Fliss Zakaszewska - Author ✒
Let's go into the first person. I write anything. My novel, 'A Million Mountains' has been edited into submission (no pun intended!) and is ready to be welcomed with open arms by a discerning agent. Discerning agent, are you out there...?
Flash Fiction
Scroll down for a selection of flash fiction - 100 word stories. Refreshed frequently. Do drop in to read them again.
Are you a querying writer? This one is my soapbox rants - Jane Austen would not be published today. Read why not: Classic by Fliss Zakaszewska.
Scroll down for more flash stories. ⬇️
On the rocks
The Almighty moved its hand, and the crystal glass appeared therein, shimmering, then within it stirred The Beginning, as ice and rock began to swirl inside.
The Deity pensively moved the glass slowly around in its hand, staring intently at the creation. Light and darkness became separate entities, and miniscule stars and planets began to form as a new universe was born.
Frowning slightly, still it stared into the tumbler then it shook its mighty head. “Damned,” muttered God, “I’m sure I only ordered whiskey on the rocks.”
Reality
The Azgard soldier stands to attention under the sweltering blue sun, beads of red under each of his five green eyes. The High-officer had better not see him sweating like this!
Miranda wakes from a vivid dream. A BLUE sun? She can still feel the beads of red sweat. Weird! Oh well, time to get the kids to school.
The Elf-Lord slumbers as his dream deepens; he picks up car keys and ushers three whining children out of a door. “Who are you really?” asks his higher-self, connected to him by the merest silver thread.
“All of us,” he whispers.
Super Nanny
Isabel had lungs like a sergeant major. What will she be like when she’s thirteen and what would Super-nanny do, Gary wondered as he knelt in front of his raging three-year-old.
He looked her in the eye, holding her gently but firmly.
“Isabel, calm down.” The volume intensified but the only discernible word was ‘NO’.
“I’m sorry but we have to go home now...”
“No-no-NO!”
“Isabel, this behaviour is not acceptable…”
BANG! An enraged three-year-old head slammed into his nose, throwing him backwards. “NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!”
Through the tears and the nosebleed, Gary smiled. That’s my girl, he thought.
Mums and guns
A deafening silence as I faced my teenagers, their air rifle in my hand.
“It’s Matt’s,” cried Peter, not afraid to ‘dob’ his friend in. Martin, his brother nodded.
“It… um, belongs to my dad,” Matt blurted.
Tired sigh. “Yeah, right.” Then, “It’s appalling…”
I cracked it open, and pushed a pellet in, enjoying their horrified silence. “…the sight was out by half an inch. Fixed it.”
I turned, aimed at a can on their ‘range’… blasted it first time. Another pellet, and, bang, a second tin went south. Faces, priceless as I handed it back. “Perfect now. You’re welcome.”
Patriotic
The general strode out, accompanied by the Sergeant, ready to inspect the troops.
“AHHHH-TEN-SHUN!” screamed Sergeant Shepard.
The collective click of heels was deafening as the soldiers snapped to attention and saluted.
Private Turner glanced down as the general walked past. Damned, he thought, Kim’s out cold again.
The general paused. “Shepard, there’s a man down in the parade ground. Summon medical aid.”
“Yes sir. He signalled for the corpsman to attend. “It’s a problem we have, sir, allowing karate black-belts into the Marine Core. They beat the Be-jeezus out of themselves when they salute.”
The Underworld
The passage was gloomy, the mist swirling as water collected on the ground. Roland held tighter to his Daddy’s hand.
“So, the ancient ones built the tunnel directly from the Pyramid of the Moon to the under-world, son.”
Splash, splash.
“Don’t wanna go there, Daddy.” The five-year-old pulled back on his hand, but the man strode on.
The minimal light faded, then they left the passageway. Roland shielded his eyes as a blinding flash illuminated the night.
Indiana Jones pulled the boy away from the road. “Mind the cars, son. Look there’s McDonalds. Do you wanna Big Mac and fries?
The Door
1797… T’was Pengelly’s pride and joy, the new sitting-room door, replacing the original, fitted with the cottage in 1585…
“Grandad Pengelly was so proud of his new door,” said Jim to his son as they re-hung it straight...
The men fought to extinguish the fire; Demelza grabbed a wet blanket and threw it over the smoking door. “Saved it,” she gasped…
Razza bought the house in 1971 and painted the door red as The Beatles sang ‘Yellow Submarine’…
“Get a crappy modern door?” Sheena screeched at Martin as she painted it white. “No way. The tales this door could tell...”
Author's note: This story is based on a much-loved door in my ancient cottage and came about when someone suggested I get a door from B&Q to replace it! Yes, she needs another coat of paint!
The Struggle
Jeannie Simpson cowered as her husband raised the spade and swung downward. He also had the carving knife.
“You bastard,” he shouted as she pulled Peter close to her. Squeals and crashes emanated from the conservatory.
Finally, he emerged victorious, the body in a box. “It's the largest rat I've ever seen. It’s got to be at least 20 inches!”
“Miaow,” said Cindy.
“Did the kitten really dragged that monster, half-alive, up the steps and thru the cat flap?” Jeannie asked in a stunned whisper.
“Miaow,” replied Cindy, strutting off in a huff.
The Resurrection
The Pentagram was drawn, black candles lit, as the assembled drew up their hoods. Black robed figures held hands as the High Priestess, dressed in dazzling white began to beat the rhythm. Melodically the chant began, “Resurrectio spiritus, omnes sancti...”
Mesmerising, enchanting; a mist began to swirl. Louder and louder, “Guido ad nos redit, return to us...”
Fire flashed from the Priestess’s wand as the man, dressed in strange garments, materialised in the Pentagram.
They dropped to their knees. “Forgive us Guy Fawkes, we’ll protect you this time, but we have another little job for you to do at Westminster...”
Author's note: Written for Bonfire Night 2022 when I was feeling pretty hacked off with the then government. Mind you, I don't see much has changed...
The Cart
The cart rumbled past. “Bring out your dead,” they wailed.
Piled high with corpses, pulled by a tired old donkey, the men who guided the cart wore masks… Well, strips of woollen material wound around their heads. The bodies of little children were piled precariously on top of adult limbs that protruded limply from beneath the little bodies. Jessop sighed; either way, he would never see Granddad again.
He shook his head to clear the image from his history-book as paramedics rushed into Mrs James’ house. The Black-Death, COVID-19; the only difference is, we have ambulances nowadays, he thought.
Authors note: Written in May 2020 when COVID was new and terrifying. Fortunately it was not as bad as we feared, and certainly not as bad as the Black Death
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Trina glanced at her cameraman then turned to the interviewee. “So, you’re saying that a marshmallow was floating out to sea, but was spotted by a giant pizza and rescued by a swan and a lobster?
The coastguard nodded. “Sadly, it’s getting more common with every passing year.”
Trina’s eyebrow rose. “Really?”
“Huh-huh. We thought we’d have to go and rescue a unicorn earlier, but she paddled back without help.
“SHE?”
“Yeah, the girl on that inflatable. People need to realise how dangerous it is, dozing off on something like a giant lobster when you’re floating on the sea.”
I hope you enjoyed these little stories.
All can be found at Friday Flash Fiction, search for Fliss although there are other brilliant writers who also contribute.
@FlissZak
Fliss Zakaszewska
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