81 Words Flash Fiction Writing Challenge – Stories Page 8

Story 701:

MY MUSE MY MOTIVATION

by Violet James

The blank page stares back at me.

Taunting me.

It's milky white surface pristine, yet vulnerable.

Dare I mar it with unwarranted superlatives?

Shall I scroll along the edges with flowery prose?

Or simply state the facts without frivolity.

In the depths of sadness a swirl of light beckons.

Tactile and pure.

My muse is nearest in the dark.

He holds my hand.

Nudges me forward.

A kind word.

He comforts me.

He is the inspiration for all that I do.

Story 743:

BUS

by Clare Owen

Step on. Pay money. Get shoved. Fall forwards. Say, "Oi." Turn round. Glare sourly. See gang. Eyes fall.

Gang push. Gang threaten. Driver shouts. "Clear off." Gang laugh. Bus quivers. Sense doom.

Boy moves. Raises fist. Hits window. Driver shouts. Hits again. Hits again. Window shakes. "Stop now." Police radioed.

Hits again. Hits again. Window smashes. Glass flies. People duck. Gang laugh. I tremble.

All quiet. Look up. Eyes meet. Teeth smile. Teeth bared. Raises fist. See exit. Leap forward. Escape.

Story 751:

DATE

by Doug Hawley

I tried to get a date with the girl at the grocery store. Because I was a little nervous and wasn't ready, I asked where the bananas and apples were.

She said, "Aisle 26."

Ashamed of my cowardice, I got a cart and picked up some bananas and apples.

I got up my courage to ask her out, so when I saw that no one else was in line, I boldly asked, "Now, how about a date."

She said, "Aisle 15."

Story 774:

THE HEIRLOOM

by Karen Waldron

My great uncle Herbert left me the time machine. He was quite the writer in his day. Nobody knew he owned a real machine himself, and who knows if that famous novel was based on his own experiences.

I've had it all these years and I'd love to be able to tell you about where the machine has taken me, and how far into the past and future I've travelled. But, I've absolutely no idea how to work the blessed thing.

Story 775:

MARVELLOUS

by Ross Lowe

My final magic trick was an absolute world-changer.

One minute, I was stepping confidently into my Mr Marvellouso Disappearing Box at the Bull's Head, in front of a crowd of bored, unimpressed punters. The next minute, I stepped into a field of bemused cows in what looked like Switzerland. Ha. That showed them.

Hmm. Problem was, that showed me too.

Unfortunately, I hadn't brought my wallet or my Disappearing Box (which had disappeared) to what was now clearly my new home.

Story 776:

THE DETAIL'S IN THE DEVIL

by Alison Wren

Dad says wasps are evil, the work of the devil.

Pointless little critters, with no purpose in this life.

So the empty jam-jar sits on the windowsill with a hole in the lid.

It's half-full of water. Or half empty, as he says.

Either way, it's half-full of dead wasps.

You see, they're not devious like Dad.

They just like strawberry jam and crawl in the top.

They buzz, bloat and bubble to death

So who's the devil and who's not?

Story 792:

A PRICK OF PAIN

by Jose Luis Torres

The young raised his hand and pointed to the free space. The old man obeyed the rest of his indications until the car was finally parked.

The improvised parking assistant waited patiently before performing his usual low-head and extended-palm approach. That cane tip made him look up and recognise Mr Rogers, his now retired teacher. The same who kept repeating he would get far in life.

Alone, still evoking those words, he ducked down by the tyre and opened his knife.

Story 800:

GAIA'S LAMENT

by Julia Wood

Today, I'm sad. The grey carpet is re-gathering itself above me, waiting to cover me, as though I am an unsightly thing, to be hidden away.

My holiday is coming to an end. And you know how it is with holidays? You never want them to end. I don't want my flourishing flowers, my rejoicing creatures, smothered.

The humans are returning, rolling out the grey carpet, token of my unimportance. Soon, I'll be hidden again. Neglected. Forgotten. No one will cry.