By Allen Billy
Contact! Target sighted, in range. Clear on all sides, approach vector optimal. No friendlies or enemies visible.
Faint sounds of the ongoing conflict in the offshore fishery drift in.
Move in to complete mission. Weapon good, safety off, approach considered safe, all sides still clear.
Launch! Close on target, move fast. I have a clear shot – can fire.
Have fired! Evade, dip and duck, use cover.
A quick backward look confirms the target suffered a direct hit.
That’s one windshield that won’t glare for a while.
Time to fly to the fishery to refuel and recharge the primary weapon.
Allen is a new flash fiction writer and writes to have fun with life’s experiences.
By Sandy Wilson
The fairground crone gave her three wishes. Eleanor laughed and wished for a holiday. The next morning she won a holiday for two in Magalluf. When she told her dad she was taking Darren, he said, “No you’re not!”
“I wish you were dead!” she said truculently. After her father’s funeral she lay on her bed floating in a sea of misery. Then she remembered; she had one wish left!
She raced back to her dad’s grave. “I wish you were alive!” she shouted. Nothing seemed to happen. Of course, she couldn’t hear her father screaming six feet beneath her.
“I enjoy examining and dissecting emotions whether writing memoirs, fiction or poetry.” – the writer
By Pat Brunson
By Mrs. Jerry Wilson
Jerry Wilson said it a thousand times, “Cats are so damn stupid.” White Socks had nicked herself on a tuna can three times in the last eight years. All minor lacerations.
His wife said, “Then don’t give her a sharp can!” She rushed Jerry to the emergency room. The cat oblivious to all the drama.
“Yes Mr. Wilson, your fingers will need stiches,” the ER physician said. “Aren’t you the same guy I stitched up his fingers six months ago?” Jerry nodded.
“It’s essential only your wife operate the can opener.”
“I write to make people smile, whether in a journal article, short story, or cartoon.” – the writer
By M.J. Christie
I wondered if my date might think it weird. But she didn’t say anything, just smiled. Even when we settled down to order a fruit smoothie, she remained unaffected. Not the reaction I’d expected, if I’m honest. What woman would accept a man who wears a mask on their first meeting? It’s no ordinary mask. Not like one of those worn at the Carnival of Venice. It’s a gorilla mask. One more qualified to wear at a robbery rather than an afternoon of togetherness.
“Yes?” Finally, she’s going to ask me, ‘why?’.
“Wouldn’t you prefer the banana smoothie?”
“Writing gives me focus. It’s a rewarding and sometimes painful pastime but without it I’d be lost.” – the author
By Michael Bloor
On Andy’s stag night, Willie Macleod claimed that Joe Stalin was supposed to possess just four English phrases:
‘You said it;’
‘What the hell goes on here?’ and,
‘The toilet is over there.’
In retrospect, it was clearly unwise for Willie to make a bet that he could conduct himself through the whole of Fiona and Andy’s wedding solely by utterance of Stalin’s four phrases. True, he managed to deliver the first three successfully. But, at the reception, he really should have admitted defeat when Fiona’s mum asked him how he liked the smoked eel canapés.
Michael Bloor is a retired sociologist living in Dunblane, Scotland, who has discovered the exhilarations of short fiction.
By John L. Malone
I’m sorry you had to see it.
It’s just that you walked in on me
When you were meant to be asleep.
I was in the middle of …
O, what’s the use?
You’ve seen it now.
You know the score.
Mum doesn’t need to know.
Go back and pretend you
Never saw a thing.
Me with my Santa hat and bag of goodies
And let me get on with my wrapping.
John is a South Australian writer of poetry, short stories and lately flash fiction. He is in the process of moving house which may be reflected in his writing.