Tag Archives: Flash fiction

1345. The downs of childhood

Karl lost his mother when he was three years old. Now he was seven. His father had married again a year after Karl’s mother died. The step-mother was not very nice, and had three children of her own who were a little bit older than Karl. There was Margarette, Suzette and Angelo. Karl didn’t have any brothers or sisters of his own.

One day at school, Karl’s teacher dropped dead in the classroom. Just like that. It was very traumatic. The whole class got free counselling. Then Karl got his foot jammed while playing outside and he had to have his leg in plaster for six weeks.

When his father suffered severe injuries in a car accident, Karl was looked after by his step-mother. That was when the most horrible thing in his life happened. It made all other tragedies look like nothing.

His step-sister, Suzette, told him that Santa Claus was not true.

1341. Waiter!

Waiter! Take this steak away. You know I always have it rare and this is overcooked. You might as well have served up a piece of charcoal.

Waiter! I like my carrots a little crisp. Take them away and bring some vegetables properly cooked, not something that’s had the living daylights boiled out of it.

Waiter! Were these eggs cooked yesterday? They’re as cold and hard as a rock. Take them away and bring me eggs done the way I like them.

Waiter! You expecting a tip? The service here is appalling. You won’t be getting a dime from me.

So why do you always eat here?

Because this is the only restaurant in town that does things the way I like it.

1340. Such is the expanse

It’s fascinating to think, said Theodore to his theologically-minded friend, Nelson, that when I’m grinding these coffee beans for breakfast there’s probably twenty million other intelligent beings on other inhabited planets doing the identical thing. Such is the expanse of the universe! Such is its enormity!

Don’t be silly, said Nelson. You’re so closed-minded. Why do you always limit the infinite? In all the trillions of inhabited planets in this universe alone, there’s not a single planet that’s the same. And there’s not a single intelligent being doing the same thing as you. God is not that boring.

1339. A younger wrist

Old Mrs Jellyman no longer had enough strength in her wrists to open a bought jar of anything. Nor could she rip the foil off the top of a plastic milk container. All these things were designed by the government to enhance health and safety.

To get around this problem, old Mrs Jellyman would ask young Josiah from next door to come and open things for her. Not all the time mind you (that would be a nuisance) but when it was called for as a last resort. For example, Old Mrs Jellyman would poke a hole in the silver foil with a sharp knife. That worked well enough. But some things we unopenable.

When she did call young Josiah over she always rewarded him with some candy. That’s why he was always keen to lend a hand, or in this case a wrist.

One day, Mrs Jellyman didn’t have any candy so she gave him some peanuts, and now he’s dead.

1338. Fat lady in turnstile

Amanda was so fat that she got stuck in one of those entrance thingies one walks through to get into the supermarket. No one else could get into the shop because she was blocking the entrance.

Amanda began to scream, “I’m stuck! I’m stuck! Get me out of here!” No one took any notice. They had all gone to shop at the other supermarket in town where Amanda wasn’t blocking the entrance thingy.

In the end, the manager of the supermarket where Amanda was stuck got sick of no one shopping in his shop, so wrote a letter of complaint to his local Member of Parliament asking why the government hadn’t done something about it. The local Member of Parliament formed a committee. They came to observe Amanda stuck in the entrance thingy. Once again Amanda cried out, “I’m stuck! I’m stuck! Get me out of here!”

The committee decided not to act on the vociferous protest of a lone strident activist. “We can’t act on the recommendation of everyone who screams blue murder,” they said.

And that’s why Amanda is still there. Presumably.

1318. Diary of a model

Day 1: What fun it will be posing for an artist. Of course, I have the body for it. And what fun to wear scanty clothing and get paid for it. The artist is soooo sexy. He paints just in jeans, with a ripped T shirt. I’ll have no trouble looking sexy for his painting.

Day 2: Can I put my arms down now? Do I have to keep still all day with my hands behind my head? WHY CAN’T I PUT MY ARMS DOWN?

Day 3: Can I put my arms down now? It hurts.

Day 4: Shit.

Day 5: I’m not going to work today. As far as I’m concerned, he can find another model.

1312. A rustic school

It was a sad day for the little country school. After two hundred and seventy-one years it was closing. It had always been a single teacher school, with the number of pupils ranging from twelve to twenty-seven. The twelve to twenty-seven pupils would in future be bused to and from another school three quarters of an hour away.

The children were all from local farming families. All former pupils seem to have lived good and profitable lives. All seemed to have got a good basis of education. Some, usually the oldest boy although these days perhaps the oldest girl instead, went into farming. Some former pupils had excelled beyond all expectations. One was a famous nuclear physicist. Another was a research scientist for the cure of tropical diseases.

It was a happy school, and it was the centre of the local community. If the pupils put on a concert, the whole district attended, even if they had no children at the school.

It was surprising that the school was closing. More and more couples with children were moving into the area; townspeople who had bought several acres for their lifestyle dream: two alpacas and a peacock. Or a guinea fowl with piglets. Anyway, one of these lifestylers to come into the area was Ms Claudette Armstrong. She was the one responsible for getting the school closed. She had written to the Minister of Education.

Mr Higgins, the sole teacher, had to be removed. “I distinctly heard him use the word “bugger” within hearing distance of a pupil,” wrote Ms Armstrong.

“Bugger me if I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my whole life. Not even when I went through university,” said Farmer Jack. “She should bugger off back to town from whence she came.”

“I’ll be buggered if I don’t agree with you, Jack,” chimed Mrs Nora Elworthy.

Their protests went for naught. Mr Higgins was removed. The school closed.

“Now we might see the local children get a proper education,” declared a triumphant Ms Armstrong. “For too long pupils in rural schools have been disadvantaged.”