pale blue envelope to the kitchen. Elbows on the table, she lifted the flap and took out the delicately embossed card. The words spoke of a secret, mysterious admirer, a lover in waiting.
A warm blush swept through Carrie. Her work-worn fingers propped the card carefully against the toast-rack, her eyes feasted on her sparkling treasure.
All day long, between the demands of her ancient, demanding parent, Carrie read and re-read the beautiful words.
Her first ever Valentine’s card!
What did it matter, if at seventy, she’d bought and posted it to herself?
200 word story beginning with : 'She'd (he'd) seen him (her) somewhere before' and finishing with: 'It was starting to rain'.
A Moment in Time (By Pat)
She’d seen him somewhere before, and the memory hit her like a ton of bricks.
Suddenly she was a child again, innocently playing in the park, when she’d witnessed his evil intent on kids who accepted him for who he was, while all the time he was scheming, working out how he could do the most damage and not get caught. Something that day made her follow him as the gang of nine-year-olds let him tag along as the playground beckoned. That day had lodged in the back of her mind; the day three friends died in random, playground accidents, and she ran away home, with an awful knowledge that could never be spoken about.
And here he was again, 30 years on, slouching outside Costa’s, eyeing the crowd with that same intent. Fear pulsed, but she stood firm, watching the watcher, following as he followed his prey; another group of happy kids. The day darkened as he closed in. She stepped forward, forming a barrier, looking into his eyes, letting him know she knew. He stepped back, there was a screech of brakes, a sickening thud, then suddenly feeling tears, questioning why, then realised it was starting to rain.
Russian Regret (By Margaret)
He’d seen her somewhere before. Those fine, elegant hands; that slight inclination of the head when she gave her order; the rapid glance around the restaurant, missing nothing. Every gesture so eerily familiar to him.
Dredging his fading memory, long forgotten youthful passions began to seize him and he was compelled to steady himself by grasping the table, comforted by the pristine starch of the white cloth.
Anastasia! Here in London at Rules, after so many years? It couldn’t be!
He recalled their last meeting in Moscow: her intimate, caressing expression changing from disbelief to fear as she realised what he was about to do. She hadn’t begged. Yes, he recalled that very clearly. Her gaze had dropped, head bowed, but she had not uttered a word. It was only as he reached for his gun that the full force of her contempt had struck him, acid green eyes sweeping over his treacherous uniform.
Those same eyes were now locked on his. Mesmerised, he watched as Anastasia threaded her way towards his table.
“What a pity you didn’t kill me all those years ago James,” she murmured.
“Now it’s my turn.”
Outside in Maiden Lane it was starting to rain.