We hope you’re enjoying our Micro Monday series – we’re certainly enjoying publishing these marvelous miniature masterpieces!
Regular readers and subscribers will know that our Flash Fiction Competition is always open. You can win cash prizes and publication on our website, with possible print anthologies produced in the future. We received a number of entries for our November deadline, and we can’t wait to read them all. Meanwhile, the next deadline is February 2025, so get writing!
Meanwhile, here are this week’s micros – please spread the word if you enjoy them, by sharing the page or talking about them on your social media…
Day of Rest
by Joel Bryant
Police officers are banging on a door two houses down. Safer not to notice, certainly never discuss it, but they have begun disappearing the undesirables again.
Everyone is terrified, a raw visceral fear that slowly throttles you and never stops squeezing. Funny how a home can suddenly feel like a cage.
A sagging couple are dragged outside, hands cuffed and hoods covering their heads.
“Shame, they seemed nice,” my wife murmurs.
“Won’t be seeing them again,” I mutter.
“Perhaps not, today’s Saturday,” whispers my wife.
Silly of me, but I’d forgotten what the day was. Hopefully just a standard interrogation. The death squads never work Saturdays. The paperwork takes a least a day and their God doesn’t approve of executions on Sunday.
Joel Bryant is a Dorset hospital worker, re-discovering the fun of writing fiction.
Under the Folds on the Last Train Home
by Lois Anne DeLong
It was closing time at the pub, and from the window ledge, Zoe could see him. His stride, and the way the ancient topcoat flapped behind him as he was devoured by the chilly night, was unmistakable. How many nights had they walked this way after drinking Guinness and downing shots of Glenfiddich? He would be headed back to the suburbs that birthed them both, before she decided to stay. As his still confident bearing vanished, she sipped her drink and wondered, “Does that coat still smell of cigarettes and peppermints?” Willing that olfactory memory to life, the tears began running down her face as she said out loud, “Does he caress others now within its folds on the last train home?”
Lois Anne DeLong is a freelance writer living in Queens, New York, and she is an active member of Woodside Writers, a literary forum that meets weekly. Her stories have appeared in Dear Booze and in DarkWinter Literary Journal.
Enter our flash fiction competition here, to win cash prizes and publication.
Submit to our Fiction123 here.
The Truth of the Matter
by Linda Fawke
Three of us, travellers in France, eating together at a guesthouse: Alec, Barney and me.
‘I’m heading for our place in Nice,’ Alec said. ‘Spent an inheritance buying it.’
‘Really?’ Barney huffed. ‘Too hot there. I’m off to our chalet in the Alps.’
A game of ping-pong; possessions, holidays, kids’ achievements.
I mentioned I was visiting the ancestral home of Josephine de Beauharnais, now a château-hotel.
‘Before she married Napoleon,’ I explained.
Nobody seemed interested; I was no competition.
‘So it’s an early night. Must get to the bank tomorrow. The place is for sale and I’m bidding.’
Four eyes fixed on me; jaws gaped.
I left the room and waited outside. Silence. Then, ‘Well!’
I smiled. Sometimes you simply have to lie.
I write fiction and non-fiction, have self-published two novels and (recently) a non-fiction, light-hearted book about living as a retiree in the French Alps, ‘Going Downhill – A Retiree’s Guide to Ski-Bumming’. Currently, I love writing short and very short fiction.
Follow the author on X/Twitter.
The Sparrow’s Song
by David Sun
Sarah watched a sparrow stretch its wings, steadying itself against the winter wind. Flurries
ruffled its dusky feathers and pelted stubborn leaves clinging to empty branches, not yet
ready to succumb to the changing season. The sparrow launched from its perch and
disappeared, a shrinking drop of chestnut dissolving into grayscale landscape. She admired
the brave little bird. What perils awaited such a fragile, beautiful, creature? And yet, not only
does it persist, it sings.
Catching her reflection in the mirror, she stared. What perils awaited her? Would they be
worse than the days before? Sarah wiped away a tear before it smudged her eyeliner. She
would be like the sparrow. Even the sparrow facing winter’s harsh approach, still believes in
spring’s return.
David is an aspiring writer and painter. He lives in Seville, Spain with his wife and their two children.
Enter our flash fiction competition here, to win cash prizes and publication.
Submit to our Fiction123 here.
Memorable Deeds
by Oliver Lovell-Crane
When all is said and done, it shall be our deeds that define us. And my deeds are, if nothing else, memorable, remarkable some might say. For it was not only my accomplishments but in how I achieved them, how I let those who found them have just an inkling of the truth of what they had done to deserve such a fate.
Still now they argue about what to do with me, whether I am to be kept here or taken away for good, buried deep. Whether to allow my spirit to remain trapped or release it to the world where I can haunt them in the night. Whatever they choose, I will haunt them. My deeds have made sure of that.
Bio: Kent based author, currently about to release my first horror; These are Stone Devils. I like to explore the human condition and decision making in my writing, to better understand how we are as people.
Follow the author on X/Twitter.
Ice-Cream Finale
by Em Coombs
A perfect summer’s day at the beach, the cloudless sky a majestic cornflower blue. With sun glistening on the calm sea, birds soared gracefully overhead. Boldly striped deckchairs proudly lined the sea wall, providing vibrant colourful decoration. An excited child clamoured towards the promenade, having heard the welcome familiar jingle of the approaching ice-cream van promising every assortment of flavour. Undeterred by traffic separating the impatient wide-eyed child from her mouth-watering prize, she impulsively breaks free from the protective safety of the hand clasping her own. An elongated screech of brakes prevails. Overturned ice-cream melts on the ground. A sudden crashing thud before a deafening silence, fiercely shattered by her mothers blood-curdling scream.
Born in Somerset Em is a Liverpool-based writer whose thought-provoking style delves into the depths of human emotion and vulnerability. Shortlisted for Writing On The Wall Pulp Idol 2020 and longlisted for the flash fiction Paul Cave Prize for Literature 2023, Em published her first full-length novel, ‘The Pier’, with Tim Saunders Publications in March 2024.
Enter our flash fiction competition here, to win cash prizes and publication.
Submit to our Fiction123 here.
Mompy’s Lovemaking Session
by Sukanya Majumdar
Mompy lay flat on top of her lesbian partner’s naked body in bed. It was an intense lovemaking session they had, with her lover moaning out softly from time to time. Her partner suddenly asked, “Do you love me?”
Mompy smirked, “Ab, it’s just my consistency I don’t get deeply connected anymore. Sorry dear.”
“So it’s just physical?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“You’re a liar. You don’t have a physical body. You love me… that’s why you come back.”
What?”
Startled, Mompy could suddenly sense herself dissipate into the thin air. Abbie wiped her tears and put on her shirt.
Bio: I have worked professionally in the content writing and copywriting industry in India. I belong to the lgbtq community, being a part of which is frowned upon in India. Let’s just say we are fighting our battles.
Enter our flash fiction competition here, to win cash prizes and publication.
Submit to our Fiction123 here.
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