Worthing Flash

Sarah and I reluctantly volunteered to clear Steve’s house after his death because no one else was prepared to do it. He was single with no close friends, just a few people like us he met up with from time to time, mostly in the pub. His remaining relatives after swiftly taking all valuables and financial papers, indicated their intention to send in a large skip but gave us a couple of weeks to take or dispose what we wanted first. Poor sad Steve; he wasn’t that old and was younger than all our circle of friends. But he went downhill very suddenly. For some years now he hadn’t taken good care of himself. He took little exercise, his diet was poor and he drank far too much. It was not really a surprise when he collapsed and died.   So we began the task of sorting his stuff. The first part was easy; any books were bagged up ready for the charity shops and his clothes went straight for recycling as they had probably all come second-hand some considerable time ago. But at the ve...

Arthur, High King of All Britannia, was extremely worried. “Britannia is being torn apart by war. It's not just the Picts of Alba against the Scots of Dalriada. Rheged is fighting against Elmet, Dumnonia against Cornovia, and the Ordovices of Gwynedd against the Morganau of Demetia. With my vassals fighting one another I fear that the invading Angles, Jutes, Norsemen and Saxons will form a united kingdom instead of me. What am I to do?” Wise Merlin answered the king. “We need magic, sire, and there is no magic more powerful than music. The Greeks used to fight among themselves but the Olympic festival ended that. Only when young Greeks decided to perform their athletics without the aid of music did they succumb to Roman rule. I recommend you summon bards from all over the kingdom.” So King Arthur summoned bards from all over Britannia, from the islands of Lyonesse to the west of Cornovia even to the islands of Zetland in the frozen north. Soon the streets of Camelot rang wit...

A small room, over-heated. The sky outside grey like the man’s hair. A desk. Not quite grey, not quite white. A young man. Hair, black and slightly woolly. Eyebrows also black. Grey-haired man. ‘What is the purpose of your visit?’ Young man. ‘I have been invited to speak at the Festival of Words.’ ‘Words?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘On what topic?’ ‘Words, sir.’ A pause. A raindrop sliding down the window. ‘Words does not describe the topic Mr…?’ ‘Mr. Abias, sir. ‘Mr. Abias please describe the topic you will be speaking on.’ A pause. The click of a radiator. ‘The title of my piece is the impact of the Colonial Mind on the literature of Angola in the late 20 th century.’ The grey-haired man taps his pen on the desk that is neither white nor grey. ‘The Colonial mind. Is that how you see us, Mr. Abias?’ ‘It depends, sir.’ ‘On what Mr. Abias?’ ‘On who is speaking, sir.’ ‘Why do you persist in calling me sir?’ ‘Because I do not know your name.’ ...

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by Rajan V Kokkuri It was the last day of my work. All my friends had arranged a small party. It was the turn of my boss to say a few words. "Most of you know that VK is a hard worker and helped us to meet the targets on time and also trained the team very well." " But what I have to tell is a different story. Few people do things without being told, that is VK’s nature. He will go an extra step to see that work is done in time with quality." " He will see that everyone is happy around him whether it is office boy or the director. I would request our team to copy this attitude from him." “ One day I was away for a client meeting and reached home late. When I reached home my wife was just waiting for me.” “‘ Oh my god. Do you know what happened today? Our son was having high fever in the morning after you left for the office. I did not know what to do. I called you up at your office. The phone was ringing and there was no answer. I was very despe...

The kitchen is stuffy, the window so crusted with finger-marks, grease and dust that it makes the trees outside look like photocopies of themselves.    The floor is scattered with debris - breadcrumbs and fragments of crisps, tea leaves, curled up rocket, maybe a seed here and there – a forensic free-for-all. He hoards food. The table is piled high with bread, some recently bought - others, encased in plastic, bloom with green spots of mould. There are rolls, flatbreads, pittas, cut loaves and pastries. Cookies, cheese biscuits, gluten-free biscuits, chocolate chip biscuits. Gingerbread stars in a large red plastic tin. Two tubs of butter. Tabasco sauce. A large packet of sugar. A toothbrush. A jar of pickles. A honeydew melon. A mug containing cold tea.    Do not dare not look inside the fridge. It is taped closed and dirty whirls mark its edges.    I do not judge. I only wish for rubber gloves, cleaning fluids and rubbish bags. ...

Over time without measure, for indeed time was not yet born, over distance unimaginable, or perhaps densely confined within an atom’s core the attraction grew. In the dark - for light, too, awaited birth In the heat – or in its absence the attraction grew. Tighter and tighter the embrace, deeper and deeper the thrust and pulse, all into nothing, nothing into all until where there was nothing, there was all. The climax hurled stars screaming across the all. When? Where? How? All we know: it was the biggest of Bangs and we are its children. Patricia Feinberg Stoner follow my mewsings at  http://www.paw-prints-in-the-butter.com laugh with the ladies at   https://youtu.be/_70Qys5zOpc see my books at  https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00O36LKRE