That Friday Feeling, by Russell Conover

At the usual weekly time, Frank pounded the keyboard and triumphantly posted his masterpiece, Minnie by his side. Then he went to prepare a celebratory drink.

“This looks like fun!” Minnie thought. She approached the computer and read some stories. Then she began typing one of her own. However, she had trouble pressing the right keys. She wailed in anguish, her creativity being stifled.

Frank returned with his drink, and his eyes widened. “Minnie! What are you doing?” He shooed her away from the computer. “Bad kitty!”

“Friday Flash Fiction … not all it’s cracked up to be,” Minnie thought sadly.

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Jock Surpass Runs for President, by Gordon Lawrie

Faraway Plutonians could see that self-made trillionaire Jock Surpass was making waves in the Uranus Presidential election.

“There’s lots of rubbish emanating from Uranus at the moment,” said one Plutonian. “If elected, Surpass promises to rename the planet ‘Surpass Uranus’. There’s already a Surpass Sea and a Mount Surpass. And he’s promising to make Uranus Great Again as the centre of the Surpass System.”

“More like Bypass Uranus,” said another (a Plutonian joke). “But he’ll not get elected this year.”

“Because?”

“Uranus years are 84 Earth years long. He’ll die before election day.”

“How true! Cup of tea to celebrate?”

Making the Connection, by Ann-Louise Truschel

The young girl lay dead in a pool of blood. She’d been assaulted and repeatedly stabbed.

There were no leads, and crime-scene fingerprints didn’t match friends or family.

“Why would she have let a stranger in?” said her distraught mother.

After three months, the case went cold.

Preparing for a flight to Florida, a neighbor calls her young niece to provide arrival information.

“Some guy’s at the door,” said the girl. “He has car trouble and needs to use the phone. I’ll call you back.” She hangs up.

The aunt immediately dials another number.

“Tampa 911. Where is your emergency?”

Disintegration, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

Vanity slammed the bathroom door and glared at the mirror.
“Lie to me,” she ordered.
For ten years she’d been counting her wrinkles, upwards of one hundred and sixteen now, way too many for any single face, but Vanity couldn’t stop counting her facial erosion. Now the scarecrow lips snickered just as they had for her Great Grandmother, Grandmother, and Mother. My D.N.A., she thought, a veritable blood line of cruelty.
As always, just touching her skin, Vanity could hear the silent litany of violations, domestic abuse, bullying, her dead sisters’ warnings.
“Vanity,” she sighed, “really?”
Too late. Train wreck.

Pathways to Invisibility, by Gordon Lawrie

The Edinburgh launch of Lyra Somerset’s much-vaunted book, “Pathways To Invisibility”, was proving a star event. A large crowd listened as James Ralston’s artful questioning coaxed intimate details from Lyra about her journey to transparency.

The audience gasped as Lyra read extracts standing, her clothes seemingly unsupported. Scores of copies were sold afterwards, each entirely blank, each signed in invisible ink.

Once the last customer had departed, Ralston packed away the discreet P.A. system with Lyra’s pre-recorded voice, the clothes, the cunningly-concealed clothes hoist, and the remaining blank books.

Easy money, Ralston thought, wondering if Glaswegians would be just as gullible tomorrow.

Tech Support, by Russell Conover

Samuel was fed up with his Internet connection. It had been cutting out multiple times a day, despite him trying numerous troubleshooting techniques. When nothing worked, he growled and called tech support.

“What can you do?” he asked firmly.

“Well, the characteristics you described are unusual. But, we have a special consultant, from whom we haven’t heard in a while, who could help.” The call was transferred.

Samuel again described his issue to the consultant. “I know your problem,” she stated immediately. “Your connection is coming from Pluto. We’ll set you up with something more local. No extra charge, either!”

Final Exit? … by Amy Friedman

When the doctor said “pancreatic cancer”, Roberta knew her time was nigh. Fortunately, she had already planned her funeral: the rabbi was chosen, the shivah luncheon planned, and money was in an account with her son for any expenses. She sighed, thinking longingly of the menu. Roast beef, turkey, crudités, lox, bagels, rugelach. A proper Jewish feast! Then there was that call from Louise. The ambulance had just arrived, so she let the answering machine take the message. Trust Louise to not bother calling until she was almost dead! Roberta would have some tart words for her when they reunited.