Worthing Flash

Heaven’s Gate I’m never drinking with Seraphim again. Bastards. Getting into a theological debate was a bad idea. Taking the bet was worse. It’s not that I don’t support the Watcher’s strike. But, closing the gate, forever? My species can’t have got that bad. Raziel just laughed. “Alright,” he said. “You try. I’ll grant one last place. Just one. And I’ll bet you can’t even fill that.” So here I am. Scouring humanity. And I’ve probably lost my own slot, what with the coat stealing. But, those gilt-winged gits dropped me here buck naked. I’ll plead entrapment, Pete’s a good guy, he’ll understand. And I’m losing. Raziel was right, things have changed. The city is a cold sea of scowls and selfish aspirations, drowning kindness in its tide. The crowd may move as one, but they live apart. A man slumps beside me on the bench, cloaked in dirt and body odour. “ You look like shit,” he says. “When’d you last eat?” I shrug. I don’t think “fifty years ago” would go down well. “...

By N J Crosskey I’m wearing a cream blouse. The air smells of lavender and bleach. The woman beside me kisses my cheek. “Bye Mum,” she says, and I realise it’s Meghan. Silly of me, must be the new ‘do. She looks so different. I forget things sometimes. That’s why I’m here, I think it’s… a word flies across my mind so quickly I can’t hold onto it. I chase it, but it’s gone. So has Meghan. I walk down the corridor to the lounge. The fraying, floral chairs are occupied by people much older than I. The woman beside me must be ninety if she’s a day. I’m only… well, I’m not sure exactly, but I’m much younger. She smiles at me, I smile back. “I’m new,” I say. “ That’s nice,” she replies. “Have you ever been to Storrington? I’m from Storrington. Course there wasn’t much to do there. I always caught the number thirty-seven into town-” She talks, a lot. I listen politely as she tells me every nuance of her life. It’s not until she says, “I must telephone my father, he’ll be drea...

By N J Crosskey (Originally published by The Teacup Trail) Someone had stolen Aurora’s thunder. She had kept it in a jar under her bed precisely to prevent that sort of thing. She’d heard tell of the thunder thieves, the grown-ups talked of them sometimes when they thought she wasn’t listening. It had somehow happened to Aunt Lucy at her engagement party, perhaps she had been distracted by all the merriment and the robbers had taken advantage. Mrs Dante down the road had fallen prey to the crime whilst giving a speech at the country club, but for some reason her parents had been pleased to hear of her misfortune. Aurora had no idea why thunder was such a valuable commodity, but she had reasoned that if it was worth stealing then it must be treasure. She had no other treasures, apart from Heidi, who she had to admit was not ageing very well. Despite seven cosmetic surgery procedures she was still greying at the edges and leaking stuffing. So she had carefully removed an old jam...

By N J Crosskey “ Zero points for originali-ti-ness, you bastards,” Rhys yelled. He pulled at the cuffs holding his hands behind his back. They didn’t give. When he looked down the cracked pavement was spinning, a kaleidoscope of pinks and greys. When he looked up, the streetlight overhead flooded his retinas with a sickening orange haze. He groaned, the bile churning in his guts. What had been in that last pint? “ What’s up mate?” Ed yelled from across the street. “Feeling a little WOOLLY headed?” The pack of Neanderthals he called colleagues roared, slapped each other on the back, and disappeared into the bar. Great. At least the inflatable sheep strapped to his middle was covering his (now painted green) modesty. But seriously, how predictable. Welsh name, Welsh parents – doesn’t matter if you’ve never actually lived there, you will, on the eve of your nuptials, end up with a white plastic effigy on your groin. It was horribly inevitable. God, he needed to scratc...

We've caught another CCD. We're gathering at the wind farm by the shore to witness the processing. The turbine for the execution is modified to always face the sea but its blades still rotate. Much of Castle Goring appears over the water at low tide but only rarely is the tide low enough for any of Worthing to be seen. First the question. “Do you, Joshua Josephson, believe in climate change and acknowledge that it has been caused by human greed and stupidity?” “No, it's all bollocks. I don't believe it.” “So, Joshua Josephson, you are guilty of climate change denial. You are hereby sentenced to death by crucifixion.” The three blades of the turbine don't literally form a cross. Josephson's arms are tied to the blades in a 120 degree angle. At one time we restrained the CCDs' heads, but that enabled them to strangle themselves quickly and the whole point is that they should die slowly. They have a heart monitor attached so we know when they...

“Pity the tan’ll start to fade as soon as we get back,” Jim sighed, as he dropped his clothes in slow-motion, one by one, into a sizeable hold case. For a split-second Jan watched as Jim struggled to zip up the case, then broke off from her own packing and pushed him aside, snapping: “You’ll never get them in like that. We’ll miss the airport coach. Let me do it.” “I’d have had no trouble packing, if it wasn’t for those floaty bits of flim flam you couldn’t get in your own case,” Jim objected. “You never wore most of them. You were hardly out of your bikini.” Now the awful moment had come for the long journey home. When they were first married, Jan would ask: “Jim, where would you like to go this year?” as she leafed through the holiday brochures. “Wherever you like, babes, you know I’m easy.” Jan liked to organise and plan ahead, so that kept them both happy. Jan and Jim did everything together and kept no secrets from one another – until the day Jan noticed an odd-looking ...

Aliksander Chess The chess Grand Master Aliksander had trained for six months for this encounter. His calculations during his training were all done on paper because he was certain computers talked to each other and he didn't want his laptop giving his strategy away. He did not need to touch the chess pieces. The virtual board was in a TV studio a hundred miles away. The world was watching. The entity he was up against was actually a network. His publicity agent had billed the match as “The Grand Master Aliksander versus The Internet.” It was a bit of an exaggeration but Aliksander's alimony had not been cheap and he was looking forward to reviving the sales of his books on strategy with some inexpensive publicity. “ D2-D4.” He began. His calculations gave a 49 percent probability of “D7-D5” being the response. “ You must be joking.” was the unexpected reply. There was a pause. “ Who are you?” “ Oh isn't that just typical. You don't even kn...