Flash Fiction

That Something

“It’s missing something,” Samantha said as she drew the spoon away from her lips and stirred the pot again.

Petra frowned at her. “Did you remember the eye of newt?”

“Of course! It’s the main ingredient.”

“How about the toad toes?”

Samantha snorted. “They were a pain in the ass. Picking all those tiny nails off?”

“You didn’t have to, you know.”

“Normally not. But the little buggers had been to the salon. I didn’t want nail polish in the brew.”

Petra pointed her own sharply filed nail at her friend and winked. “Good thinking.”

“What else might I be missing?”

“No clue. This is what you get for not writing down the recipe when Zelda was still alive.”

“That’s it! She always used to cry a tear into it. What are we going to do?”

Petra squinted. “I think I can squeeze a tear out.”

“No!” Samantha cried. “Zelda was a virgin. That’s the whole purpose behind this concoction. To help us become born-again virgins, so we can experience having our cherries popped again.”

“Right. So who do we know who’s a virgin. Oh, I know! That Jimmie brat down the street. I’d like to make him cry for digging my asparagus up last spring.”

“Let’s go get him!”

***
Three months later…

“I think all we’re missing is the last ingredient,” Samantha said as she drew the spoon away from her lips and stirred the pot again.

“Excellent. Little Suzie’s just waking up.”

“Can’t wait to get rid of this penis.”

“Nope,” Petra said, scratching her balls. “Me neither.”

Protesteth

How doth one protesteth a petty injustice, when one’s very sustenance is at stake?

“Mummy? Whilst thou giveth me mine cookie?”

Ah, to babble, perchance to speak? Perhaps whence mine age becometh two.

Martyr

“Okay guys, I’m going in. Gonna take one for the team.”

“But Timmie, you’ll die!”

“Yeah, Timmie! If you break away, chances are you’re not gonna make it!”

“Gordon, Freddie, it’s okay. It was nice knowin’ ya.”

“Noo!! Timmie, nooo!!”

“Oh well, there goes one of the good ones. Aaaand SMOOSH! Okay, who’s up next? Ralph? Ralph? Come on, Ralph, you can beat that fly swatter!”

“Yeah, Ralphie! You’re the quickest one there is!”

“”Okay guys, I’m going in. Gonna take one for the team.”

“But Ralphie, you’ll die!”

“Yeah Ralphie! Or maybe you’ll make it! See ya soon, Ralphie! Aaaand SMOOSH! Man, it’s good these guys have a short memory. Who’s up next? Hey, Marty!”

***
The Daily Post: Martyr

Vanished

Mom’s going to kill me. She left me alone for one measly weekend. “It’ll be okay!” I said. “I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry, go have fun!” She’s going to be home in ten minutes and the dog has disappeared. Vanished. One minute he was on his chain in the back yard and the next, he’s just gone. His collar is there, still done up but no dog.

Can she blame me for this? Not if she believes me. But I know what she’s going to say. I staged it to look like some mysterious thing happened to her baby. Her favourite pet of all time. God, she loves that dog more than she loves me.

What the hell am I going to do?

Maybe I’ll disappear, too.

It’s So Gary’s Fault

“However good I am depends on who’s around me. I get my grounded energy off people, and it’s so, so fantastic, you know? Like I was saying to Gary-”

“Ugh! Don’t talk to me about Gary. He’s such a douche.”

“Gary? You mean Gary, Gary? He’s not a douche.”

“Like hell he is. Did you see what he did to Mike’s car?”

“I don’t believe this. You really think Gary did that to Mike’s car? I am getting such bad grounded energy off you right now. You’re pulling me down to your level. Stop it.”

“It’s not me. It’s Gary for Chrissakes!”

“That’s it, I’m outta here. Move over, I’m getting off the bus right now.”

“No, wait. I’ve gotta talk to you about Mike’s car. Your dad’s a mechanic, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, could you, like, ask him if Mike could bring it in for some body work?”

“What did you just say? Body work? My dad’s a mechanic. A me-chan-ic. He fixes engines and stuff, not bodies.”

“That’s a no then?”

“That’s a no then? That’s a no then? Oh my God, now you’re making me stupid too. Let me off right now.”

“Fine! Take your stupid ‘grounded energy’ and go away! You were stupid before I met you, bitch!”

“Ugh!”

#SoCS – Facelift

It started with a pimple on my nose. A small one it was to begin with – a little red dot right on the tip. I noticed it while I was admiring my new facelift in the mirror, on the night before I was to take a flight down south. I was looking forward to my vacation in the sun. Little did I know.

***
Sitting in the sun all day, reading a book on the beach made my pimple grow. When I came in to get changed for dinner, I looked in the mirror and saw that it was three times the size it had been before I left home.
I shrugged it off.

***
A week later and I’m about to board the plane to go back home. I didn’t think they’d let me on–there was talk that I’d need two seats. One for me, and one for my pimple. I didn’t have the money to buy another seat for my now giant proboscis, but if I didn’t make it back to work the next day, shit would surely hit the fan.

***
It’s been a month since I first saw the pimple on my nose. I drag my face around my apartment all day, having lost my job. Surgery is tomorrow. They’re going to cut off my nose. Despite my facelift.

socsbadge2016-17

This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt. To play along or to read other posts, click on the following link: https://lindaghill.com/2016/12/02/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-316/

Hello?

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That echo. It happens every time I speak.”

“No. Does it do it when I speak?”

“No. Only when I do.”

“Then it must be in your head.”

“It’s not in my head. I can hear it… it… it… Did you hear that?”

“That was just you saying ‘it’ three times.”

“So you heard it then! It’s not just in my head.”

“No! No, no, no. I heard you say ‘it’ three times. You actually said it. I heard you do it!”

“Now it’s happening when you do it too! I just heard you say ‘it’ three times!”

“Because I actually said ‘it’ three times. It’s not an echo. It’s me speaking!”

“Whoa…”

“What now?”

“Now your ‘it’s are coming out with esses on them. And so did mine… This is freaky!”

“No, you are freaky.”

“Now it’s happening with the word ‘freaky’! I’m freaking out!”

“Okay, that’s it. Excuse me, I’d like to sit somewhere else. Last time I’m taking this bus to work. Freak.”

Cultured

“Arthur, face it. That little strumpet Arthur Junior brought home will never fit in.”

“But Henrietta, dear, she’s the only one he’s invited for dinner, and he’s twenty-five years old. We have to at least consider her.”

“Nonsense. You can’t turn a sack of chaff into a cultured pearl. It just can’t be done.”

“Well then what are we going to do, darling? Your son is as ugly as sin.”

“My son? He’s got your name.”

“Would you rather we’d called him Henry Junior? Quiet. Here they come.

“We were just discussing you, Junior.”

“Arthur…”

“Your mother was commenting on what a lovely lady you’ve brought home with you.”

“Her name is ‘Jennifer,’ Arthur.”

“Yes, yes. Jennifer. Which school did you say you attended? Hard knocks, you say? Har har har. Yes, well. I think you’re needed on the phone, Junior. The yacht club called. Yes, they’ve been holding on for fifteen minutes. Geeves will see Miss Jennifer out. So long, Jennifer.”

…

“I think you handled that quite well, Arthur.”

“Thank you, Henrietta, my dear.”

Stinky

“You in the back row, um… let me see… Sarah, please use the word ‘pungent’ in a sentence.”

“Walter, in my math class, is very pungent.”

“Sarah! That’s not very nice. Do you know what the word ‘pungent’ means?”

“Yes, it means smelly.”

“That’s right. Step out into the hall, please. And don’t come back in until I tell you to.”

“But, Miss Foster…”

“I said go out of the class, young lady.”

…

“Now. What is the next word? Ah, yes. This is a good one. Nick? I remember your name. Would you please use the word ‘warren’ in a sentence.”

“Walter would live in a warren if he didn’t live in a cage in our math class.”

“Ahem. Very good, Nick. Would you please do me a favour and ask Sarah to come back in?”

Pretty – #SoCS

He loved her secretly. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever met. Beautiful inside and out. But he had no choice; he couldn’t tell her, or anyone else. His step-mother would be against the match. And no wonder. For she was the daughter of his step-mother’s brother. Almost his cousin, but not quite.

One day, they’d run away together, he thought. When they were older. Maybe when they were teenagers.

socsbadge2016-17

This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link to read more posts, and see how you can join in: https://lindaghill.com/2016/11/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-2616/