Too Much? – Russell Conover – Friday 1/31/14

“So, man … how’d your exams go?” Frank asked. “Not too well,” Ed replied. “That Econ class really got the better of–holy! Why are we suddenly lifting off the ground?” Frank’s eyes darted left and right. Sure enough, the two of them had started to sail slowly into the air. “No clue, but this is just weird,” Ed stuttered. Frank’s eyes gleamed. “I got it! We had one too many coffees in our late-night library session yesterday.” Ed shot him a look. “Dude, we’re college students. There’s no such thing as too much coffee.”

Trains Vs Trees by Emma Baird

tree pic uthamz

Below me, two men are wielding chainsaws with much enthusiasm. They feed branches and trunks into what looks like a giant shredder. It spews out chips and sawdust to the ground below.

I sigh; bye bye trees. They used to shelter the train platform from the wind and the views out across the town. They hid grey houses and vandalised buildings, but their tips touched on the bottom of the mountain views.

Pity. Progress is progress after all, and it’s either hidden views OR delayed trains. The regular commuter (me) can’t have it both ways.


*Originally posted on LinkedIn Friday 24 January 2014. The picture was taken from photographer Utham’s website

Tender The Night, by Gordon Lawrie, 31st Jan 2014

Christine studied the man lying with his back to her, asleep.

She smiled. She knew she should probably get up and go to the bathroom, but she wanted to retain the moment for as long as possible. The bed linen could wait until morning; it had been worth it.

John had taken her – probably both of them, to be honest – to a place she hadn’t been for years, had thought perhaps she wouldn’t ever visit again. He knew: he always insisted that he could tell from the glow around her neck.

Thank goodness life continued to be full of surprises.

WICKED by R. Sidney Evans

That cunning little son-of-a-bitch, thinking he could waltz off with the whole family pie. What a parsimonious, little anorexic squirrel feigning loss as he squirmed in his chair and fingered the last will and testament. His eyes studied the way others devoured their food. How he loathed them.


“Lily-livered, food junkies,” he muttered excusing himself to the john where he could admire his razor sharp jaw line and deathly eyes. Gaunt was fucking glorious. Scare the bejesus out of them, what better way to turn a profit on family pity? Wimps.


He’d forgotten about the guy in the corner. Checkmate.

A New Poem, by Gordon Lawrie


Ye cannae write that, Rabbie!” Jean said. “Just because she gie’d ye socks agin’ fir yer birthday!”

Burns read his new poem aloud. “There gaes ma Auntie Aggie’s face, Queen Grumpy ‘o the pudden race… It’s perfect,” he declared.

“How about another nice animal poem? They’re popular. Like those ones about mice and lice. How about a cat?”

“Emma Baird does them.”

“A dug?”

“Jane Reid.”


“Some Englishman called Bill Blake. And ah need a rhyme wi’ ‘Aggie’.”

“Ach, cam awa’ an hae yer tea. It’s yer favourite.”

Burns looked at the plate. “Short, fat, hairy legs, rhymes wi’ Aggie’s….”

Snowed in – Russell Conover – Saturday 1/25/14

“Snow,” grumbled John. “My meteorological arch-nemesis.” Scraping the ice off his car was slow going, especially due to the mixture of the white stuff and freezing rain that was currently falling. “There must be some way to make this snow vanish and make the warm temps return.” To his amazement, with those simple words, his windshield started to clear, and the air felt substantially warmer. “It is summer. I am in Hawaii, in my swimsuit, surfing and sunbathing.” In a matter of minutes, it felt like spring. The power of visualization strikes again!

Exercising face by R. Sidney Evans

Did you ever stop to think your face gets exercise when your lips, teeth, tongue, and jaw, masticate thoroughly? Teeth are born to chew and contribute to the sensual pleasures of your gums and soft tissues. Chew more and your saliva prepares the food perfectly for digestion in the stomach and this allows more effective disbursement of the nutritional values to your whole body. THIS is where you can become kick-ass smart.

The more you chew your food the more satisfaction you guarantee your body AND that creates this cost effective equation:

LESS food + THOROUGHLY masticated = EXPEDIENT nutrition.


And now for something completely different…

The Flash Fiction Writer sighed to herself, but what, what? She had found herself entangled in the lives of Alice, Danny, Behulah, Trent, the bug fixers, spiders and the women with murderous tendencies. They had all become dear to her and she adored the way their stories sometimes took unexpected twists.

Could she, perhaps, write a 100-word play, or possibly an angst-filled poem which hit on the complexities of modern life in a mere line or three?

She wrote a line – and stopped. Blast it, there really was very little that rhymed with orange.


*This story first appeared on LinkedIn on 17 January 2014.

Manners Maketh The Man by Emma Baird

Penny bristled to herself – was it really that hard for holiday-makers to learn the words ‘por favor’ or ‘gracias’?

The group had been getting on her nerves all week. The loud singing, the crass remarks and the lack of manners particularly piqued Penny.

Tony, the biggest and loudest of them, was now at the bar. “Oi Manuel,  six vodkas and cokes.”

As he passed Penny’s lounger, she stuck out a foot. Tony and his tray went flying. A nasty accident, but not one which could be blamed on the hotel. The waiter gave Penny the ghost of a wink.


*This story first appeared on LinkedIn on 29 October 2013

Tender Is The Night, Gordon Lawrie – 18/1/14

Afterwards, in the darkness, they lay in bed, talking.

“Sometimes I just wish we could reach our climaxes together,” she said.

He smiled. “I like to see you finished, satisfied,” he replied. “It’s so much more rewarding for me to know you’re done.” Then he added, “Anyway, it’s quite difficult to make sure that we get there simultaneously. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

She nodded. “I need to abandon myself, I know. But you’re often quite a long time after me.” She glanced at her watch. “Take tonight, for example. Yours should really be called Saturday Flash Fiction.”