Flash Fiction

Get it! Get it?

For someone so well educated and qualified, it would be perfectly reasonable to ask, why would anyone want to design a perspex abdomen? What problem would it solve?

Balls up!

Ang and Jack - Part Two “Oh, I’m not really hungry; I’ll just grab some meat, play around with that, maybe pull up some ice cream from the freezer.”

Just be nice!

Ang sighed. “Looks like ‘The Supremacy’, stuffed up again. This policy was supposed to make people behave and be nicer to each other. It was supposed to eliminate the assholes, make more space, and food plentiful. Instead, the assholes don’t register. What a complete stuff up!”

Stuffin’ Hec

“Some want bells & whistles; some just a cardboard casket. Some send their loved ones off in a golden shroud & a flash car; others, well, they can’t get rid quick enough, no-frills, nothing fancy. A sheet, a hole in the ground, or a can of gas, & a match!

The cry of the Kuaka

5.0 out of 5 stars Well worth reading Reviewed in the United Kingdom on April 12, 2015 A long tangled weave of a story bringing together different cultures but with the important thread, belief in where you have come from. A remarkable first book reminiscent of Amy Tan and her family sagas

The Nightmare Shop

"The box in the very middle," the man pointed. "You see it? The one with the red and yellow stripes. That box contains nightmares. I bought them about ten years ago. Never sold one, not a single nightmare, so I put them back in here five years ago. Now I need the space, so I want to get rid of them."

Uncle Gregory (aka The suicide tree)

Unafraid, I welcomed him. With a subtle cold breeze blowing, I beckoned him closer, sympathetically throwing golden leaves before him, laying a soft autumnal path. As usual, there were no birds to frighten into the skies. Superstitious and afraid; they had not rested, roosted, nor nested anywhere near me for many years. Wary, fear of guilt by association, they stayed away. 

Come gentle night

You came here seeking counsel, you feebleminded young man, do not throw this in my face. I have had Aswangs in my own church! They are clever; they accompany their husbands to Mass, only to dodge, duck, and weave the blessings I throw their way. I have seen it with my own eyes. Aswangs are also exhibitionists; they are vile and lewd. Did she expose herself to you? Did you see her naked flesh?”

Roly Andrews - Story Teller

Come gentle night!

“The battle between light and dark, good and evil is as old as death itself.”

Ramiro smiled, “Surely you mean life; for, without life, there can be no death.”

The old exorcist chuckled. “You are mistaken, young man; but it goes with your age! Death walks with and then stalks us all; and it is possible to be both alive and dead, or should I say, dead and alive.”

Death walks with and then stalks us all

“This is the wisdom I seek, Monsignor, the reason I have come to see you. As an exorcist, you tread the fine line between the living and the dead, the saved and the damned.”

“Then tell me, my son, how can I help you?”

“Forgive me, Monsignor, I think I have fallen in love with an Aswang.”

“This cannot be so Ramiro, you come from a long line of mortals…

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Uncle Gregory (aka The suicide tree)

“You killed my son,” the man screamed. “You killed my son!”

Roly Andrews - Story Teller

Uncle Gregory (aka The suicide tree)

He had come to cut me down.

I watched him approach. Weighed down by more than the chain saw he shouldered, his force evaporated space in front of him. Yet, I could see gravity taking its toll, grinding him closer to the ground, the sky pressing, squeezing, flattening him.

I saw tears in his eyes, anger in his cheeks. Early morning vapour exploded from his lungs, flumes of expelled air as vigorous as dragons’ breath, as powerful as a training horse. This man was on a mission, and I knew what it was.

He had come to cut me down.

Unafraid, I welcomed him. With a subtle cold breeze blowing, I beckoned him closer, sympathetically throwing golden leaves before him, laying a soft autumnal path. As usual, there were no birds to frighten into the skies. Superstitious and afraid; they had not rested, roosted…

View original post 4,831 more words