Poll

Which 3 out the 8 get your vote?

Untitled
7 (14.3%)
Just One Little Snag
4 (8.2%)
Travelling Light
9 (18.4%)
One Night Stand
10 (20.4%)
Fly Away
4 (8.2%)
New Beginnings
7 (14.3%)
The Interview
4 (8.2%)
Memories
4 (8.2%)

Total Members Voted: 17

Voting closed: October 07, 2012, 06:32:23 PM

Author Topic: Choose your Flash Fiction # 53 favourites *** Voting Closed***  (Read 775 times)

Offline 510bhan

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Choose your Flash Fiction # 53 favourites *** Voting Closed***
« on: September 30, 2012, 06:32:23 PM »
We have 8 stories -- 4 in this box and 4 in the box below [space limitations]. Please have a read through the entries and use all 3 of your votes for us to find a winner. ;) ;) ;) ;) The poll will be up for a week so voting will end on October 6th.

Best of luck everyone and thank you for your submissions.

Voters -- enjoy.



1 Untitled

"Hey, George, your phone is ringing. Answer your phone. George, this is your phone ringing. Answer your phone, George!"

Crud, blood, mud, thud. Why had I ever put that stupid ringtone on my phone?

"Hey, George, your phone is ringing. Answer your phone. George, this is your phone ringing. Answer your phone, George!"

Ok, that was really annoying. Who in the world could be trying to.. OH MEADOW MUFFINS!

"Hi, hi, it's me.. Yes, yes, I know what time it is. I was just...um...yeah, I'll be right there! No, you don't need to call a cab, I swear, I'll practically there right now, I just a few..."

Great. Just great. I finally get a chance to spend 10 hours with the Muse of Writing, only to mess it up, big time!

Where are my keys? Where are my pants? Shoes, shoes, I need shoes. Shirt, yes, that's good.

Hey, a note! On the coffee pot.


"Dear George, Thanks for a lovely time. Let's do it again, soon. XXXOOO, Lily"

Lily? Oh, right, that red-head. Man, she had some....Yikes, that's hot! Ow! Ow!

Ok...lessee, keys, wallet, phone -Don't forget the phone!-Laptop! I've got to take my laptop!

Lock the door, you goof! That's right, check it. Don't want to come home to a room full of balloons. Again.

Ok, alarm off? Yep, and...only 45 miles left in the tank. Shoot! Gotta get gas, too!

Hey, it started right up! Yay! Something's going right. Ok, let's go this show on the road!


"Hey, George, your phone is ringing. Answer your phone-"

"George here, who's that? Oh, hi Missus Ferguson. No, I don't have a cat. No. No, I know you have rules about pets. I swear, I don't have a.. No. No clue why the screeching till 3 am. Ghosts? A Banshee? <click> Hello?"

Interfering old biddy. It's nobody's business how late I stay up, anyhow. That Lily, quite a gal, she is. Wonder if she...

"HEY! Watch it, buddy! One lane to a customer! You know, on porcupines, the pricks are on the outside! Same to you!"

Stupid tourists. Can't find their way without a map, flashlight and at least two troopers to direct them.

Wow, look at that Jag! Sleek car! I'm going to have one of those..<HONK>


"Hey, stay in your own lane, jerk!"

Can't take your eyes off the road, for a second, here. There, I merged, I merged, ok? I mean, really. So that was a little close on the exit, so what? We both made it!

"Hey, George, your phone is ringin-"

"George here. Yes, I'm almost at the airport. Terminal 3, right? What? NO! When did you... No, no, I've read all your emails. I swear, the last one I got said 'Airport'. Fine. Yes, I understand. Ok, Pier 23. Right. I'm on my way. Great. Yes, I'll talk to you soon."

Well, that's my luck. Stuck in airport traffic, when my ship comes in! Hey, maybe there's a story in that? Naahh, who'd believe it?!




2 Just One Little Snag

I'm a taxi driver and I love the airport runs. Taking people to start their holidays, or collecting them from business trips. It's a nice little earner even though the hours are a bit antisocial. Normally it's just ordinary people, but you never know who you might carry. Sometimes the famous and occasionally the infamous.

A few weeks back my fare was late coming out and I asked at the desk if the plane had arrived.

"Yes, three hours ago." She checked the records on the screen. "Everyone's been cleared through customs now."

To say I was pissed off would be an understatement. I've been running that woman to and from the airport three times a month for over a year now. She doesn't say much but I thought we got on pretty well despite the language barrier. If she wanted another driver she could have told me. A one hundred and forty mile round trip for nothing doesn't improve either my mood or my bank balance.

Just as I clicked my seat belt on a man in uniform tapped on the glass. "Taxi for . . .? " and mentioned my customer's name.

"Yes."

"The info desk told just told us. You may as well go home, Mate. Immigration are talking to her right now, and the Drug Squad are waiting their turn. Her next stop's going to be the nick, so transport's already covered."

When I got home I spent an hour hoovering and jet-washing the boot of my car, thinking about all the luggage she bought back with her every trip.

But there's lighter moments too. Another of my regulars is a midget. A lovely little Lady about three feet tall. After the first trip I put a booster cushion in so she could see out of the window properly. She appreciated that. Business flights mostly, often out and back the same day. It makes a long day for both of us, but she's a cheery soul and I really like her.

Just last week she flew out on holiday. Richly deserved in my opinion.

So I turned up when she was due back and didn't bother with the sign to attract her attention. I've never liked standing there with the row of drivers, holding up signs bearing the passenger's name. Something degrading about it I feel. Makes us look like cattle waiting for a buyer.

After all, why would I need a sign? A three foot tall lady amongst all the other passengers would stand out like a sore thumb, or at least a small thumb.

I didn't know she'd been to a midgets convention, and there was going to be about a hundred of the little people marching down the corridor en masse, all pulling wheeled suitcases as big or sometimes even bigger than themselves.

Fortunately she recognised me.

Teased me about it all the way back.

Yes, I love the airport runs.





3 Travelling Light


It was time to go.

He made his way to the check-in desk, keeping the red-haired woman in his sights, slipping silently behind her as she waited her turn.

"Hello there, any luggage?" asked the girl behind the desk.

"Just this." The red-head held up a week-end bag. 'Red' waited for her boarding pass.

"Business or pleasure, madame?"

"Neither, a funeral."

If the check-in girl had heard the reply, she didn't show it.

"Thank you, madam. Have a nice flight."

'Red' moved on. He followed, at a distance.

The departure lounge bustled with activity, its occupants oblivious to his presence. Tonight would be busy, but for once that wasn't his problem. He scanned the room for the red-head. She had been crying again!

'Which one's yours?' A soft melodic voice invaded his thoughts, but he did not reply, merely inclined his head in 'Red's' direction.

'Ah... the red-head, very nice. My guy is over there.'

He glanced to his left ... briefly and nodded.

"Would all passengers for flight EV 1002, make their way to gate number eight."

*****

Her eyes flickered open, forced to respond to the light shining in her eyes. She tried to move.

"Hey... we've got a live one!"

The voices and pain faded as she slipped back into darkness.

*****

" ...given the extent of the crash...a miracle that anyone...found alive...the two surviving passengers of flight EV 1002, remain in a critical but stable condition..."

Was that the T.V news? She opened her eyes and tried to focus, to make sense of where she was, what she was hearing and more importantly who or what was at the foot of her bed.

The Angel hovered closer and smiled.

'Welcome back Red.'




4 One Night Stand

Woken with a start, I look over to the other side of the bed and see the indentation of where my one-night stand has been lying. The sheet feels warm to touch. My head was now pounding and my lips, cracked and sore. What possessed me? Okay, so he was on the same flight, and his aunt lived in my village. However, this did not mean we should end up in the sack together. ‘Stupid, stupid girl,’ I could hear my mother saying. ‘You could have been murdered and lying in a ditch.’

The alcohol, my mouth felt dry and hoarse as I remembered the alcohol, lots of alcohol. Oh god! He must be downstairs. I grab my robe from the back of the door, wrap it around my naked body, and walk out onto the landing. "Ben?" I shout down. Bacon! I am sure I can smell bacon. I convince myself it will be as it is in the movies, where the hunk prepares a hearty breakfast with nothing on but a cheeky grin. "Ben, good morn . . . ing," I said sleepily as I reached the kitchen. But no Ben. I check the lounge, no Ben. I even look outside at the back, but still no Ben.

Four hours later, I finally realized Ben was not coming back. Feeling utterly ashamed, I showered, dressed and decided to go into the local village for some supplies.

"How could he do that to me?" I was livid. "Maybe he was embarrassed and thought he had taken advantage? Or worst still, married." My mind raced.
A short drive later and I reach the village shop. Now where’s my list? Rummaging in my bag I pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

"Alice my dear, how was your trip?"

Oh no! Mrs Beagle, Ben’s aunt of all the people. I’ll try to ignore her.

“Alice? I said how was your flight?”

It was no good she had headed me off at path. “Well, it was certainly different," I said sheepishly.

"Different my dear?"

"Hmm, I met your nephew on the plane home."

"Nephew? John? You can't have my dear. He is in New Zealand, wheel chair bound."

"Not John, Ben." I was just about to start spouting off; when I caught sight of Mrs Beagle’s face, she looked unsteady. "Mrs Beagle here take my arm," I tried to steady her. She felt cold and clammy to touch. Her face looked insipid.

"Ben?” she repeated looking up into my eyes searching after the truth.

"Yes, Ben," I said. “Blonde roughly good-looking type, tanned." I felt a crash to the floor as a carrier bag dropped from her hold onto the pavement.

"Mrs Beagle what is it?" I said bending down to pick up the food items.

"Ben died last year in a plane crash. Such a waste,” she said stifling back the tears. “Perhaps you should lay off the wine my dear."

« Last Edit: October 06, 2012, 08:14:54 PM by Alice, a Country Gal »

Offline 510bhan

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Re: Choose your Flash Fiction favourites
« Reply #1 on: September 30, 2012, 06:34:08 PM »
5 Fly Away

The driver of the jeep I was in pulled straight on to the tarmac at Robert Gray Army Airfield at Fort Hood, TX. Just an hour before I was in the Brigade Headquarters motor pool getting my jeep ready for field duty when a jeep pulled up, the young sergeant thrust a message at me.

“Division G4 needs you to take a flight to the Netherlands, Sergeant.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

The driver dropped me at the orderly room. I ran inside, called my wife I was pulled for flight duty, grabbed my flight bag and out the door. I got to the airfield with time to spare, tossing my ready bag onto the pallet with the other baggage as the Major in charge of the operation thrust the manifest at me we exchanged salutes.

“The Sergeant who was to take this flight broke his leg at the gym.”

“Wonderful,” I said as I walked over to the K-Bar Pallet Jack truck to look the load over. My eyes went to the tail end of the black C-130, the flight crew waiting for me to take charge of the mission. Despite the Major, the Lieutenant who was to be in charge of the load, this was his first time and had no idea what to do. The six cargo handlers provided to me for the mission were just as lost. I gestured to the Air Force driver to proceed with the loading. Within another hour we were airborne.

At this time I swear, I spent more time in the air then most Air Force people.

Our flight schedule called for us to literally hopscotch across the country. The flight Captain told me that after Whiteman Air Force Base, St. Louis was to be McGuire Air Force Base, New Jersey. Oh my god! My parents lived just forty-five minutes north of there.

Despite the glitches the mission went smoothly, it was the aftermath that did not.

I finally arrived home four days later. I called my brother at Fort Knox, Kentucky and in the conversation I mentioned the mission and crew change at McGuire. That was a mistake.

Later that evening my wife and I, and our twin daughters were settled in front of the television when the phone rang. I picked it up and before I could say anything:

“What’d ya mean you were in New Jersey without telling me?”

Huh? My wife sitting beside me on the sofa looked at me. “Your Dad?”

I nodded then said: “Dad … Dad, you couldn’t have gotten within hundred feet of that plane. The plane was backed into a hangar and Air Force police had it surrounded for security.”

“Well couldn’t you come out?”

“No, not until the load was delivered and signed for in the Netherlands.”

I finally said hi to my Mom then handed the phone to the twins to chatter with Grandma for a few minutes. “Remind me to shoot my brother next week.”

“No problem.”




6 New beginnings

Ever since he could remember, spiders fascinated Samuel. Three months ago he found one living under the roof tiles behind the garden shed. He coaxed it out from its webbed funnel with a twig. Huge, black and hairy with jerky, robotic movements, it wasn’t any type of spider he could find in the book Gran sent him for his birthday – but he didn’t care. Every morning he’d search for insects to feed Ferdinand. When his mother, head tilted, eyes narrowed, asked his what he was up to behind the shed, he lied. He hated lying to her, but if she knew, she’d only pour boiling water down its burrow like she did to the ants last year.

Samuel put down the video game controller when he heard a car pull into the drive. Hiding behind a drape in the living room, he watched a red-faced man dressed in black suit run up the path to the door.

With his ear pressed against the door, he heard his mother greet the man. Their hushed voices made impossible to hear what they were saying. Clumping sounds of feet on the hall carpet told Sam his mother had let the men in. The door to the kitchen was opened and then closed. You could hear everything being said in the kitchen as it echoed through the air conditioning. He’d discovered this while trying to catch a cricket to feed to Ferdinand. As quietly as he could, Sam pushed the couch away from the wall and lay on the floor next to the air vent to listen to the conversation.

“. . . at the airport. Mrs Thomas, we have with us boarding passes for yourself and your son.” The man sounded out of breath.

“What’s this about? I can’t just leave—” His mother’s voice only rose that high when either he or his father had done something wrong.

“Please Mrs Thomson, we have the whole street to issue passes to and not enough time. I’ll keep it short and sweet and maybe one day you’ll thank me. It seems we’ve outstayed our welcome and the Hyranni council has ordered all humans off their planet and mobs are already burning human settlements down as we speak.”

Tears welled in Sam’s eyes. Off their planet? He wriggled from behind the couch and ran upstairs. Under his bed he had an old shoe box full of Lego. He’d pierce holes in the top for Ferdinand to breathe. No way was he leaving him behind.



7 The Interview

Today, dear readers, I either sank to a new low in my desperate attempt to earn more moolah for my ticket to European fun and freedom or added my name to Lucifer’s Most Wanted list. Depends on how squeaky clean or rusty your moral compass is.

Anyway, seeing as Chalet-du-Crap has so royally messed around my shifts lately, and Dee is heading off to Japan in three weeks (which reminds me, we still need to find someone to rent her room - message me if you’re interested), it seemed very timely that she was asked by her boss to suggest a replacement to take over her job.

No doubt you’re wondering “what the heck does Dee do? Is it legal? Does it involve anything particularly kinky?” Let’s just say that desperate times call for desperate measures, and this afternoon I found myself knocking on the door of... wait for it... a ‘Gentleman’s Club’ as the business card says. House of sin, place where men with more money than charm go to get lucky. Nicely done-up terrace house in a not too shabby suburb, looks like the other houses in the row. But I bet they don’t get so many visitors, or have the extra parking spaces ‘round back.

Get your minds out of the gutter you pervs - Dee is the receptionist! I know I said I was desperate, but I have to draw the line somewhere! No really... r-e-c-e-p-t-i-o-n-i-s-t. Answers phones. Books ‘appointments’. Makes sure the bar & fridges are stocked, and those fancy little baskets in the rooms are stocked with an array of prophylactic gems. The list goes on, but as I’m sitting there in my ‘interview gear’ hoping the hemline of my skirt isn’t too sluttish (although in this context, that doesn’t seem much of a problem) my mind is just totally fogging over at the thought that I’m in a house where people pay to screw their kinky ass... asses.

Madame Barbra (let’s just call her that) - fifty-something, well-coiffed hair, perfect makeup, explained the need for being polite, discreet... blah blah blah. I was too busy trying to shake the thought of an old married pilot on a mid-life crisis binge bonking some girl in the room above us, before rushing back to the airport so he could fly out and forget the whole thing even happened.

I did hear her say the walls were soundproofed (well, thank goodness for that), and that it was cash-in-hand (even better). Next thing I know she was getting up to shake my hand and thank me for ‘getting them out of a real bind’ by taking on the position. And I was agreeing to start on Saturday night while Dee was still there, so she could train me.

Would somebody remind me to buy a huge bottle of hand sanitiser to take with me on Saturday!




8 Memories

My town car slid up to the curb at Logan Airport and as I stepped out from under the protective overhead, a gust of wind grabbed my hair and spit icy rain in my face. The sharp slap surprised and momentarily blinding me. I stepped off the curb into a puddle of dirty slush which rose over the sides of my sexy new ankle boots, filling them with ice water. “Damn” I said.

The driver looked at me with a smirk. “The Taj, right?” I nodded, “Turn up the heat back here, I’m freezing.” The big car swung into traffic, and that smirk brought back memories.

“Hey four eyes! Better get your nose out of the book before you need even thicker glasses.”

Johnny the star quarterback and his obnoxious girlfriend Patty approached the bus stop, laughing and I pulled the book even closer, tightening my grip on my pack.

The bus pulled up, and suddenly my pack was wrenched away, unzipped and upended. Everything went skidding out. They laughed, jumping on the bus, leaving me gathering my things off the sidewalk.

They did this kind of thing at every opportunity. Once they shook me down for money, but the second time I threatened to tell my uncle Bobby the cop. They didn’t do it again but the whole school called me a rat.

One day in the girls room Patty walked out a stall. She went to the sink I had just used, and swept my glasses onto the floor. I heard the lens pop as she brought her foot down.

“Oopsy,” she said laughing.

Mom was furious. “I’m tired of this! Where do you think I’m going to get the money for new glasses? Learn to stand up for yourself. You can’t go through life like this.” She didn’t come out of her room that night, not even to eat. In the quiet, I ate alone.

The next day wearing an old pair of horned rims that looked awful on me, I walked into the bathroom and Patty was there. My mother’s words still stung.

“Nice glasses, skank girl, didn’t think it was possible for you to be any uglier.” Patty sneered. I walked right up to her, and she shrank back.

“At least I’m not a stupid slut loser like you. I’m going to make something of myself and you are going to be stuck here, still in the projects, with a whole bunch of stupid kids.”

Patty’s mouth hung open for a second and then she burst into tears. I turned on my heels and strode out of the bathroom, head held high for the first time. It was the first time I realized words could be weapons.

A few months later Patty left school. Rumor was that she was pregnant and her parents had sent her to live with the nuns.