Showing posts from October, 2020

No Escape

  I awoke smelling smoke, jumped from bed, ran to the front door, and looked out. The ridge top road was ablaze. There was no escape. I quickly dressed, grabbed a flashlight, and headed out the back door. I ran downhill toward the valley floor through poison oak, over fallen branches, around trees, and through bushes, until I came to the road. I paused to breath.  Then I saw flames in both directions. Again, no escape. I passed out. When I came to, Saint Peter was standing nearby and said “You’re a lucky man. No more flames for you.”

The Magic Box by Darren York

  “She may or may not come back . . . let’s open the box and see.” With the magic word Alfonzo opened the door to reveal his volunteer . . . but she wasn’t there. The audience laughed. He closed the door. “Now, this time, everybody say the magic word: gizmo.”  Again Alfonzo opened the door and the the girl hadn’t materialised. He tried again. Empty. Security were called, her parents began shouting at Alfonzo; then the police turned up. The magic box was taken apart.  The greatest magic trick ever? Alfonzo didn’t know how he’d done it, but the acclaim was worth a life sentence.    

It Was a Most Unusual Day

  Today I walked across my back yard and fell into a sink hole. I had no desire for this experience Or many other experiences like flipping my car over Or being cornered by a bob cat Or my Uncle Yossel who loved giving Hungarian Peaches (noogies) And feeling up the nieces Until I lay in wait for him when he came to my house one night And I trussed him up like the pig he was and tossed him into the sink hole. And Began shoveling   Paul Beckman’s latest flash collection, Kiss Kiss (Truth Serum Press) was a finalist for the 2019/2020 Indie Book Awards. Some of his stories appeared in Spelk, Connotation Press, Necessary Fiction, Litro, Pank, Playboy, WINK, Jellyfish Review, and The Lost Balloon. He had a story selected for the 2020 National Flash Fiction Day Anthology Lineup and was short listed in the Strands International Flash Fiction Competition. Paul curates the FBomb NY flash fiction reading series monthly in KGB’s Red Room (Currently Virtual).


Image   This is an open invitation to any of the writers of #worthingflash to post links to their blog links if they want to.   Mine is     

Christmas Puddings

“Do you think we’ll be able to celebrate Christmas this year,” Carol asked. “Depends on the Government’s virus regulations,” Chris replied. “Why?” “I’ll need to make the pudding soon. Twelve portions, to feed all the family.” “Can’t you make individual ones? If we can get together, we’ll cook all of them. If not, you and I can eat them two at a time!” Chris suggested. “Or we could send them to the kids as presents. That way even though we can’t meet, we’ll still be eating the same thing.” “Lovely idea. Let’s do that!” Carol started writing her shopping list.   by Josie Gilbert

The Unseen Beauty

    I was walking back to my house after finishing my special school class. There was no street light and I found very difficult to walk in the dark. As I was walking I saw a man following me. His head was covered and his face was not visible. I reached home and mum was waiting at the gate of the villa itself. Mom asked me ‘What happened dear?’ I said ‘Someone was following me, I think he is waiting near the turning.’ Suddenly the street light flashed and I could see his face. His face was ugly and I got frightened. Mom reached out to him and talked for a minute and caught hold of his hand and led him to our home. I followed mom and entered the house. I had noticed that the stranger was wearing old torn clothes. He looked very tired and poor.  I reached mom in the kitchen. Mom was arranging some food for him. I said ‘Mom, why did you bring him in?’ Mom replied ‘Dear child, please wait here till I give him some food.’ I was not happy and got angry. ‘Mom,why don’t you feed me instead of


  Words Three across “An African country”, seven letters? Oh that’s easy “Namibia”. But that would make five down four letters “A type of ancient musical instrument”, “Byre”, when it obviously “Lyre”; So it can’t be “Namibia” then can it! And it makes seven down, eight letters “Cattle thieves”, “Austlers” instead of “Rustlers”. You are just rubbish at this aren’t you, I don’t know why I ask you! Please don’t shout at me! I will shout at who I want! Oh...can’t we just have a cross word, without a cross word? .....Perhaps it’s “Senegal”! Shut up!! Don McBeth


  Plummet   When you plummeted from the suspension bridge you resembled a leaf falling. Later on the news I learned your name and your age, which was forty two, a significant number. I remembered this from a well-known book I’d read before, though you yourself were not famous. I wondered, as you tumbled, did you think of your children (a boy of six, girl of ten) or the husband who beat you, the unwashed clothes in the linen basket or your three goldfish, or did you think of your lover’s mouth, soft as a petal on your own; your red beating heart?   Bronwen Griffiths    

Morning conversation.

  Morning conversation. Patricia Feinberg Stoner Bark, bark, bark! Eat your breakfast. Grrf? I said eat your breakfast. I’ve eaten my breakfast, look, the bowl’s clean. Is it time now? No, I’ve got to make coffee. Awww. Bark, bark, bark! NO! no more barking. Bark And no more rebellious little woofs. Is that coffee I smell? I can smell it! It must be time now. Is it? Yes, all right, it’s time. Bark! Bark! BARK! Stop running round in circles. How am I going to get your collar on? There now. WHOOPS! Will you stop towing me out of the door? Silence.   A tale of accidental expatriates Tales of love and laughter in the land of vines Patricia Feinberg Stoner