F-F-F #3

Friday Flash Fiction is a blog where a starter sentence is given every Friday@12PM PST. You then have until the following Tuesday@9AM PST to come up with short story or poem.The baroness came up with the starter sentence last week and this is what I did with it:There was no respite; the vivid, violent dreams that ruthlessly tormented her slumber had now relentlessly stretched the abyss, to envelop her during her day.”.

The air tasted like lead as she sat on the side of the crumpled bed, trying to flush away her doubts and shadowy thoughts with Bourbon. Outside, seagulls screeched and cackled through the roaring wind. She decided that enough was enough.

Day was melting into night.She felt the cold metal in her fist as she pushed her way to the bar, breathing in the scent of cheap aftershave, cigarettes and booze. A sultry Femme Fatale on a Chiaroscuro lit stage whispered a torch song that sparked the embers of a dream.

As she blasted his brains over the marble bar, producing a more than passable Jackson Pollack, she noticed that the blood looked black in the pub lights.

Stepping outside she lit a cigarette as the sirens got closer. Yes, she thought, it was worth it.

Life’s A Gas – #Friday Flash

Life’s A Gas

Nicky Marshall was a mousy man with mousy hair –so mousy, in fact, he was repeatedly banned from the local pet shop for fear of perturbing the cats. He had barely been scuffed by the wear and tear of life – living each soporific day shielded from the world, not unlike John Travolta in the ‘Boy In the Plastic Bubble’ – until, one chilly Autumn, as the cloak of night draped itself over the city, and the moon bit into the sky like a fang, Nicky had one of those moments that are usually described as pivotal

He’d been driving back from a stamp collectors convention, feeling very pleased with himself about the talk that he’d given, entitled ‘Philately Will Get You Somewhere,’ when he saw a woman hitchhiking beneath a blinking street lamp. Her silhouette appeared and disappeared like warm breath on a cold window pane. To Nicky- who was so unlucky in love that he was thinking of becoming a professional card sharp -she was like a long limbed drink of water calling out to a thirsty man.

He opened the door; she seemed to ooze into the car like mercury. She was the whitest thing he’s ever seen.

’My name’s Nicky,’ he said. ‘I’m a paleontologist. I’ll make no bones about it!.What’s your name?’

’Nikki,’ she said.

’And what do you do?’ he said.

’I eat people,’

Nicky was coming into the city centre and as he hurtled – like the Starship Enterprise on Warp Factor nine- through the constellation of neon signs and streetlamps, he started to feel weak and cold.

‘I eat souls,’ said the woman. ‘Those that have wasted their life. Failed to live and taste it’s fruit.’

Nicky was feeling weaker and colder. And he heard a sound, a shrill high pitched thing that chilled him more and more.She was singing

He felt his life draining away and there was nothing he could do unless…

Struggling, he accelerated the car, driving at full until he crashed into shop window.

The adrenalin rush was greater than anything he’s ever felt before and the woman’s singing seemed to fade, the car getting warmer until everything faded to black.

There was the sound of a woman’s voice. Nicky opened his eyes and his heart did a Buddy Rich drum roll when he saw a woman in white next to his bed.

‘So, you’re awake, Mr Marshall,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ve had a nasty accident and a bit of a shock so take it easy for …’

Nicky almost leapt from the bed and dressed in seconds.

’I’ve had enough of taking it easy,’ he said. ‘I’m off to the pub for a triple brandy and then … I’m going to Morocco. It’s good to be alive!’

As Nicky rushed into the street, still high on life, he didn’t notice the double decker bus that ended his last rapturous moments on earth.

The end.

(c) Paul D. Brazill 2009.


According to New Poland Express‘An unemployed Polish priest has
been arrested for robbing a bank,
local media report this week.
Thirty-seven year old Norbert J., is
accused of holding up staff at the PKO bank
in the town of Szamotuly near Poznan.
According to reports, the out-of-work
priest entered the bank Monday afternoon.
Unmasked and dressed in a beige jacket, shorts
and holding an orange bag, he demanded the
cashier hand over all her money. When she
refused he threatened her with a knife before
making off with PLN 6,000.
The female cashier gave police a full
description and, less than an hour later, they
picked him up at a bus stop in the town.
By then he had changed into an elegant
suit with a white shirt. At first he protested
his innocence, says spokeswoman for the
regional prosecutors office, Magdalena
Mazur-Prus. “When stopped, the suspect
told officers that he was a priest from the
parish of St. Bialogard in north-western
“He is a priest but he doesn’t currently
have a posting. He did indeed work
previously in Bialogard,” she said, adding,
“For the moment, we don’t know why he
carried out the robbery.”
Ordained in 2004, the 37-year old
Norbert J had recently fallen on hard times.
Resigning from his parish and priestly
rights, he had began work as a supermarket
security guard in Poznan, while living with
his lover and their month old baby.
“He chose a different path in life,” says
Church spokesman Father Darius Jaslarz.
“He wasn’t expelled, he decided to leave on
his own terms.”
Norbert J. has been described by former
parishioners as a popular priest who was keen
on table tennis. In 2004 he won third place in
the Polish table tennis Championships.
He now faces 15 years in prison.’

Matt Hilton Interview at Thriller Cafe

If you pop over to Matt ‘Dead Men’s Dust’Hilton‘s blog you can find links to the interview that he did with the Italian magazine THRILLER CAFE. It’s a damn fine intervew and Matt was also decent enough to name check myself and a couple of the other Thrillers Killers n Chillers writers. What a gent. And a top writer too!

click on the post header for the link to Matt’s blog.

EFL Teacher, Writer, Editor.

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