Worthing Flash

Norbert Kovacs Email: norbertk@att.net Word Count: 590 words Taken for a Ride after Bon Voyage! from Los Caprichos by Francisco Goya (Spain) 1799 Jose saw no problem about climbing aboard the angel’s back in his bedroom. He had died after long illness and knew, as a spirit now, he must leave his body behind. For its part, the angel, with its broad, spread wings and lowered head, seemed both able and eager to take him. So, Jose got on, and the angel carried him away. At once, they went coasting through the night air high over his city. What a rush of speed! What a fantastic flurry of roof tops and towers! Could he have deserved as wild an adventure as this?, he asked himself. For he knew, though he kept it quiet, he had not been perfect in life. Not that he anticipated anyone to mind anymore… As they went their course, the angel dove into a couple of homes and took up other spirits who had departed life that cold, dark evening. Jose turned eagerly toward his new companions...

FRENCH RESISTENCE A True Story from My Family Archive For six years, Europe had been off limits to tourists, but by the late 1940’s, wealthy Americans were eager to embark on the 20 th Century equivalent of the Grand Tour. Two American millionaires (they’d be multi-billionaires these days) decided to take their wives on a three-month-long tour of European capital cities starting in London. After a couple of weeks, they set off on the European leg of their tour. Naturally at that time, they made the crossing to and from the Continent by ferry. Unfortunately, on both occasions the sea was rough and the journey quite uncomfortable. The Americans wondered why there was no bridge or tunnel; it was, after all, a very narrow strip of water. They resolved to do something to remedy this unsatisfactory situation so, on their return to London, began making enquiries. They soon learned that a famous tunnel engineer had just set up his own firm of consulting engineers in Upper Grosvenor S...

Heatwave A heatwave can be defined in many ways depending on where it occurs. In essence, if the temperature rises above normal for a certain period of days this is considered a heatwave. She classed it a heatwave as it was the third day in a row when the fan she had borrowed from her sister stopped doing what it should. Right in the middle of the afternoon. The apartment was airless. The heat rose from the street like a spirit wangling its way up and teasing through the stairways. She turned back from her balcony in disgust. The novelty of the unexpected weather eaten away by the lack of sleep and remorseless discomfort. It had hit with little warning on the Monday and now on Thursday evening, it was unbearable. She pinched her brow with her thumb and forefinger. The skin, dry, despite copious amounts of water, gulped from early morning. She pictured herself as a camel. She wondered what he was doing now. After reading an article on athletes who need to recover qui...

Prayer for My Father After the death of a parent, some observant Jews follow the mourning tradition of avelut, which involves going to the synagogue every day for eleven months, to say the prayer for the dead. After my father died, I wanted to honor his death by committing myself to go to temple every day to say the kaddish. The kaddish is the prayer for the dead, but it never mentions the dead. It is just another thank you prayer to a very needy and uncaring god. I went to one Saturday service, but the rituals and language felt so alien to me that I never went back.  The time in that musty old, stucco Palm Springs temple left me feeling totally disconnected from my father and my heritage. And yet I had a strong urge to memorialize my father in some manner. On my way home I drove by a desert swap meet that my father had visited many years ago and talked about until the day he could no longer speak. I parked in the sandy lot and went looking for a particular vendor. My father ...

Originally published in Anti-SF which is short for Antipodean Science Fiction Awkward Customer By Derek McMillan “A black coffee, please.” “Can I get you anything to eat?” “Well, I would quite like your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” Marie looked at the customer and decided he was probably joking. “I can do you a tongue sandwich,” she replied and he settled for that. He was the only customer in Dewhurst’s cafe at the time and she got chatting with him for want of anything better to do. “I ain’t seen yer around here, have I?” “Well, no. I’m new in town. I’m looking for work if you’re short.” Marie Dewhurst was 4ft 6 inches tall, or 1371 millimetres if you’re feeling continental. Irritatingly she was actually short of staff so Paul Aldridge (for such was his name) ended up with a job in the cafe on a trial basis. There were usually a few customers in the cafe at any one time so the first time Paul was serving — and there was only one customer — was when Daniel Barker cam...

'The Anatomy of an Award' While scrolling through messages in a common group we both belonged to, I paused at a photograph of her receiving an award, beaming in a silken saree, with the person giving the award appearing more grateful than the one receiving it. Behind them stood the bespectacled, turban clad Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan. The stage felt disproportionately large with just two occupants, as the MOC tucked into a corner urged an unseen audience to offer a resounding round of applause- the thunder echoing even without a single pair of hands in sight. A tap later, a stream of congratulatory messages followed. Drawn in by the moment, I added mine too. There are reasons to feel proud if one’s head of the institution is felicitated with such deafening applause, as seen in the video, and with such generous remarks as read in the endless reactions to this wonderful news. At the same time, I felt a quiet sadness that I could not see what others so clearly did- in fact, what mo...