I only went to the party because I was bored out of my skull, and that’s why I talked to the peculiar guy who was leaning against the wall, too.
I told him to go ahead when he told me he did magic tricks and would I want to see one, expecting him to maybe produce a flower from behind my ear – it took me a moment to realise he’d begun to float.
Now I come to see him every day, trying to figure out how he does it – I keep failing but hey, I haven’t been bored in weeks.
“Aw, look at this one.”
Marie points at a bunny rabbit. Their twitchy noses are kind of sweet, but I don’t want a bunny rabbit.
This is the beginning of my story Cats and Dogs – you can read the whole thing here on FlashFlood. I’ve only read a handful of stories so far. Anyone else got one on there today? Pop me a link in the comments if you do.
If you missed out on the FlashFlood, there’s another opportunity to get a story published at the Write-In, too.
He sprints off. Ignores the groupies. He needs to ponder the implications.
‘Nobody in my dressing room,’ he whispers to his bodyguard.
The number of notes he hit tonight were by far outnumbered by those he missed. His career, his dream is over.
‘Hello darling.’
She’s stunning. But he’s not in the mood.
‘Who let you in?’
‘Don’t blame your man, he isn’t meant to see me.’
She twirls her index finger. Is that magic?
‘You need my help.’
A statement.
He nods.
He’ll come to regret this, no doubt. Tonight, though, he’ll do anything to keep his dream alive.
Janey kneels by the headstone and lights a candle. Her demeanour tells George she knows he’s watching.
She hasn’t always done it, George would say if he talked to people. At first, she scared him she’d turned so wild. He might have expected it, given what he’d done. But he was too happy she’d returned.
Never lasted, though. Every time the leaves turn, Janey needs a boost. One of them gave her back her conscience.
She still looks like his Janey, but with every woman he’s put in her grave, Janey’s turned. They may well come for him this time.
If I included shorter stuff in the Top 3, Shared Journey would definitely be in it. But I don’t, and my favourites are all stories I wrote for Nortina’s fabulous Moral Mondays (I suggest you check it out if you’re not already playing) :
Your favourites (according to the stats):
This month is going to be a bit tricky, because it’s the summer holidays and I’m preparing an international move. I’ll try to write at least one 100-word story a week, though, otherwise the August Top Three is going to be a sad affair.
‘You call this a garden? It’s a small vegetable farm.’
Melanie shrugs as she lugs the hose around to water the beds farther down.
‘To-MAY-to, to-MAH-to.’
‘I believe they’re part of the problem.’
The inspector stabs his clipboard.
‘Did I miss the memo when they made growing food illegal?’
‘I don’t care what you grow. I care about excessive water usage.’
‘It won’t rain. We’ve emptied the last of our water tanks days ago – and we always keep more than we’re required to by law. ’
‘But not enough. You cannot use the hose.’
‘People will starve.’
‘The law’s the law.’
‘ What does it says?’
‘Superstar.’
‘Seriously?’
‘The tattoo artist swore.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘He makes money from tourists. Why would he lie?’
‘Because he sees you walking in and knows he’ll get away with it. Because it adds to his collection of pictures of Western bimbos who thinks they’re superstars.’
‘He said it’s a traditional character, so maybe you can’t read it.’
‘Superstar. In traditional Chinese? You know, I hope it says idiot.’
‘Shouldn’t you know?’
‘Why? I was born here. And my grandparents came from Hong Kong. Mandarin is as foreign to me as it is to you.’
‘This is it?’
‘I said wait till you see the inside.’
‘But this is it? It’s surrounded by concrete. Looks like one of those chain pubs. Don’t say it used to be a pub.’
’It wasn’t a pub.’
‘Don’t lie, I’ll be able to smell.’
‘You ready to go in, then?’
‘There’s no privacy. Anyone can walk all around it.’
‘Let’s go in.’
‘Don’t you see it would be a waste of time? I don’t like it.’
‘You ought to see the inside.’
‘One glance. Won’t take more… Oh, wow! This is unexpected. Look at the fireplace. I love it.’
***
For Moral Mondays and FFfAW.
‘Idiots.’
‘Told ya.’
They high-five, chuckling.
‘I’ll admit to not believing they would fall for it.’
‘You sold it, mate. You did well.’
‘Aw, thanks, man. But this is down to you as well. More so, even. You make the news, you form the nation’s opinion.’
‘Don’t play modest. You started it.’
’Suppose I did.’
More chuckles.
‘The immediate future ain’t gonna look rosy.’
‘Pretty bleak, in fact, I’d imagine.’
‘Your next move?’
‘Lie low for a bit, swoop in like a superhero to save the day as and when.’
‘Good plan.’
‘Bless ‘em. They think they’re free now. Idiots.’
Here’s something a little bit longer – a story of mine which was one of five winners of the 1000 Words flash competition in December 2014. Since 1000words.org has disappeared and my story with it, I’ll put it up here. In a way, the success I had with it encouraged me to start the blog. so it is relevant.
‘The ground is frozen. I’ll burn more calories than I’ll bring home,’ he protests when I ask him to go digging for roots.
‘It’s that or starvation. Go right to the edge where the sun’s been warming the ground the longest. Should be softer there.’
I hand him the hammer and one of the nine-inch nails. They’re coming in useful, the nails. I insisted we take them when he said they’d be nothing but ballast.
He puts the tools into his pouch and slouches off. I stoke the fire and put another log on. I retrieve the blowgun. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’d better take care of the bait first. I wait for him to get settled by the edge. When I hear the pings of hammer hitting nail, I go after him. I pick up a rock. I never take my eyes off him, stay behind his back.
‘Sorry. I can’t keep feeding us both.’
He doesn’t have time to turn around before I bring down the rock. He slumps, tumbles over the edge and lands on the plateau beneath.
I fetch blowgun and nails and wait for the birds.
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