Worthing Flash

The dogs barked at the door. Dusk was gathering early, now the clocks had changed. Out here, in the middle of fields, I didn’t get trick-or-treaters. The two youngsters living up the drove didn’t bother dressing up for our few terraced houses. I shouted at the dogs to stop barking and sought treats to offer. There wasn’t even a biscuit in the house. When I lived in the suburbs, I’d always bought in supplies of sweets for Halloween to reduce the risk of having eggs thrown at the door. It didn’t always work, but I drew the line at encouraging extortion by handing out coins. I remembered I’d emptied the last of my small change into the Poppy collection box at the newsagent. The barking didn’t put off our callers who rang the doorbell again. Too late, now, to pretend I wasn’t here. I shut the dogs in the living room and opened the door on two shadowy figures, reminding me I had yet to replace the porch light bulb. Before my eyes materialised a copy of the Watchtower. ‘Are you co...

We had been lovers for three months when I noticed that subtle change; somehow things were not the same. I knew it was over and I knew there was nothing I could do. She wanted to move on; there was no reason to suspect she was seeing someone else but she needed to ease me out of her life. We both had high expectations of something long-term but perhaps mine were higher than hers and perhaps she realised she could not go on with it. But being realistic it was better now than later when perhaps marriage, house purchase and even children made life more complicated. We had seen each other a few times when I was meeting up with friends but not taken much notice of each other. Then it was at a meal we happened to sit next to each other and we talked all evening; on impulse I asked if I could see her home. She’d mentioned in passing where she lived and it was a couple of streets away from me and. She agreed and when we got there she asked me in for tea; I feel sure it was for us at first ju...

37,287 people have visited the #worthingflash blog. I would love to get stories to fit with the season, Halloween, Guy Fawkes and Christmas, Diwali, Hanukkah. ...Kwanzaa. ...Boxing Day. Tell all your friends, #worthingflash welcomes stories whether they are linked to seasonal events or not. Anything from 75 to 1000 words. Email your masterpiece to worthingflash@gmail.com http://worthingflash.blogspot.com https://www.facebook.com/worthingflash All the best Derek .  

‘I killed the cat,’ Alex announced as we were sitting down to tea. We carried on eating the beans on toast. ‘He was downstairs. He’s supposed to stay upstairs so I had to,’ she added by way of explanation. Eventually, she told us about her day. She had been arranging the flowers in the garden. We all admired the colourful display. Before that she had had to kill all of the zombies in the swimming pool. Then there was that whole business with the giant spiders with the red eyes. If you think life is tough, you should try Minecraft.  by Derek McMillan Author Page on Amazon    

'I didn’t steal the money,’ the girl said to the man sitting opposite her. ‘You stole it.’ ‘It wasn’t me.’ ‘They found the money in your locker.’ ‘I didn’t steal it.’ ‘Yes, you did,’ he said, grabbing her wrist. ‘No.’ ‘The money was in your locker. You stole it.’ ‘No. You stole it. You put it there.’ ‘You’re deluded. Why would I do a thing like that?’ he banged his fist on the table, making her jump back as if she had been shot. ‘You aren’t going to get away with it. You stole it,’ she said, once she had composed herself. He laughed. ‘Tell me, why would I steal money and plant it on you?’ ‘Cause I broke up with you. You don’t like not being the one in control. You told me I’d pay for making you look a fool.’ ‘You’re crazy.’ ‘You made me crazy,’ she smiled. ‘You destroyed my life. I’ll make you pay.’ ‘Who’ll me make pay?’ ‘I will.’ ‘You? You’re a silly little girl and you’ll make me pay?’ he sneered. ‘Yes.’ ‘How?’ ‘Kill you. Then myself.’ ...

A roadrunner, camera shy, sneaks off into the underbrush just as I spy it. Except that one day when I was out with my camera photographing the various outcropping of rocks, the winding trails and curves of land, weird arrangement of broken grass or trash left in the undeveloped area above our housing development. This was before the hundred homes erected over the last few years. The place where this occurred, not bulldozed yet. I was snapping shots in one direction, turned around, and there was that roadrunner standing quite near on a rise. I slowly raised my camera—digital—took one photo and another as the bird turned one way and stopped still, hearing the clicks, yet not connecting them to me. It took a step one way, pivoted, confused. I continued taking pictures until it gave up—outwitted, probably by the configuration of stones all around, ricocheting sound—and performed its usual disappearing trick. by Lavina Blossom  Lavina is primarily a poet and painter, living...

Someone’s watching. There’s a presence. Like something blowing softly at the back of my neck on a sweltering hot day but I can’t sense it yet. I don’t ask who it is because it’s that little girl in my head, again. I know her but I don’t know it yet. I watch her watch me react to the stares of my partner, my mother, my in-laws and the neighbors. They point fingers. I am sick, unappealing, inhuman. I pick up a rock and SMASH the heads of bullies but I actually don’t, because I can’t because I’m powerless. She watches, indignant, silent and sad. “ I don’t want to live without my mommy!” My child of eight says between sobs when I try to slash my wrists. ͠͠ 1,2,3,4. Shhhhh… You are now in the center of the cyclone . ͠ It’s quite something. All the yings and yangs and chi and chakras running like mad chicken fleeing a coup when the doctors tell me I can’t live. You see of course I can go on living, but what they’re telling me is that I can’t really be ALIVE. ...