Over the last few weeks, I’ve been working on some flash fiction on my cigarette breaks. I already tend to write a poem a day by doing the same thing, and it seemed like a great idea to work on some flash fiction of my own after I read someone else’s collection.
The great thing about doing this is that it doesn’t take a major alteration to my schedule and if I just keep on doing it, I’ll have enough to pull together a book in a couple of years. But of course, I’m impatient – and so I thought I’d go ahead and share a few of them right now. Check it out!
IT TOOK HIM FORTY YEARS, but Avinash finally quit smoking overnight, with no nicotine gum, e-cigs or patches required.
It was little consolation to his family as they lowered the coffin into the ground.
THE FIRST SUSPECT tried to bite off his fingertips. But his fingertips grew back and he got sent down for it.
The second suspect tried to remove them using the juice from a pineapple. But his fingertips grew back and he got sent down for it.
The third suspect used lye to burn the flesh away and was carried away in the back of an ambulance. But his fingertips grew back and he got sent down for it.
The fourth suspect used a skin graft. His fingerprints didn’t grow back and he got away with it.
THE WORLD ENDED on a Tuesday. But we were all so busy working we didn’t notice.
SHE LOST the game of life.
ONE HEART ATTACK, two heart attacks, three heart attacks, four. Five heart attacks, six heart attacks, seven heart attacks, floor. But then people do insist on ignoring the warning signs. They should’ve taken the turn when they had a chance.
HER LIFE was like a bad book that never ended. And then one day it ended and suddenly it didn’t seem too bad after all.
“I’M SORRY, SIR,” the cashier said. “Didn’t you hear the news? The economy tanked. Money’s worth less than the paper it’s printed on.”
The man winced. “Is it okay if I pay by cheque?” he asked.
THE NEIGHBOURS’ CAT came to Dan’s window every night. He liked to tap at the glass with his claws and paws and to meow, meow, meow. Dan had read somewhere that cats don’t meow to each other. They only meow at humans.
One night, the cat didn’t arrive. The following morning, he learned that his neighbours had moved away – and that they’d taken their cat with them.
The following night, the cat was back again as though nothing had happened.
WHEN HE PASSED THE EVENT HORIZON, there was no turning back. The astronaut ceased to exist, and from the outside it looked as though he’d been stretched and elongated as the light was sucked into the ether.
For the astronaut, as he headed towards the singularity, a point of infinite mass in an infinitely small section of the cosmos, the laws of physics no longer applied. The future stretched out ahead of him – forever.
JON WAS ON THE UNDERGROUND when he heard the announcement: “Would Inspector Sands please report to the operations room immediately?”
No one else batted an eyelid, but Jon had once worked as a fluffer beneath the city. He remembered those less than halcyon days in a post-traumatic fever of fire and death every time he closed his eyes.
The announcement rang out again: “Would Inspector Sands please report to the operations room immediately?”
Jon got the hell out of dodge before it was too late. The rest of the commuters walked on to an uncertain future.