Worthing Flash

All my aunts had red hair, each a different shade. Vernelle’s was orange. That day, years ago, she poured a glass of iced tea and stuck a wedge of lemon on the glass, “like society people,” she said. She had dropsy and never learned to read. She looked at pictures in movie magazines. We went to Woolworth’s every Saturday and that day she bought a bottle of Persian Melon nail polish. We sat at the dinette table and I painted her nails, dabbing at smears with a cotton ball. She talked about her ex-husband John Robert. “He was a good man,” she said. Smiled when I agreed with her. She lived with grandmother her whole life. I found that 40-year old picture of her when I moved last year. It was taken on Easter Sunday. She wore a dark coat, looked tall and dignified. I didn’t really know her I thought. “Come here,’ she’d say when I was little, “sit on my lap. I want to spend some time with you.” It’s summer. We’re on the porch and a little metal fan is blowing. Her sisters nickn

The Prime Minister smiled. “Nothing,” he said, “could be more important than the climate crisis. We could be facing endgame for the human race unless we take action over the next decade.” “What action?” “Well. I'm glad you asked me that question. This issue is incredibly important and we have to turn all this rhetoric into deeds.” “And what measures do you suggest?” “Yes we will take action. Decisive action.” “And precisely?” “I cannot deal in specifics. It is not in my remit. But decisive action to ramp up our response to this global issue.” “It's incredibly important.”       Derek McMillan has had stories published in Page and Spine and Sledgehammer magazines. His bestseller is the audiobook "Brevity" which is available on eBay

My grandmother was a divorced working woman, a rarity in those days. I’d stand next to her at the kitchen counter as she poured soured milk into chocolate cake batter and told stories—made-up stories. She was superstitious and brewed the strongest green tea I’ve had since. She buried talismen in the backyard. So Irish, with her old lady shoes. I don’t think she taught me much by speaking, but mostly by my being able to spend time with her. I watched her care and concentration on whatever was at hand. Now, I feel a strong connection. My first adventure was a train trip with her from St. Louis to Chicago and how she permitted me, at seven, to sip coffee from the cardboard cup the conductor handed me as we rolled by the flaming orange trees outside the windows that October. Those little round spectacles set low on her nose—taking in the world.    

Christmas is coming, just in case you hadn't noticed.  #worthingflash is celebrating with five flash fiction stories during advent and the twelve days of Christmas. Stories by Alan Joseph Kennedy Keith Windsor Chella Courington (two stories c omplete with illustrations by Kendall Johnson) Cathy Cade There is still time to submit your own story by email to worthingflash@gmail.com .

Boggle-de-bog, shlopelly-shlop. Our old boiler heated enough water for the twenty people who lived in the house. There were several students, a newly wed couple, some travelling salespeople, a French man who played the violin, two old ladies and us. Twenty people who would wash and shower and scrub. They'd fill pails to pour over their cars. They'd douse their children with warm water on sunny days, sloshing bucket after bucket for the fun of it. The faithful boiler, with her dials and pipes, her hisses and gurgles and her one-two-three-four heartbeat, would warm gallons on cold days and fine days, through sadness and laughter, filth and sparkle-clean, spick and span. We splashed and soaked, and the hot water rarely ran out. The boiler did her best when my mother had the baby. We washed him in a ceramic basin in the sink. The old girl hissed and squealed when my grandfather had a stroke and went to a better place. She acquired a sheen of condensation on her surface

I awoke to the sound of tea sellers and the jerk of the compartment. I looked out through the window of the Rajasthani express. The name was readable, and I saw 'ERNAKULAM JUNCTION'. I was on my way from Trivandrum to Mumbai. There was loud noise of thunder outside. The sky was dark, and it was drizzling rain after heavy rain. The train was late already. I wanted to have a tea and looked out through the window. The tea sellers had already moved far away from my compartment. I got down in the platform and reached the tea stall. As I was finishing my tea, I could see the slow movement of the train. I started running towards the entrance and caught hold of the handle. I lost balance and was about to fall back. Suddenly I could feel a soft hand with bangles holding me tightly. I regained my balance and bent towards inside the train. Another hand caught the lady who pulled me inside. It took few minutes to come to my senses. I said 'Thanks.' I looked at the fac