Flash Fiction Friday #5

Coconut Freeze

They make a man of white, so life-like that they swear he's alive, and angel silhouettes on the ground which get smudged by clumsy feet when they try to stand.

They burry each other under brilliantly white piles, their noses blushing red.

They slip and slide and giggle when one of them falls over completely, landing with a thump which is followed by a series of foul words.

They stop laughing when the white turns to red under his head and his eyes can no longer stay open. 

They sob silently as they run back home, but the coconut continues to fall from the sky.

Flash Fiction Friday #4

Monkey Tail

The day I was born was filled with surprises.

Firstly, my parents were expecting to have a baby boy, and this mistake may have been caused by surprise number two; I was born with a tail. It wasn't the kind of tail you might expect - all pink and useless and misshapen - on the contrary, my tail was glorious even then. It was a long and slender thing, covered in beautiful chestnut brown fur. It tapered off into an elegant point which was as white as freshly fallen snow. I swirled it around like a master before I had even managed to squawk out my first cry.

My parents and doctors had planned to remove my tail when I was very young. The doctors assured them that I would be far too young to remember that I ever even had a tail, and my parents didn't want to have child with a mutation, so they agreed. When they eventually found out that it couldn't possibly be removed without paralysing me from the waist down they wept for days.

I very quickly learnt that my tail was an extremely versatile tool indeed and we soon became the very best of friends. As I grew older I insisted on doing absolutely everything with it and annoyed my poor parents immensely. I completely refused to use my hands at meal times and would grip my food with my tail instead, and nothing was out of reach once I had learnt to use it as a climbing tool. My parents often found that I had freed myself from my playpen walls and I could scale the kitchen cupboards as easily as crawling.

When I started school and learnt to write my name with my tail, my teachers disappeared, but my handwriting was the best in the year so no complaints could be made. Some of the other children could be mean; pinching my tail when I wasn't looking and pulling on it as I walked past in the halls, but mostly people were fascinated by it, or jealous. I made many, many friends in those first few weeks and we tore around the school as if we owned it.

*** To be continued.... ***

Flash Fiction Friday #3

This weeks Flash Fiction Friday is a day late because I completely forgot that yesterday was actually a Friday. Apparently my brain is a day behind at the moment. Hopefully it will catch up to reality soon though.

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Ham Sandwich

She takes another bite of her ham sandwich before realising that it might seem inappropriate and could offend. Trying to swallow it discreetly a lump sticks to the side of her throat and makes her choke. There is a splutter of an apology as a soggy mass of bread and ham flies from her mouth and lands at the hosts feet.

They snort in disapproval, looking from the congealed sandwich remains to her blushing face, and then back again.

She moves forwards; attempting to pick it up before they realise the choice of filling, but it's too late and no amount of apology will make it right.

'How dare you?!' He squeals in a rage, 'Get out of my pen!' With that, the pig turns around and trots back into his sty.

Hanging her head in shame, she is left alone to realise that this means the loss of yet another friend.

Little Red Birthday-hood.

In honour of my 23rd Birthday I am treating you to a very special re-telling of Little Red Riding Hood - my favourite tale! This re-write takes the form of a recipe and I think it is just wonderful.

Enjoy.

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Journeybread Recipe

1. In a tupperware wood, mix child and hood. Stir slowly. Add wolf.
2. Turn out onto a lightly floured path, and begin the walk home from school.
3. Sweeten the journey with candied petals: velvet tongues of violet, a posy of roses. Soon you will crave more.
4. Knead the flowers through the dough as wolf and child converse, tasting of each other's flesh, a mingling of scents.
5. Now crack the wolf and separate the whites - the large eyes, the long teeth - from the yolks.
6. Fold in the yeasty souls, fermented while none were watching. You are too young to hang out in bars.
7. Cover, and, warm and moist, let the bloated belly rise nine months.
8. Shape into a pudgy child, a dough boy, lumpy but sweet. Bake half an hour.
9. Just before the time is up - the end in sight, the water broken - split the top with a hunting knife, bone-handled and sharp.
10. Serve swaddled in a wolfskin throw, cradled in a basket and left on grandmothers doorstep.
11. Go to your room. You have homework to be done. You are too young to be in the kitchen, cooking.

- by Lawrence Schimel