A smorgasbord of flash fictions (1900+ words)

[MiggsEye]

 
Dead Man’s Shift

“Well, Joe,” I said, taking off my coat. Oh… what time!"Oh... what a time!"?

Joe looked at me. “You’re dead.”

You’re dead when he gets you. I hung the coat on the stand. Who? “Excuse me?” The undertaker.

“You,” said Joe. “You’re dead. They buried you last Tuesday.”

I decided to play along, for now. “Yeah,” I said, sitting down, “but then they raised the pension age, so here I am for another five years.”

“Seriously,” said Joe. “I was right there. Slater gave the eulogy.”

I snorted. “That fat prick,” I switched on my work-station, “never had a good word for nobody.” Now, what's my bloody username again? “What’d he say?”

Joe laughed. “You should know, you were there.”

Beginning to wear a little thin. “Must have been sleeping then, those little pillows are comfy.”

“Board’s hard on your back though.”

I thought for a minute. “Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t we bury you two years ago?”Great turn here.

“Welcome to the dead man’s shift, buddy.”Ha! Great piece. Concise. Complete. Stands in it's own, in contrast to "Doors" which intrigues us to want more of a story. You have a great sense for dialogue.

160 words

[Clarius]

Regarding Doors. I regret substituting zombies for horde. I was walking past an automatic door, beyond which several people were standing, and I triggered the sensor and, naturally, the door opened. That got me to thinking about all those zombie movies/series where the survivors are in a store foraging for supplies and the undead are pressing against the doors. Wouldn't it a bitch if someone turned the power on?

[MiggsEye]

Regarding Doors. I regret substituting zombies for horde. I was walking past an automatic door, beyond which several people were standing, and I triggered the sensor and, naturally, the door opened. That got me to thinking about all those zombie movies/series where the survivors are in a store foraging for supplies and the undead are pressing against the doors. Wouldn't it a bitch if someone turned the power on?

Ahhhh... I see now. You are right. It's a problematic scenario in zombie worlds.

Changing the subject, I'm seriously jealous how you can create so many stories in a 2-hour time frame. They are all so layered and nuanced  and well-honed. If I could get one of those out in a day I'd be happy. You have some serious talent, my friend.

[Clarius]

To my mind talent implies consistency; this was just a run of good luck. It happens that way some time. Legend has it that when Springsteen was recording Human Touch his record company wanted one more song. He went home over the Labour day weekend and knocked out a whole other album Lucky Town. Interestingly Lucky Town, which was just him and an engineer in his home studio, was far superior to Human Touch which was laboured over in the studio for months. Have a look at some of my earlier posts and contrast those with these; that's what posting on and learning from reviews from this site's users has done for me.

[MiggsEye]

Wow! You really have a knack for writing provocative situations with great dialogue. "Johns" has an appropriate mood. And the end image, brilliant. And it's complete as is; and would it would be intriguing to see where this one goes. And the narrative voice is clear and true too.

As I said before you have talent.

A clarifications/comments noted below

Johns Clever title with double entendre

   Heads up, thought AstonAshton? or Aston?, as he watched the John approach. Here’s a likely looking sort.

   It wasn’t the most romantic of venues: a Victorian pissoir on the edge of the park: marble sinks, tiled walls, and dark corners; which drains stank of damp soil and stale piss. concise, clear image

   They did that thing; their little mating ritual: one standing aside to let the other in, the other pretending to yield, then both of them going for it together.

   It’s all in the glances, the subtle exchange of smiles. If they’re both up for it the incoming will go into a cubicle, throwing a little come-hither back over his shoulder. The outgoing, lurking in the doorway on some pretext or other, seeing this will check all’s clear and go back inside.

   Inside, in the cubicle, behind locked doors, there’ll be whispers, and touching, and kissing, and… but never names: they don’t, their kind.

   Ashton Ashton? or Aston? came out of hiding, went over to the cubicle, and knocked on the door. “Police. Out. Now.”

   Behind the door frantic sounds of whispering, scrambling; of clothes being adjusted, and of options being discussed. It reminded him of the sounds the strays made when they ran them to ground.

   The door opened and they came out; shame faced, anxious and tearful. He held his warrant card up for them to see, so they knew they weren’t going to get turned over.

   He looked from one sorry specimen to the other and then, his mind made up, grabbed the ugliest one by the collar and shoved him toward the exit. “Fuck off now, there’s a good lad.” He stroked the pretty one’s face. “Right, my lad, back inside we go.”Ashton, that dirty bugger!

275 words

[Clarius]

I've added one more just to soak up the word count. These little exercises are really good at getting things moving along. I currently have two shorts in progress, and both of them are as could as I can make them. The new addition, Joy Ride, was inspired by a sound bite from a television show in which a detective eschews the term serial killer in favour of multiple murderer.

[MiggsEye]

RE: Joy Ride:

Man, Clarius. You are brilliant at concision: concision with full rendering of character, situation and scene arc. I am in awe. Wouldn't change a thing, except for maybe capitalizing Sonny in the first line -- but perhaps that's debatable.

You have a gift.

Brendan