Worthing Flash

Place - St Symphorian's Atkinson Room. New Road, Durrington

Time - 2 pm

Date - 4th July
Anyone with an interest in flash fiction is welcome. There will be five main speakers who will share their flash fiction with the audience and then the audience are invited to share their own flash fiction or discuss the topic.
Speakers
 Régine Demuynck   Frances Edington    Bronwen Griffiths    Derek McMillan    Julie C. Round Tea and biscuits will be provided 

I had finally gotten settled into first grade when the principal walked in with her hand on a girl’s shoulder and announced, “Boys and girls this is Constance. She just moved to town and will be in this class. Constance, there are six empty seats, chose one.” 

The Principal turned the expressionless Constance towards the class. She looked like a cartoon figure—a skinny girl with stringy brown hair, wearing a dress made from rice sacks and lace. Her socks must’ve slid down her legs to lie on her mud-streaked shoes.
Without looking around she walked down the aisle and she sat in the empty seat next to me I nodded but I wanted to hold my nose. She smelled. I knew what sweat smelled like, but she didn’t smell of sweat, she smelled a strange soap or perfume smell that I feared was going to leap off her and onto me.

We stayed at our seats for lunch and the teacher passed out little cartons of white or chocolate milk and a straw. I had a system. I took chocolate if I had meat and white milk if …

I looked at the opening I had created a few moments ago. It had caused me pain and sadness but it had also taken determination simply to carry out my decision. There was no going back. I felt there was no other option. Truly I was not sure how it got that far in the first place. I was only in my twenties, where had it all gone wrong? When had this feeling which permeates my life started weighing on me like a boulder? What had led me to this momentum day?
I thought back to a younger me, at 9 years old. Finding out that the hero I worshipped and had put on a pedestal had fallen from it with a big bang. My dad, my hero! Well, how would I know at 9 years old what having a nervous breakdown means? What did I know about mental health? I just could not believe that this man, in my eyes always tall, strong and whom I loved, was the same as this whimpering, crouched up, crying man, rocking in a chair. This man who had fathered 3 children was now a child himself, unexpectedly requiring…

Whether you are under house arrest, self-isolation or working from home, the C virus has a lot to answer for.
Still, people are resilient. My son tells me that everyone in the world seems to want to WhatsApp or Skype him. We are working hard on getting an elderly relative to understand how to make video calls on WhatsApp so it is an educational time. Even the humble telephone can help us to keep in touch.
I will renew my request for people to email stories to me at worthingflash@gmail.com. Now is as good a time as any. The stories need not be about isolation of course, something completely different will lighten the atmosphere.
The blog will be regularly publicised on Facebook and twitter #worthingflash and by old-style email.
I have told the U3A that I will take a decision about the 4th July event in June when we have a clearer idea. I would like to meet you all (OK our overseas writers may be unable to come) but I am not going to be reckless with anyone's health.

Those facebook …

Vishwas visits only on weekends. Those three days we become a real family. But the Sunday night is always tough on all three of us. We were in Chandana’s room, tucking her in bed. A full-day outing and lots of her favourite food were making her drowsy. "Dad, are you leaving tomorrow?" "Yes." "Supreet’s dad also comes on Thursday and leaves on Monday. But he’ll not leave this Monday. Supreet is getting operated on Tuesday." I flinched. But she was absorbed in the thought. "So cool, na? He’ll get ten days off from school! So nice, na?" "Those ten days won’t be fun, Chandana. He’ll be lying in the hospital." "Yes! But Mom, he’ll get a huge TV with all his favourite cartoons and a games console, too! He can play any time he wants!" She clearly remembered. "Dad, will they cut him? Will there be blood?" "It’s time for bed! You got an early football practice tomorrow!" VIshwas was swift to change the subject. "Yo…

House manager Morgan came into my room. He sniffed the air and looked disapproving. “Mrs Towne,” he began, “The Cobra Committee has issued an edict that there are to be no more visitors.” I didn't mind. Old age had picked off my friends and family like a sniper. “And you cannot go out,” he added. “You'll just have to wait here until you die.” He smiled to show it was a joke. Hilarious. I was truly isolated now. The other residents were deaf or dumb or their brain was out to lunch, or all three. Then the telephone rang. Derek McMillan

Pot Pourri - a collection of short stories and flash fiction by Derek McMillan, edited by Angela McMillan