Tag Archives: flash fiction

Death Watch

The autumn sun slanted down through the branches of the great oaks which lined the woodland path. It was a wonderful place to run and Tony relished every moment of his runs in Barclays woods. The scents of autumn and the feel of the leaves beneath his pounding feet made it feel good to be alive.

From time to time Tony glanced at his watch. At first glance it was an unremarkable timepiece, a cheap digital watch which you might pick up in any store which stocked watches. On closer examination however it became clear that this was no ordinary timepiece. The date and time features where augmented by a counter which showed the anticipated demise of Tony Parkin. Imperceptibly as the growing of grass the counter moved towards “death day”.

Tony had filled in an online questionnaire regarding his medical history and that of his family. Once completed his age was deducted from the results to predict his “death date”.

Tony felt the sheer joy of being alive coursing through his veins. Neither he or his family had any history of heart disease or any other serious medical condition. While he enjoyed the odd drink, 6-7 pints of mild beer consumed over a week could in no way be viewed as excessive. Tony ate all the right foods and ran every day. There was no reason why a man of 24, in peak condition as he was shouldn’t live well into his 70’s or longer. Indeed the watch predicted that Tony would draw his last breath at the age of 81.

As he ran Tony became aware of a young woman running in the opposite direction. Tony had a girlfriend but this had never prevented him from admiring other women. There was after all no harm in looking. Tony gazed approvingly at the girl’s shapely long legs in her skimpy running shorts. She really was a looker.

He never saw the tree trunk which had fallen across the path. Even had he spotted it the speed at which he was running would, almost certainly not have allowed him sufficient time to avoid the obstacle. He fell head first over the log. There was a crack like a bough breaking.

The girl stirred in horror at the prone man. Even without her training as a nurse the impossible angle at which Tony’s neck was twisted clearly indicated that Tony Parkin was no more.

(The above story was prompted by a recent article in The Daily Mail which can be accessed here, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2448539/Tikker-watch-shows-countdown-death.html).

Free Book Promotion Ends At Approximately 12 pm 8 October

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The free promotion of my collection of short stories, “The First Time” ends at approximately 12 pm on Tuesday 8 October. If you have read “The First Time” please consider leaving a review on Amazon as I’d love to know what you think of my book. For further information please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/10/04/free-book-promotion/

I Don’t No Why

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I must have been out of my tiny mind to do it. It was totally illogical and goes slap bang against my own interest.

I’ve cleaned for the Browns for just over 10 years. They have a lovely 4 bedroom house with a big garden, in fact its more like a field. I wish I could afford a place like that! The Browns certainly have money. He does something in the city, a stockbroker I think and she works as a solicitor. Lots of couples with that kind of money look down their noses at people like me. We are lower than dirt, the little woman who cleans up their mess. The Browns aren’t like that. £10 an hour which is well above the minimum wage and always a Christmas hamper and generous bonus come the festive season. They never forget my birthday either. A big card and something in it. Such lovely people I can’t think what possessed me to do it.

They have such beautiful things. You could write what I know about antiques on the back of a postage stamp but that grandfather clock in the wooden case, oak I think it was was beautiful. I loved the feel of the wood. It was my favourite job polishing that clock. Such a sootheing sound it made, tick, tick and the way the pendulum moved back and forth fascinated me. I’d love to own a clock like that but being a cleaner there is not a chance!

The Browns are so trusting. I’ve often seen Mrs Brown’s bag open on the coffee table her purse poking out. They trusted me. I was their little treasure, almost part of the family.

It started a month or so ago

“I’m sure I had £70 in my purse but its gone” Mrs Brown said.

“Are you sure Anne?”

“Positive. Oh hold on a minute the zip was undone when I got home so the money could have fallen out or been taken”.

“I’ve told you before darling to make sure your bag is fastened. You’re such a scatter brain”.

“Yes Robert” Mrs Brown said but I could tell from her expression that she was only half convinced that the money had been lost or stolen while she was shopping.

Once you start stealing it becomes a compulsion. You can’t help yourself. The loss of money became a regular occurance. I could see the Browns watching me out of the corner of their eyes as I busied myself around the house. Of course they never caught me taking anything, thieves can be incredibly cunning.

Then today when I came to clean the house was like a bomb had hit it. Ornaments and that beautiful clock where missing. Poor Mrs Brown being comforted by her husband while Amelia, their teenage daughter looked on helplessly.

“Jean can I have a word please?” Mr Brown asked.

“Of course sir” I said my bowels turning to water.

“Lets go into the study” he said leading the way.

“Jean what happened, its obviously a professional job. The people who broke in new the code to the alarm and there is no sign of a forced entry. There is only one explanation. I’m sorry but you will have to go. I’ve no proof of course but you are the only person who could have done this. I’ll pay you until the end of the month. Here is your money” he said handing me an envelope. “We trusted you jean. We where good to you and you betrayed our trust. Please go now” he said the pain etched on his face.

I don’t know why I did it. They are as I keep saying a lovely couple but I’ve known Amelia since she was a little girl. She has sat on my knee and rolled around on the floor in fits of giggles as I tickled her. How could I tell the Browns that their little girl was a drug addict, that she was stealing to feed her habit? I must be mad,god knows why I did it …

I am now on Indiewritersupport

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Many thanks to Chris the Story Reading Ape for introducing me to Indie Writer Support. You can find my introductory blog post here http://www.indiewritersupport.com/profiles/blogs/hello-from-newauthoronline?xg_source=msg_appr_blogpost. Thanks Chris!

For my Amazon Author’s Page please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Absolution

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“Can I get you a drink?” the stranger asked touching Philip on the arm.

“I’m fine thanks. I’ve just ordered another pint”.

“I’ll get this” the stranger said handing over a £10 note to the barman.

“No really there is no need” Philip protested. Why did people always assume that he was in need of charity simply due to the fact that he was obviously blind, sitting as he was at the bar with his guide dog, Zeus at his feet. He hated being patronised but he had heard the till drawer click shut and the change being returned to his benefactor. He had no choice other than to accept the drink with as good a grace as possible.

“Thanks for the drink”.

“You’re welcome. How long have you been blind.

Philip’s instinctive reaction was to ask “how long have you suffered from terminal nosiness” but he smiled that world weary smile which his friends new so well and said “since birth”.

“What caused it?”

“A blood clot on the brain. They managed to remove it but not before I’d gone completely blind”.

“Christ I really admire people like you. Who looks after you?”

“No one, I live alone but if you know of any eligible young ladies do let me know”. Philip had found that the best way to deal with unwelcome interactions of this nature was to make light of them. Humour was after all better than losing his temper and telling the unwelcome interloper to go and take a long walk off a short cliff.

“Can I get you another pint?” the stranger asked beckoning to the barman.

“No thanks I’ve hardly touched this one” Philip said.

“I’ll have another, its my fifth”.

“I hope you don’t have work tomorrow” Philip said with a smile.

“Sod work. The boss can go screw himself. I feel like getting pissed and if anyone’s got a problem with that then they can get stuffed” the stranger said his voice rising.

“Maybe you should make this your last one Pete” the barman said as he poured another pint of cider into Pete’s glass.

Pete glared at the barman who retreated to the opposite end of the counter.

“My girlfriend had Retinitis Pigmentosa. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes of course it’s a degenerative genetic condition which causes people to go blind over sometimes quite long periods”.

“Yeah. I met this great girl, Ruth her name is. We clicked straight away. We both liked the same kind of music and supported the same football team, Chelsea. She was (is) gorgeous. Big blue eyes and silky blonde hair cascading down her back. We moved in together and everything was great. I’ve never been happier in my life. Another pint Bob”. The barman rolled his eyes but complied with the request. There was a prolonged pause in the conversation.

“So what happened? You speak of Ruth as though she is in the past” Philip asked.

“Ruth started to have problems”. Pete paused for so long that Philip wondered whether he should say something. “At first Ruth complained of problems reading” Pete continued. “She’d hold the paper really close to her face, sometimes she’d even get ink on her nose from the news print. I suggested that she should go to the opticians for an eye test and get some reading glasses. She wouldn’t have it, at least she refused until she walked smack bang into a lamp post. Can I get you another drink by the way mate?”

“No I’m fine thanks”.

“Well I’ll have one anyway” Pete said signalling to the barman who reluctantly filled his glass. “It was a really bad gash Ruth had. The hospital had to put stiches in it. After that I insisted she go for an eye test. The optician prescribed glasses but suggested Ruth go to the hospital for more tests. She was diagnosed with RP, not a thing they could do. In tine she’d go completely blind”.

“I’m sorry to hear that but I’m sure you where supportive, that you did your best to find out about RP and to help your girlfriend to adjust to losing her sight”.

“You don’t know what its like. I’d met this vivacious sporty girl who was always doing things then, suddenly she changed”.

“Changed?”

“Yeah she couldn’t play sports anymore. She became so depressed, very teary”.

“But I’m sure you tried to support her?”

“I didn’t know what to do. You don’t expect your partner to become disabled. The girl I loved changed completely. It wasn’t the Ruth I’d met”.

“A person is not defined by their disability. Surely you saw beyond your girlfriend’s RP. You tried to connect with the lady you had fallen in love with?”

“I didn’t know what to do. Every time I suggested going out somewhere she would always make an excuse so I started doing more and more things on my own. I met this girl, Karen in the supermarket. I helped her carry her shopping to the car and one thing led to another. We swapped phone numbers, met up the next day and went back to her place. Well you can guess what happened next”. Anyway one of Ruth’s girlfriends found out what was happening and told her. Ruth was devastated. She moved back in with her parents. I haven’t seen her since”.

Philip sat at the bar not knowing what to say.

“Say something. Anything. I couldn’t help what happened could I?”

“I can’t answer that” Philip replied.

“But look at it from my point of view. I didn’t sign up to be with a blind girl did I?”

“I don’t have all the facts so, quite honestly I’m not in a position to comment”.

“So you think I should have stayed with her then?”

“Only you can answer that question my friend” Philip said.

“You think I’m an arsehole don’t you? Perhaps that’s what I am. I drink because I’m an arsehole who wants to forget what he’s done”.

“Mate I can’t give you absolution. I’m not a priest but one thing I do know is that alcohol won’t solve anything. Do yourself a favour and go home”.

“Do you think that I’m a bad person?”

“That is for you to answer. I can’t give you absolution. Thanks for the drink. Take care of yourself”.

Philip got off his stool and picking up his dog’s harness exited the pub.

“Absolution” that was for priests to bestow not for him Philip thought as he walked home.

Are Children Are Safe

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Following the publication of the report of the independent enquiry into the effects of pornography on children the government had legislated to stem the online scourge. All new internet customers now had to opt-in to receive adult material. Failure to tick the box stating that the account holder was happy to access such content meant that the Internet Service Provider’s filters would prevent the customer or anyone else using their connection from encountering pornography.

“I’m so glad that we don’t have to worry about Ian looking at filthy images. They degrade women turning us into sex objects. Its no wonder that so many boys think that they are entitled to have any girl they please when they can do so, at least virtually with a click of the mouse. Well they could until this new legislation stopped all that. It’s a victory for the sisterhood” Louise said with a smile. “You did remember not to tick the box didn’t you darling?”

“Yes Lou” Mike said holding back the urge to ask his girlfriend whether she thought that he was stupid, of course he had remembered not to tick the box. As a new man he was just as committed as Louise to stopping the objectification of women

—

Ian loved his new laptop. It was a top of the range Toshiba. He could do his homework on it but that was a minor plus. The icing on the cake was the amazing graphics display which was great for gaming. The people in the game really came to life, they seemed almost real as they flickered and danced across the screen.

Ian padded on bare feet to his bedroom door. Opening it a crack he listened. The sound of muffled voices reached him. His mum and dad must be in the living room. Returning to the computer Ian typed into the address bar a domain ending with dot.ru. Having entered he clicked on the log in screen and input a Hotmail address along with his password. It wasn’t his usual email, at least not the one which his parents new about. It was used solely for the purposes of accessing this site.

Once logged in Ian went to the site’s search box and began his research. Soon the screen was full of couples cavorting in every conceivable place and position.

“Dinners ready” his mum shouted.

“Just a minute” Ian shouted back. He closed the site and switched to a top of the range history deletion programme.

“It will get cold” his mum yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

The programme had done its work. Ian switched off the computer, opened his bedroom door and took the stairs two at a time.

“You look flushed darling” his mum said.

“Really, it must be the central heating mum. Its so hot in my bedroom”.

“Just turn down the radiator, your not helpless”! Louise said with an exasperated look in the direction of Mike which said “children, who would have them”!

“Yeah, yeah” Ian said taking a seat at the dining table. He just hoped that his parents didn’t notice the payment to the anonymous proxy service when the credit card statement arrived.

(Author’s note: proxy services allow the user to browse anonymously so a person based in the UK can browse while using an IP address on the other side of the world. The proxy acts as a cloak so what the user’s Internet Service Provider sees is a mundane website with an address such as proxify.literature rather than the content the user is accessing while cloaked by the encrypcion provided by the proxy server).

Waiting

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4:30, barely 5 minutes since I last looked at the clock but when your life is hanging in the balance time does strange things. “for each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard”. Stop it, quoting Wilde will only depress you. But I feel like the condemned man in The Balad of Reading Gaol. Don’t be so melodramatic man, they don’t hang men anymore in the UK and besides you are no Oscar Wilde, stop being so bloody pretentious. But I’m an English teacher pretentiousness goes with the job or so the tabloids would have you believe.

And the first witness for the prosecution is Mr Hersay.

“Mr Hersay can you tell the tribunal, in your own words what happened on the afternoon of 22^nd June 2012?”

“On 22^nd June Molly innuendo told me that she heard, from an impeccable source that Mr Patrick Colins was seen behaving inappropriately”.

Hearsay, Innuendo and Tittle Tattle have strutted and played their hour upon the stage but will they, like the poor player be heard from no more? No they are even now sitting down over tea and cakes with Ms Gossip Monger eagerly awaiting the announcement of the tribunal. “I’ll be the judge, I’ll be the jury, I’ll be the hangman and condemn you to death”.

A male teacher working in a girls school, “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” that’s what the average tabloid reader thinks when he reads about a male teacher accused of inappropriate conduct with one of his female pupils.

Its not easy all those hormonal teenage girls. Even though I say it myself I’m not a bad looking man for my age. Going a little grey at the temples but lots of girls seem to find that sexy, the father figure and all that. Short skirts, girls sitting with their legs far apart I’ve seen it all. One would have to be made of stone or gay not to be tempted. I’m not gay by the way despite my love of Wilde. A fine writer who should never have been imprisoned for the love that dare not speak its name but I don’t share his liking for male flesh.

4:40,. This is barbaric. In Roman times they threw Christians to the lions. It was a horrendous death. Society is more humane today, we throw teachers on the tender mercies of public opinion or, more accurately on the mercy of the tabloids, “power without responsibility, the prerogative of the harlot throughout the ages”. You really are a pretentious prick Patrick, always showing off with your quotations. That appeals to a certain type of young impressionable girl. They love a man who can summon up a quote at the drop of a hat particularly when he takes an interest in them. Of course it’s my job to take an interest in all my pupils, there is nothing whatsoever inappropriate about a teacher nurturing his pupils. Good educators are like gold dust and ought to be cherished. I am a first rate teacher. Don’t just take my word for it. You should have heard the glowing references from several former pupils. It wasn’t just former pupils, several parents spoke glowingly about how I’ve instilled a love of literature in their daughters. Try as I might I couldn’t hold back my tears.

The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast. I can’t stomach these biscuits or what passes for tea in this place. 4:51, get a move on my palms are red raw. I can’t help digging my nails into them, Christ I’ve drawn blood!

When does a girl reach womanhood. The law sets the age of consent at 16 in the UK but prohibits sexual relationships between teachers and students even where the pupil has reached 16. The law is to protect young people from being exploited by those, like teachers in positions of authority. Some of the girls, 13, 14 and 15-year-olds aren’t above using their sexuality to wrap men around their little fingers. As an adult you have to have self control, to remember that they are, contrary to what they may think still children. “I can resist everything accept temptation”. Good old Oscar but that isn’t a quote one would employ when facing a charge of inappropriate conduct with a minor, not if you had any sense you wouldn’t!

Maybe I should get up and leave now. I could do that. This is a disciplinary tribunal not a court of law. I could walk out that door, jump on a plane and make a new life in Thailand or China. They are crying out for English teachers in those countries.

The Director of Public Prosecutions looked at the case but came to the conclusion that there was insufficient evidence to prosecute, however I’m still subjected to the circus of this tribunal. You jump through one hoop only to be faced by yet another. Mud sticks. Even if I’m cleared tongues will continue to wag, “You don’t want to send Gemma to that school do you? That’s where Mr Colins, the pervy teacher works. Of course he was cleared but there is no smoke without fire, don’t you agree?”

—

Cleared and free to return to teaching without a stain on my good name. I’m more grateful than I can ever express to all those who supported me. My backs sore from all the congratulatory slaps I’ve received, “Well done Patrick, I never doubted you for a single moment”. “Congratulations Paddy I never believed the rumours”. Thank the lord I’m free to return to the job I love.

—

Sophie, her pretty face convulsed with crying trying to conceal her grief at the back of the classroom. The bell rings. Pupils file out

“Sophie can I have a word please”.

The final girl leaves closing the door behind her.

“What’s wrong Sophie” I ask very gently.

“Its my gran sir she had a stroke last night and they don’t think she will” Sophie breaks down burying her face against my shoulder. Her scent, the warmth of her face close to mine. God forgive me …

Run For Your Life

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Wanker flirting with that barmaid like that. He says that he was just having a laugh but I’m sick of it. Everytime we go out it’s the same

“Oh its just a laugh Lucy. Just chill out, get a life”.

“I’ll get a life without you” I told him as I threw my vodka and coke in his face. He was furious but give him his due he didn’t retaliate. He’s a womanising arsehole but he has never been violent.

Its dark walking home. Still its only 20 minutes from the pub to my flat. He’d better not think of coming back there, tosser! Shit its raining. I’ll be drenched. I new that I should have called a cab but I was so het up, not thinking straight.

That blokes been following me for the past few minutes. Don’t panic Lucy it’s a coincidence. He just happens to be going in the same direction as you. I can’t see his face. That hat pulled down almost hiding his eyes, I don’t like it. Christ he’s walking fast, almost running. Keep calm he just wants to get home out of the rain the same as you. But he’s running straight at you. Fuck the alley’s empty just this weirdo and me. Scream, call for help. But he hasn’t done anything, he’s only running. Shout anyway it will scare him away.

“Help, help someone please help”.

There are no houses around here. No one can hear me. I shouldn’t have gone down this short cut, It saves 5 minutes but its taken me away from the main street. Oh Christ why didn’t I call a cab. Please, please god help me. He’s running now. I can here him calling for me to stop. You must be fucking joking mate I’m not stopping for you! I can’t run in these heels. Off they come. I haven’t been to the gym for ages. God I’m so out of condition I’m wheezing like an old man. My chest’s killing me and I’ve a stitch in my right side. Must rest. Can’t rest he’ll catch you. Must stop for a moment. I can’t. Oh fuck he’s still gaining on me I wish I’d kept going to the gym with the girls. Please, please no he’s almost on top of me. Run, Run Lucy, must get away. I can see the street lights up ahead. Just one more spurt and your back in civilisation.

He’s waving. What the hell does he expect me to do, I’m not stopping! Oh Christ he’s caught up with me. He’s got something in his hand and he’s pointing it at me. God is it a gun? Why me?

“You left this on the bar. God lady you where in a hurry. I thought I’d never catch up with you. This is your mobile isn’t it?”

Frustrated

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I spent a frustrating half hour or so yesterday evening trying to enrol my collection of short stories, The First Time in KDP Select. My other collections: Sting In The Tail and An Act Of Mercy (together with my short story, Samantha)are all enrolled which provides me with the ability to promote them, free of charge for upto 5 days in any 90 day period. However The First Time just wasn’t playing ball! I’ve emailed Amazon and await their reply. In fact I suspect that I know the answer. The First Time unlike my other books was published using the services of a self-publishing company who, among other activities had responsibility for sending my book to e-book outlets in order that it would appear in their catalogues. I’m drawn to the conclusion that only the self-publishing outfit possess the ability to take action in respect of The First Time which is rather a pain in the neck!

The above highlights the importance of authors understanding what, precisely we are signing when it comes to contracts. Yes I did read the document prior to appending my squashed spider scrawl otherwise known as a signature but the fact that I wouldn’t have full control regarding the distribution of my book never registered. If I use the services of a self-publishing company again I’ll be sure to ensure that I retain the flexibility to send my work to publishers etc.

When is a short story not a short story?

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I began writing short stories in mid 2012. At least I thought that my compositions where short stories (I knew of no other means of describing them), however I now realise that many of my compositions are, in fact flash fiction (a term wholly unfamiliar to me until comparatively recently). Wikipedia describes flash fiction as follows

“Flash fiction is a style of fictional literature or

fiction

of extreme brevity.

[1]

There is no widely accepted definition of the length of the category. Some self-described markets for flash fiction impose caps as low as three hundred

words, while others consider stories as long as a thousand words to be flash fiction”. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flash_fiction

I have never consciously aimed at producing flash fiction (indeed, as mentioned above I was unaware of the label until quite recently) but many of my stories none the less fall into this category. See, for example my story entitled Chicken, http://newauthoronline.com/2013/09/15/chicken/. To be frank I haven’t counted the words but I guess that they total 1000 give or take a few either way!

Other stories most definitely can not be classified as flash fiction. Rather they fall into the category of short story, (see, for instance my long short story, Samantha which runs to approximately 29 pages, http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI).

To the best of my recollection all of my flash fiction has been composed in one sitting while my short stories have been written over a longer time-frame (Samantha was written over a period of several months).

To me it is irrelevant whether a composition is, technically a piece of flash fiction or a short story. What matters is that the story gives pleasure and (hopefully) causes people to think about the world in which they live. If I can achieve that in a thousand words or less then all well and good, however if it takes longer to convey my “message” (if that doesn’t sound too pompous)! Then that, also is absolutely fine. Ultimately it is the production of a meaningful tale which matters rather than how many words I as a writer have churned out.