flash fiction

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Discovery

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‘What do you mean, dead in the bed?’

‘I tried to wake him but there was no response.’

‘But what was he doing in the bed, who was he?’

‘A customer I presume, we find them sometimes in the morning, can’t find their way out and settle in for the night.’

‘But surely security do the rounds at closing time?’

‘Well it’s a very big store and five floors… ‘

The new young manager of LIKE stared at the customer care assistant, he was beginning to get an inkling why his predecessor may have resigned.

‘And when you find live customers in bed what do you do?’

‘Wake them up and give them a voucher for breakfast in the restaurant.’

‘That sounds fair enough.’

Live customers were so much easier to deal with. The manager wondered what the protocol for dead customers was, probably too late to try out the new defibrillator. He looked at the time, the store had been open for five minutes already. Sweet Dreams was on the top floor, but unfortunately so was the customer entrance from the car park.

 ‘Does anyone else know about this?’

‘No, only Val the cleaner, she skedaddled up to the staff canteen to have a cup of tea and get over the shock.’

‘Er, um ‘ Dean isn’t it,’ he tried to surreptitiously read the chap’s badge ‘get yourself right back there and head off any customers while I call security… Oh what did the bo…the customer look like?’

‘Very peaceful, with the LIKE swan down king sized duvet tucked up round his chin, could even have been part of the display.’

‘Security? Benson here… Jeremy Benson, no I’m your new manager, who’s in charge today? Suspended, so who is in temporary charge?… Brian? Jeremy Benson here, get up to Sweet Dreams immediately, we have a problem, I’ll meet you there. How many bedroom displays? Twenty seven, well look for the one with an occupied bed.’

It was Saturday morning and the store was buzzing already, just how he had imagined his dream job, but now a busy store was a nightmare. If news got out of this in the town or to their competitors it didn’t bear thinking of.

Two security women confronted him, he flashed his ID card and they looked vaguely embarrassed and very amused.

‘Is Brian here? Good, show me where the incident took place.’

Benson vowed to get to grips with the store layout as one of the women led him through a maze of three walled bedrooms and voluptuous bedding.

‘Good morning Brian, thanks for being so prompt.’

‘I presume you have called the police?’

‘NO! … I mean let’s assess the situation first.’

He stared at the luxury faux bedroom, which was much nicer than his own humble abode; who wouldn’t want to stay the night. He had never actually seen a dead body, perhaps this was a joke, a dummy from the Love Living show rooms.

‘Are we sure he is actually dead Brian?

‘Of course he’s bloody dead, I was with the ambulance service for twenty years, I thought this job would be nice and peaceful.’

‘So what is your normal security procedure?’

‘Usually the customers are not actually dead; they drop with exhaustion or have a panic attack when they can’t find the way out. Though we did have a heart attack victim the other week, first aid officer attended, paramedics came promptly and worked on him, that was when it was decided to get defibrillators.’

 ‘And did the customer survive?’

‘No, but luckily LIKE were cleared of any blame, natural causes.’

Benson looked around for inspiration as to what should be done. He spotted an assistant pushing a large trolley full of duvets and pillows.

‘Well Brian I think our first priority is removal. We don’t want to spoil our customer’s day by suggesting anything is amiss.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale 420 – 2124

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I can’t believe it’s my great grandson’s 100th birthday, seems like only yesterday I was saying ‘I can’t believe I’m a great grandmother.’

I was on the way out by then, several of those conditions eliminated or curable these days. Hanging around was not what I wanted and I set about applying on line to go to Switzerland. I’m still not sure what went wrong, but instead of signing up for Dignitas I had volunteered for Digitass; basically I was downloaded onto a home computer, stuck in my son’s living room forever. Though he’s long gone and I have been moved around a lot since then by various descendants.

Like Concorde and the space shuttle, oh you wouldn’t remember them, anyway Digitass didn’t last long before it was uninvented on moral grounds. I’m one of the lucky ones, not homeless. Those without family or descendants, or family that got fed up with them, were put in storage, staring at blank walls or switched off. That’s been hushed up for decades.

In answer to your question, nobody else in my family was downloaded before it was halted, they had a fair idea what it would be like. I have seen so many of my family die and it never gets any easier. It’s still rare for someone like my great grandson to reach a century, especially now it’s so easy to opt out.

I don’t really get bored; the ‘great-great-greats’ bring their friends like you to talk to me, ask me questions for homework, or just dead curious, ha ha, Dead curious, I can still make jokes.  On the rare occasions the family are not too busy, they take me out for ‘a bit of fresh air.’ The irony lost on them that I can’t smell the fresh air. I am glad to see the outside world though, strangely the first quarter of the 22nd century looks very much like the world we were promised in the early years of the 21st century.

Do you know what I miss most, apart from independence? Food. When I see them sitting round stuffing their faces I can almost recall what taste was like. The days are so long without meal breaks and the conviviality of the family dinner table. And what wouldn’t I give for a cup of tea.

The nights are even longer of course as I need no sleep. I have considered applying to be switched off, but that is still against the law and my family don’t approve.

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Pinpoint

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Why they pinpointed our house I have no idea. I have no interest in celebrities and would not recognise one if they were on my doorstep. Which is why I did not recognise the celebrity on my doorstep this morning. I could not even tell if they were man or woman, girl or boy, but that was okay because nor could they. Apparently they are non binary and like to be referred to as they, even though there is only one of them.

I was on my doorstep in my dressing gown this morning because it was bin day and I was about to fetch the wheelie bin off the pavement before Betty came by with her rollator.

There they were with one foot on my doorstep and camera crew, microphones and blindingly bright lamps squeezed onto our narrow front path. I hadn’t even brushed my hair because it’s still dark these December mornings and I was not expecting to see anyone. If Roger hadn’t had his DIY accident he would have already fetched the bin in and gone to get his paper.

‘Good morning, six days till Christmas, how are you feeling?’

At that moment the front door slammed behind me; we still have a yale lock.

‘Trapped’ was my terse reply.

‘Ha ha, just like I was, but congratulations, you are the winner of today’s Christmas Cheer. Your decorations certainly brighten up this road.’

‘All my husband’s doing, he gets a bit carried away, that’s how he had his accident on the ladder.’

Our house did stand out, mainly because nobody else in our little road bothered. Why the celebrity and this team from Cheerful Cornflakes Channel had come to the dullest town in Britain, I had no idea.

By now the neighbours across the road, who never talk to anybody, were at my front gate, grinning like idiots, while Betty was caught in the spotlight like a frightened rabbit. I should have been in the shower getting ready for work.

When I finally did get to work I didn’t have to explain, they had all seen me on Cheerful Cornflakes Christmas special. It seemed Roger and I were the only people on the planet who had never watched I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of the War Zone. My celebrity was famous for not doing anything and being famous. They had won the competition, though as they had to be rescued by the SAS I don’t think  that should count.

They were quite nice actually and came in for a cup of tea. Roger was bemused as he had no idea what had been going on outside. They asked him about his lighting arrangements, but it wasn’t a very interesting interview. Roger’s not a very interesting person. He isn’t on Facebook so nobody knows about our house and we don’t raise money for charity. Now everybody knows about our house.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Out of the Blue

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I spotted him on Facebook. He had the same surname, my maiden name, an unusual name that I never come across outside my family. Was this Brian standing on a mountain top a relative? He was gazing across a rolling green landscape. His words with the picture were ‘Fantastic trail and so therapeutic.’

I followed the link to a national park in New Zealand, well he could still be a relative. On a whim I posted a comment.

 ‘Fantastic scenery. I wonder if we could be related, I have the same surname.’

Then I realised he was probably asleep, night time in New Zealand. I pondered which Facebook friends we could have in common, how else would I be seeing his post?

The next morning there was a brief reply to my comment.

‘Could well be, I came out here years ago.’

I was soon on the phone to Mum, she kept tabs on Dad’s relatives better than he had done.

‘Brian, Brian…hmmm your Dad’s cousin Sheila had a Brian who went out to New Zealand. I always used to send him a Christmas card, only ever got one back. Dad wondered why I bothered. I guess I did it for Sheila’s sake, her only son. He didn’t get over for her funeral; sent an ambiguous letter, not sure if it was health or money, but it is a long way. I never actually met him, not sure how old.’

I was curious. ‘Do you still have his address, I mean he probably moved around and never got your cards. But I could send him a Christmas card, from all the comments sounds like he’s been having a hard time.’

‘Bring your pill round tomorrow and show me, might not even be our Brian.’

‘You mean my tablet?’

‘Yes that screen thingy you’re always playing with.’

Mum and I checked him out, certainly seemed to be the real Brian. He had led an adventurous life, looking at some of his posts and he sounded an interesting chap.

  I sent him a card, there was still time to post airmail across the world. That seemed less intrusive than trying to contact him on Messenger. Without thinking I put one of my charity address stickers on the back of the envelope.

Yesterday I had just returned from walking the dog in the rain, wet hair plastered on my face, muddy jeans and socks left by the back door, when  I heard the doorbell. I was about to dart through the hall and dash upstairs to get showered and ready for my afternoon shift. I was not expecting anyone, perhaps John had ordered something from Amazon. I put my dressing gown on and went back downstairs to check if a parcel had been left.

I didn’t recognise him at first, drenched and with a shabby rain soaked bag at his side.

‘Surprise, surprise, thanks for your card, you don’t know how good it was to hear from someone at home.’

John wasn’t too pleased to come home late that evening and find we had a guest in the spare room, a guest wearing his dressing gown. Turns out he is not as interesting as his Facebook persona and apparently has far worse problems than his posts implied. Almost two weeks till Christmas and we don’t know what his plans are, but they include Christmas with ‘his family.’

A Christmas favourite that might cheer Brian up.

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Tip Toe

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An island community is calling for their independence to be recognised. The ᛏᛁᛈ ᛏᛟᛖ ᛈᛖᛟᛈᛚᛖ or Tip Toe People appear to have gone unnoticed on their little isle in the Irish Sea. Even ornithologists had no knowledge of a bird unique to ᛏᛁᛈ ᛏᛟᛖ ᛁᛋᛚᚨᚾᛞ, Tip Toe Island. Sea bird experts are refusing to disclose the location of this island surrounded by rugged seas.

The Tip Toe people are so called because they tip toe barefoot carefully around the ground nests of the Rainbow Gaeulls. Unlike most sea birds with their blacks, greys and whites the Rainbow Gaeull has bright red, yellow and blue plumage, fluorescent orange webbed feet and a magenta beak.

Their stunning appearance makes them vulnerable to attack by predators and humans and this is the likely reason they are only found on this island, protected by their unique ancient association with the Tip Toe people. The gaeulls take off each morning in their strange formation and spot shoals of fish, the Tip Toe fishermen then follow in their small boats. As they haul their nets in the birds are rewarded with a share of the bountiful catch.

But this idyllic lifestyle is threatened by the discovery of precious Iridium deep in a cave, at the base of the cliff on the rocky side of the island avoided by the Tip Toes.

The foolhardy adventurer who made the discovery remains anonymous and the Tip Toes claim to know nothing about his revelations. But he must have told someone because now Eire, Northern Island, Scotland, The Isle of Mann and England are all claiming ownership of the isle.

Now our intrepid reporter from BBC Radio Nan Gaidheal, Rhuari MacGael,  has landed on the island and brings us this report.

‘Is iad na Toes Tip tíre garbh, wiry le gruaig rua fiáin, ach síochánta agus milis.  The Tip Toes are a rugged, wiry folk with wild red hair, but peaceful and gentle, or so I have bin tellt. They claim their language is a unique mix of Gaelic, Cymraeg and ᚾᛟᚱᛋᛖ , a heritage from the lands that surround them and the seafaring Norsemen. So I am finding it a wee bit difficult to understand them and only a few islanders have a smattering of English. I tried to explain that David Attenborough is on their side. To which I think they replied

 Pwy yw’r uffern yw David Attenborough?

Achub ein gaeulls enfys sanctaidd

They were pleading with me to leave their sacred birds alone, then they addressed me in i toin beagán níos láidre

Nid oes unrhyw un o’r tu allan erioed wedi gadael yr ynys hon yn fyw.

Concern is growing for a reporter from BBC Radio Nan Gaidheal who was last heard reporting from the newly discovered island of Tip Toe in the Irish Sea.

David Attenborough had earlier pleaded for this precious island and its unique birds to be left alone.

Language experts have been attempting to translate the last words Rhuari MacGael transmitted.

in somewhat stronger tones

and more worryingly quoting the Tip Toes

No outsider has ever left this island alive.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Under The Weather

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Fliss pulled open her bedroom curtains and sighed with delight. The rising sun set a rosy glow over the garden, it was going to be beautiful for her day off.

She waved everyone off to work and school and settled with her coffee in their so called sun lounge, the make shift extension her husband had cobbled onto the back of the house. With the autumn sun streaming in sideways, as she sat in the rickety cane chair, she could imagine herself to be in a posh conservatory.

The garden called, but so did the common. She felt so energised she could easily do her 10,000 steps, come home, plant all her spring bulbs, quick lunch then take her mother to the garden centre as promised, lovely relaxing afternoon tea and a good gossip. They could go in that farm shop and get some nice things for dinner.

Everyone was out on the common, walkers, joggers and dog owners; lots of people she knew or at least familiar faces who always smiled and waved. She should get a dog, why not, just because the rest of the family protested and vowed never to walk it if she brought a dog home. She would walk it herself twice a day, while doing her 10,000 steps, or 20,000, she was ready for 20,000. She smiled at dog walkers, already feeling part of the canine community and just laughed when a muddy retriever jumped up and left paw marks on her clean trousers. A labradoodle or springer spaniel would be perfect.

Back at home she scattered the bulbs all over the lawn, no more mowing, wildflower field with naturalised bulbs. Fliss dug enthusiastically into the tough wet grass; she could send a video in to Gardeners’ World, the new puppy trotting through the flowery meadow, perhaps she would get two dogs. She could take them into work, it was a wonderful company she worked for, very welcoming to children and pets of staff members, all part of looking after colleagues’ mental health.

Without warning everything suddenly went dark, Fliss looked up. The blue sky had disappeared and dark clouds rolled over the roof of her house, large rain drops landed on her nose. She looked at her watch, that time already, why had she agreed to take her mother out on her only day off? No doubt her mother would spend the afternoon complaining about anything and everything.

Fliss rushed to put the tools away and on impulse tossed the rest of the bulbs in the compost bin. The garden was a mess, John was right, might as well cover it all with a useful patio and he could knock down his dreadful extension at the same time. She stormed indoors and consumed a whole bar of her daughter’s chocolate while she threw on some clean clothes. If her mother commented on her choice of outfit she would definitely lose her rag. No time to think about this evening’s dinner, she wasn’t going to waste her day off cooking, they could take a turn in the kitchen for a change and if Johnn didn’t start doing his share of housework she would hand in her notice at work. She hated the job anyway, whatever possessed her to take it?

As Fliss opened the front door the rain lashed in; all she wanted to do was go back to bed, what a dreadful day.

Tuesday Tiny Tale -The Bottle

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The window cleaner had been, the winter afternoon sun was shining through the front window; how long had it been since I had cleaned the diamond panes and dusted the window sill? I had always wanted a bay window and fell in love with the low deep sill when we viewed the house. Perfect for my collection of glass ornaments, at their best in sunlight. When my mother left me her favourite elegant green bottle my husband groaned ‘not more dust gatherers.’

He was right about them being dust gatherers and I vowed to myself I would dust them every week. I carefully picked up the delicate green bottle and polished it lovingly.

‘About time too.’

The rich baritone voice startled me, there was no one at home, the radio was switched off… I turned round to reassure myself I was hearing voices in my head, but there stood an elegant figure of a man, exotically dressed, bronze skin, neat beard and moustache and translucent…

After the initial shock I decided it must be an hallucination, then the dread that I might have a brain tumour replaced the primaeval fear that I was confronting a ghost.

‘Your wish is my command Madam.’

‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous, I know you’re not a genii’ I retorted nervously.

‘Do you have a better explanation as to how I have just emerged from the bottle?’

‘Noo.. so perhaps I should make a wish…’

‘Of course, that is why I am here, three wishes, think wisely.’

 ‘I certainly wish I had met you years ago, I could have done with your help.’

‘Your wish is granted.’

‘I haven’t made one yet.’

‘You just did. I granted your wish when you were a teenager, typical silly schoolgirl, you wished Lawrence would ask you out on a date.’

My stomach contracted, this was getting creepy or rather even creepier.

‘Yes, he did ask me out, you mean that was your doing and my life could have been different if he hadn’t… no that’s rubbish, he would have asked me out anyway, more’s the pity. Anyway, I would have remembered if I had seen a genii.’

‘You and your friend were so busy giggling at the thought of conjuring a genii you didn’t notice a real one. Did your friend become a champion ice skater?’

‘Oh my goodness yes she did, but that was because she had talent…?’

‘I haven’t got all day, you have two wishes left, what are they to be?

 ‘I must think carefully so I don’t end up using my third wish to undo the second.’

‘That’s another wish gone, one left.’

‘Hang on, that’s not fair, I wasn’t wishing then.’

‘You don’t get to make the rules, whatever you wish now will be undone so why not throw caution to the wind.’

‘Er um er I wish I had never married Lawrence.’

In a flash the genie disappeared and so did my front room and my house. I was standing in the middle of a jungle staring at a gorilla. A horrible realisation came to me. Among my many unrealised aspirations when I was at school was to be an adventurer, saving wild life. I certainly did not want to end up as a suburban housewife. Was this what would have happened if I hadn’t married Lawrence? With sweat pouring off me I looked down at the heavy boots encasing my feet and the trail of giant ants heading towards the top of those boots. Where was a genii when you needed one?

‘Rita, Rita I’m home.’

‘Is that you Larry?’

‘Who else are you expecting?’

‘Oh thank goodness.’

‘Why are you clutching that dreadful green bottle?’

I looked down to make sure I was wearing my normal clothes.

‘Just dusting, actually I think you’re right, let’s put this awful bottle with that stuff for the charity shop.’

Friday Flash Fiction 500 -Through The Portal

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Tuesday Tale 900 – Portal
Today’s tiny tale follows on from Tuesday’s story or you can read it alone as a flash fiction.

Mike was the last person I wanted to talk to on this amazing day. I was just about to quietly explain to Stewart that he must be witness to what I was about to do, when Mike from our cycling club came bowling over with his inane chatter. Stewart was the only person who knew that The Portal on the beach was not just an art installation. Now my watch was telling me that the portal alignment was reaching the optimum moment again.

I had messed up the first time, but a scientist learns from his mistakes and keeps trying. Taking a step forward I had felt a force I can’t describe, saw a break in reality… or did I see anything? Flustered, I would not use the word panic, I had instinctively closed my eyes and stepped back.

This time I must do it, there might not be another chance, the portal was only granted a few days as part of the arts festival, then it must come down. I could not let all my work and research be wasted. Nobody would notice me as they wandered around the portal, taking photos of themselves in the reflections, touching the shiny surface to feel the vibrations. I strode forward.

It hadn’t worked, I was still standing on the beach looking at the sea, the portal behind me. Then I saw myself walking towards me.

The other me spoke, or had I read his thoughts?

‘I’ve done it, brought myself from a parallel universe.’

Simultaneously we reached out to touch each other, then we both recoiled, speaking at the same moment…

‘I’m not sure if… we must be careful…

I was expecting to go over to your world as you arrived.

I expected you to go over as I arrived.

Surely we can’t both exist in the same place.’

I motioned to him to be silent.

‘But we have proved that parallel universes exist, what I see around me is exactly what I left behind, you are even wearing exactly the same clothes.’

‘Are you Doctor Benjamin Gower?’ we spoke together again.

‘All these people on the beach have not noticed a thing, if they looked at us they would probably assume we were identical twins.’

We both laughed. ‘I’m an only child, I always wanted a brother.’

For a moment I felt as if we were naughty school boys doing an experiment that would not be approved of. I decided to remain silent, giving the other Ben a chance to relate his story.

‘I wanted Stewart to observe what happened, but that awful Mike turned up and started talking, once he starts he never stops.’

I twisted round to look back through the portal and sure enough there was Mike jabbering away to Stewart, gesticulating as if he was working his new bicycle gears. What could be better proof that an alternate universe would be exactly the same, in how many universes was boring Mike replicated?

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Overheard

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I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping, well only in my capacity as a writer. Often you can’t help overhearing people on their mobile phones, in the street, on the bus, in the toile…toilet?

Usually in the Ladies only banal conversations emanate from inside cubicles.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a wee George before we go, Mummy’s going to have a wee, are you sure you don’t…   Daisy are you washing your hands properly, Daisy are you still there, wait till Mummy’s finished, don’t go out… Daisy, DAISEEE?’

I know from films and TV thrillers that men have endless dramatic conversations at the urinals, threatening, exchanging important information, dealing drugs or even assassinating each other.

The other day at our local busy sports centre the Ladies had a more interesting conversation to overhear.

 Surely she’s not taking her phone into the cubicle, she’s actually carrying on talking while she’s going and I can hear the other person clearly, must be on speaker.

I felt almost guilty intruding on their conversation, but I was in my cubicle first, I didn’t ask her to move in next door.  

‘Oh my god Bella, are you sure, whyever would you think that?’

‘He was late home that night.’

‘Was it his darts night?’

‘Till 3am! Creeping in but woke me up anyway. I asked where he’d been and he told me not to worry and go back to sleep. As if I could, especially when I could hear him putting the washing machine on.’

‘But that still doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.’

‘Oh what shall I do, ring that number they gave out on the news?’

‘Bella, you can’t seriously think Dave could be involved, they would have needed a chainsaw.’

‘He’s got a chainsaw.’

‘Oh, well that’s probably because he is a tree surgeon. Don’t do anything yet, you don’t actually know anything.’

I didn’t dare flush the toilet, I did not want her to know anyone was listening in to what could be an incriminating conversation. Nor did I want to miss a word.

‘Bella, have you told anyone else yet?’

‘No, of course not, I just had to tell someone, do you think I’m crazy?’  

‘Yes er no… is there anything you have not told me about Dave?’

‘No, well there was that one time I got a weird phone call from his ex.’

‘As she was still alive that’s reassuring. Where are you now?’

‘Walking the dog in the park.’

‘And where’s Dave?’

‘He was asleep when I left.’

‘Not the park where they found the body parts!’

‘No, that’s still taped off and police everywhere.’

‘I suppose you could call that number anonymously… and don’t go home.’

 The toilet flushed and the door banged, I did not hear any more, didn’t dare creep out till she was gone. But what should I do. Back out in reception and the café it was so busy there was no way of guessing who had been in the Ladies. How could I phone the police and say someone called Dave who lived with Bella might be the murderer?

Tuesday Tiny Tale- Murmurings

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The sun was going down and my stress levels were going up. It was time to all gather, decide where we were going to perform this evening. I didn’t get any peace during the day either, had they never heard of Me Time? It was a constant ‘Let’s go down the quay’ or ‘Ah there you are, what are you having for lunch? Come on, you don’t want to eat alone…’

There was no chance to grab another bite to eat before the performance. With such a large cast you would imagine my absence would go unnoticed, no such luck. They were all chattering now, so loud I had a headache, but I couldn’t hide for long.

‘Come on, it’s a lovely clear evening, time you got in place, stick with Jet and see if you can get it right this time, we’ve got a big audience.’

I sighed, was I the only starling who couldn’t get the hang of murmurations? How I wished I was a robin, singing sweetly by myself in the apple tree, king of my own territory, friend of gardeners. What was it about starlings, always having to stick together. Even worse than the mumuration was roosting; flapping and squawking, deciding where to settle for the night, then ending up in the same old tree we always went to.

I thought longingly of the garden, robin hopping around as the gardener topped up the bird bath for him, a last bit of digging in the new bed before the light failed. Pausing, staying motionless as her favourite bird hopped closer, grabbing gratefully at the worm in the newly turned soil. Dewy eyed as she marvelled at his stick thin legs, the sheen of the downy red feathers on his chest and the strong melody issuing forth from his tiny beak when he retuned to the apple bough.

Why did I have to be reincarnated as a starling and not a robin? There’s my wife telling all her friends I have come back as her robin. Be just my luck that ‘her robin’ is that awful Derek down the road, who died the week before me in that mishap with his lawn mower…