Worthing Flash

(Derek McMillan is not eligible to win the contest because he is one of the judges. I just like writing stories.) Friends and neighbours admire our roses. They have lovely colours and they give off a marvellous melange of scents. The secret, Sandy tells me, is that our roses will not thrive unless you deadhead them, chopping off the dead or dying ones so that the new growth has room to develop. It is not a job I particularly like so I was pleased when Sandy said that she was going out into the garden for a spot of deadheading. I thought her very helpful. It was only when the neighbours started complaining about the headless corpses that I smelt a rat.     

St Petersburg, 1919   Enough's enough. Today's the day I leave the elderly couple who've taken care of me the past few months. They've been attentive but kept me too long and seem resistant to my leaving.   I thank them for getting me back to strength, and their offers to find out who I am. I politely prise the old woman's fingers from the door as the old man advances, and i'm off.   The first street is plastered with newspaper, but I'm distracted by shouting and look round. A large group of people slowly bear down on me, joyful and hungry. by Ellie Herda-Grimwood      

I wrote this piece called “the plastic surgeon’s patient” for the sole purpose of having my computer respond to me after I make a few changes to it: do you want to save the changes to the plastic surgeon’s patient? by William Kitcher    

King Charming and Queen Cinderella accepted an invitation from Tsar Nicholas to visit him in Saint Petersburg. They went there by the same coach that Cinderella had used to go to the ball where she met Charming for the first time. Passing through Poland they happened to meet Ludwig Zamenhof. He was an optician but he also possessed very powerful second sight, among other talents. “Your majesty,” he said to the queen. “I perceive that you are not happy and your coach is not what it seems. Come and see me on the way back from Saint Petersburg.” The king and queen passed through Poland again on the way back from Saint Petersburg. They stopped overnight and in the morning their coach was missing. It was nowhere to be found. The tsar's police searched everywhere but eventually the king and queen had to return home by train. Cinderella did not live happily ever after with King Charming. He cheated on her with many girls and boys also, as royals are wont to do. After her divorce she w

They sat at the kitchen table, listening to the storm raging. She flinched whenever a gust rattled the windows. He gently laid his gnarled hand on hers, enfolding her trembling fingers. “Everything will be fine,” he said. “If that oak had fallen ten feet closer in the Great Storm, we’d have been crushed,” she replied. He caressed the wooden table with his free hand and smiled. “But it didn’t, we weren’t and now we have this lovely table. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” An hour later the wind died down. “You were right,” she said.    

 The phenomenon begins with a whir of wind against an ever-increasing purr. Felines drape long limbs of ancient oaks in a strange and unexpected threat outside your windowpane. Persians, Maine Coons, Bengals—hang from branches like gossamer strands of Spanish Moss. Only… these don Morion Helmets as conquistadores of old. Ready for battle, they are ranked, filed—a midnight mass, staring you down. Then, the attack… the break from stationary to stride, fangs baring serrated blades to draw the blood of revenge. Quick, grab the shutters, fasten the hook closures, dampen the burning candle wicks. The clowder is here.   by Keith Hoerner  

The frost-ruby sun creeping over Skull Crag catches Serena serenading the unsullied morning. ‘ Massive anchovy shoals spotted in Biscay Bay,’ father had said. Shin deep in glacial brine, she harvests the razor shells herded into the gaunt shadow of the Devil's Knuckles by the looming daylight. ‘ Calm seas, don't fret.’ Back aching from scooping tightly sealed clams one by one into her calf-skin sack, Serena straightens for a stolen moment to check again for father's missing trawler. Every muscle below Serena's knees is deadened by the out-flowing current, her fingers the same blue as her reddened eyes.    

  Chuck Johnson, from Grand Falls, Michigan, felt sorry for the busy young barmaid and gave her a big tip and a smile as he paid for his drink, making her smile back. He took a pull from his beer and sat there in the bar of his hotel in Munich scratching his grey beard and pondering. His day at Dachau had not gone well. The concentration camp had simply not made the impression on him that he’d expected. He’d found the parade ground staggering because it was so vast, to accommodate the thousands of prisoners lined up there to be counted; and the ovens and the ‘shower room’ for gassing the inmates had a big impact on him, for sure. But apart from that, overall he’d been surprisingly underwhelmed, and now he was trying to work out exactly why. Somehow the infamous camp was just ordinary, with that neat little entrance sign, and a main road running past it, and bus stops outside…Many of the buildings were just reconstructions. The barracks especially were inauthentic, showing the s

BAD NEWS 100 I was busy with tissue samples for testing. I know that even if it is bad news prompt treatment will usually save them or prolong their lives so I had to get it right. I glanced at the name and I gaped; it was for Pete Jones. I checked the address; yes it was him, the man who stole my girl all those years ago. I held my breath and finished the test. Then I punched the air in delight; it was cancer. I had sworn revenge one day. I sent him the all-clear letter saying re-test in two years. FLY LIKE A BIRD 100 His father smiled as he showed his son the wings he had made out of feathers and wax. “We can escape from this accused island,” he said. They hurried to the headland and stood at the cliff edge. “Follow me,” his father said; “but not too low in the sea spray and not too high in the sun.” Soon they were flying towards their freedom. The son could not believe it. He was swooping down and flying higher and higher. He felt the hot sun but then saw his feathers float away

Pride is a terrible thing. You’re meant to have it but you can’t have too much. How the hell can you tell where the line is so you don’t cross over? Yesterday’s an example: Sunday dinner with all the relatives. The inevitable question: “How’ve you been doing at school?” I could blow my own horn and say I’ve been made captain of the hockey team but I know Cousin George just got dropped in his favourite sport. So I say, “I think I’ll need some tutoring in French (George’s forte).” Mum murmurs, “I’m so proud of his diplomacy!”  Susan Cornford     

Thornton Willis pulls off the 1-15 onto Bailey Road, an undistinguished exit in the rough desert mountains forty miles past Baker with it ’ s Fresh Alien Jerky store and the tallest thermometer in the world. It had read 115 degrees. A roadside sign had indicated only 18 miles before he ’ d pass the vast array of blinding solar collectors and reach the state line wilderness of the proliferating Primm, Nevada casinos less than a half hour this side of the dazzle of Las Vegas. The prospect of driving though all that makes his head ache, his body stiff and sore. He longs to get through to the quiet. Thornton follows the meager dirt road up into the bare rock hills until he can ’ t see the freeway any more. He gets out of his car into the heat, and sits down on a rock, after covering the burning surface with a towel from the car. It ’ s better than the roadside rest area before Baker where the cars were many and the crows at the trash cans deafening. The effects of the sun are curiou

Knock. Knock. “I’m coming!” I shouted as I raced to answer the door, only to find my boyfriend, Alex Collins, standing on the doorstep. “We have to leave town.” He states, “Hello to you too,” “I’m serious.” I roll my eyes, “Okay, I’ll grab my stuff.” As I’m about to walk upstairs, I overhear a news reporter say, “We are sad to report that Alex Collins, 19, was found dead an hour ago...” A shiver runs down my spine as I turn back to Alex. If the news reporter said Alex is dead, then who is standing on my doorstep?   by Ellie S Fiander      

She said come to bed and he said not yet. He told her hurry up or they’d be late to the party and she said we don’t have to be the first ones there. She felt loving and tried to sit on his lap. He said he’d get a charley horse. He went to bed and tried to spoon. She shrugged him off, feigning sleep. She left the house before he got up. He came home late from his card game after she’d gone to bed. Sunday they went out for brunch and then had sex. Monday it began anew.   by Paul Beckman

Tonight, I wear my flip flops in our High Sierra camp, which I normally wouldn’t do, but my boots and shoes are wet and hanging up. The fire has died down, and we’re in our camp chairs watching the stars and talking memories when I feel something scurry across my naked feet, something furry, something small. I yell and stand, and then we all laugh. In camp, all summer long, we live with rodents like squirrels, chipmunks, mice, rats, and even a family of marmots that moved in this year, and they’re fine. This is their home after all, and they generally stay out of our tents because we have no food in them. We all wonder out loud how often a critter runs across our toes when we are wearing shoes. There’s something so natural about these little creatures when we live close to the earth like this, something that doesn’t frighten me. Last year, we had rats invade the attic of the house I was renting in the city, and it felt unclean. It felt like a violation even though the rats wer