An Impossible Choice

Larry looked at the words he’d written in haste. They weren’t the meanest he’d ever wrote, but they certainly weren’t the kindest either. They did, however, say what he wanted to say. They got those heavyweight feelings off his chest. They got them said and out in the open. Quietly. In a text message. To someone he could confide in.

Larry hit send.

It was at least 2.3 seconds before Larry realised what he had done.

Have you ever tried to stop digital media from leaving a WiFi connected device?

Larry has.

Have you ever attempted to halt a message from sending, by throwing your phone into a fish tank?

Larry has.

Have two and a bit seconds ever lasted forever? Like the very fabric of space and time had been scrubbed in a wash bowl before being stretched and squeezed through an antique mangle?

To Larry, they have.

Larry stared as Brian the fish swam down towards the phone, circled it, tried to eat it, failed and moved on. He rolled up his sleeve, reached into the tank and retrieved the phone. The outgoing message blinked back at him.

Larry began to curse the Phones4U salesman under his breath as he dried the sodden rectangle of plastic and glass on the corner of his shirt. He’d never intended to buy a waterproof phone but upon mentioning a desire to scuba dive in the Bismarck Sea, Tony (Sales Assistant of the month) had began selling the features of the new SX890WP, at which point he never looked like taking no for an answer.

Since walking away from the shop, Larry had barely left Peckham, let alone made it to Papua New Guinea.

Setting the phone upon the kitchen table beside a collection of coins, he began to ponder the consequences of not double-checking who you were sending a text to.

Maybe he could pass it off as a joke, he thought.

Yes. Perfect. Good ol’ Gareth. He’s not all bad. He’d see the funny side of it, Larry decided. He’d realise it was all just a big joke and that he was only calling him a tosser in a jokey-matey-kinda-way.

Failing to convince himself, Larry pulled a chair from under the table and sat down, his eyes transfixed on the phone.
And then it happened.

Bbbbzzzztttt

The vibration rattled through the tabletop louder than any ringtone. “Gareth Mob” appeared on the screen.

Bbbbzzzztttt

The phone bumped its way steadily towards Larry, like a child using his bottom to descend the stairs.

Bbbbzzzztttt

It was mocking him now. Impatiently shouting at him to answer.

Bbbbzzzztttt

Larry slid a coin from the table and placed his thumb underneath it. He took a deep breath, and tossed it into the air.

 


 

Submitted as part of Prompted, at TipsyLit.

prompted-button

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

The Bearded Giant

The Bearded One sat at his Mac, sleep still clinging desperately to the corners of his eyes. The thought of conjuring up a world beyond the ordinary, a world where the everyday folk were cutlery, was dancing around his mind.

The Bearded One hesitated. Surely everyone would see the Fork People reference. No, no, this wouldn’t do. He had to be original.

Through a gap in a drawer from the corner of the room, Jeremy and Simon nervously watched on. Their shiny, stainless steel bodies clanking together as they clambered atop a pile of teaspoons, eager for a better view.

 

chopsticks


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Sometimes over 120 people taking part.

And hey, if you still can’t get enough of  flash fiction– why not check out my  eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Handle With Care

“This is genius,” thought Arthur. “Nobody is ever going to find me in here. I am quite literally the best at hiding.”

Minutes passed.

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of chewing grass.

Arthur chewed.

Hours passed.

“Ppfftt,” he said out loud.

Another hour passed.

“The thing about hiding,” he mused, “is that you’ve got to think outside the box.” Arthur laughed out loud before quickly covering his mouth with a hoof.

Downstairs, Trevor, Martin and Brian heard the bleating laughter from the storage cupboard. They exchanged glances, smiled, and returned to their game of poker.

 


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Sometimes over 120 people taking part.

Apologies for not commenting as much last week. I ran out of time thanks to work, family, work, cooking and usual daily stuff amped up to 11. I do hope to read a lot more of your stories this week.

And hey, if you still can’t get enough of silly flash fiction– why not check out my  eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

copyright-adam-ickes

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Walter Wants Water

Walter smiled. His previously clenched eyelids had loosened but not opened, and his eyes twitched beneath them. The cascading waterfall he was currently bathing in was half a world away from the dusty, red sand where he lay. The dust and dirt of which covered him, clogged every pore and yet proved to be a very ineffective sunscreen.

He dived beneath the water, soaking himself in the welcome lagoon.

The desert stretched beyond the horizon. Footprints had long since swept away. Walter’s foot flinched and kicked out involuntarily. His skin blistered and the vultures looked on, ravenous.

Walter smiled.

 


Posted as part of a Flash Fiction prompt from Carrot Ranch Communications.

July 9, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write story about water.  What significance does water have to the story, the setting or character (s)? How is water evocative or manipulated? What river flows through your imagination? Respond by noon (PST) Tuesday, July 15 to be included in the compilation.

 

dsc_0069

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Mavis Pops To The Shops

Mavis peered through the gap in the curtains.

The storm hung in the air, threatening to unleash its rage in a flurry of rain, hail, thunder and lightning. It‘d been like that for a while.

Mavis released the curtain. The deep red drapes tumbled closed and the room was once again plunged into darkness.

She paced the room, tutting as she did, before folding herself into the weathered wingback chair, her knees creaking in time with the furniture. Her plan to pop to the shops (3 minutes away) had been inconvenienced by the imminent storm for the last half hour.

 


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part. And hey, if you still can’t get enough – why not check out my almost-FREE eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

roiling-cloud-1

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 451 other followers