Worthing Flash

Plausible Deniability The problem with being sick, she thought, is that everyone wants to take care of you but no one wants to indulge you, and what is the point of being cared for when what one requires most when one is sick is indulgence? She was tired of the flu, so she got out of bed. Her best tactic in dealing with illness, the last weapon against disease in her arsenal, was denial. She would not be sick. She fed the dog, washed the linens, showered and dressed, ate, got Dad’s coffee, emptied the dishwasher, caught up on emails, rescheduled Hugo and Shawna and Mac, asked Brenda and Rita to take the lead in the Zoom presentation tomorrow, which she would attend but would let her voice excuse her from leading. She graded all the papers. Then she woke Kat and told them they would be going to get Kat’s hair done as planned. Kat dutifully showered and dressed, but then they said, “I can drive myself. You look like you still need to rest.” “Nonsense,” she answered, “But if you ...

Welcome to the castle, pour a coffee, take a seat, Everyone’s suspicious, and most have got cold feet Traitor’s in the turret, hooded drama all the way Murder comes at midnight, so it’s a normal day   There’s a shield, and there’s a dagger, there’s a whisper in the hall Someone swore on grannies life, they’re a Faithful after all “I’m 100%, faithful” they say with nervous laugh, Which is exactly how we know, they’re planning traitorous stuff   Ok now let the game begin, I’ll go with her, you go with him Who’s a Traitor? Who’s a friend? We’ll decide and then pretend Were we right then from the start, has paranoia played its part? Pass the blame, and act dismayed, swear you knew, but were betrayed   Round table starts the evening, so cue dramatic pause Then someone clears their throat, like they’re defending a great cause “I don’t have any proof,” they say, “but I’ll say it anyway” “I just a got that feeling when you breathed in that stra...

The End 'Apocalypse Now?' 'His favourite film.' 'Really? But it's so damn long.' A strangled laugh escapes from his lips. 'Fasten your seatbelt,' he says. 'OK.’ He looks at her. 'Oh shit.' It's all he can think of to say. 'He was pissed up. As usual.' He stares down at his hands, then runs them grasping through his hair. He thinks of her hands, how they move over his yielding flesh. Then, earlier – before he got here. Jesus. He covers his open mouth with his hand and mutters through it. 'I never meant it to be taken seriously. I never thought…not for one moment, y’know?' 'Right.' 'I couldn't. She…' 'Yes?' 'You don’t understand.' 'Oh, I do. Perfectly.' He grips the steering wheel with both hands until his knuckles turn white. In silence he watches a petite tortoiseshell cat trot across the road, mouse in its jaws. It leaps onto a wall ...

Eloise Earle Sat Next To Me By Thomas M. McDade (594-Words) The first theme Eloise Earle’s read was about a rodeo bull rider. She squeezed in Faulkner’s use of the doppelganger. There were twins in Faulkner’s fire story. She had the gall to name the rider after a character in the tale. After she finished reciting, she announced Brahma riding life was for her. I wondered if Miss Horan made a written comment about rodeo animal abuse under the mark. I thought the always-present peace symbol pin suggested she had many axes to grind and it seemed out of sync with the big rock on her finger. Eloise oozed confidence. I imagined bruises from spills that I wouldn’t have minded soothing with healing lotions. My hazel eyes met her pale blues at her first unexpected “hello.” Her complexion was flawless. I thought she was too dainty to be bucking around on the backs of bulls. Her neck-length hair was auburn. Musk perfume trailed her. There was a genuine cowboy in the class named Craig who ...

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1. The Eternal Whiner (100 words, published in Wilson's Tales, 2024) The Eternal Whiner “An eternal whiner, ever hear him talking good of anybody? When he kicks the bucket, there'll be no place for him even in Hell.” I blurted out to my sister. “He taught us that our eldest bro would spend 1% of his income on us. What about him? Did he ever contribute more than 300 rupees to the family funds? How much was his monthly income as an SBI Officer?” I blabbered on, furious. ############################## Looking at the peaceful face of my brother on the pyre, I realise now that the one speaking eternally ill of the world was not my brother! The end 2. The Cold-Blooded Murder! (100 words, published in Ink in Thirds, 2025) The same whitewashed, empty space! I didn't know what Fate had willed for us that Saturday afternoon!  Can the pungent smell of the room remove the painful memory? Aman’s excited like a kid as we drove up to here. He’s sitting on the sill with nothing bu...