Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 79: Spencer Saviour of the World

This is the 79th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Spencer Saviour of the World, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 18th February 2013 (finally I’ve caught up, been one day behind every day last week).

Word count: 900

The story:

The odd thing about Spencer Redhill was that he had an aptitude for virtually nothing… Except for one solitary thing. He was a skilled hunter, not of games but of patterns. The guy was a genius with patterns, but he lacked qualifications, interpersonal skills, and ambition to put these skills to use commercially.

Nor was he like Sherlock who could pull patterns together from non-congruous data, it was a peculiarly singular and focused a special skill. If you were struggling on a word search, Spencer was your man.

So it was quite a shock to everyone when he became famous for saving the country from bankruptcy. It was all so shocking that this unassuming man would get tied up, be in a car chase, and a shoot out. It was a spy novel breaking out in real time, with the least likeliest protagonist.

I suppose I should start at the beginning for those in a coma or not yet born on the 5th October 2015.

Britain had just had an election, and a new government was in place. Almost immediately the national financial crisis hit home as the government was forced to default on payments. On the 5th October it was the third announcement in a row of defaulting on payments. It was a huge crisis, the credit rating had tanked, services were being cut to the wick, to no avail.

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Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 78: Vixen

This is the 78th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Vixen, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 17th February 2013

Word count: 702

The story:

“Well that was a blast of fresh air. The girl I was just with liked it really freaky. I’ve been with plenty of women that thought that liked it freaky, but compared with tonight’s girl, there as vanilla as the yoghurt.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love vanilla, but cherry and spices made a real difference,” Craig the young man in the tight fitting expensively tailored beige suit said to his friends.

Each and everyone of his friends felt the instinctive desire to call bullshit. It was true that he seemed to have uncanny success with women, but blatantly he was prone to exaggeration.

“Okay,” Michael in the white open collared shirt said finally, “How did you meet this freaky girl?”

“Well I was in Bradford,” he started.

“Shit, you went out on the pull in Bradford. Do you not watch the news?” Tony in the blue rugby top asked.

“No why?” Craig asked bemused.

“There’s a serial killer targeting young men in night clubs. She’s been dubbed the Stairway to Heaven killer,” Tony informed his young boastful friend with relish.

“Yeah I was reading about that in the Metro,” Michael said.

“Oh if it’s in the Metro it must be true,” Craig observed drily. “Anyway, I can gaurentee, one night with me and she wouldn’t want to stab anyone anymore.”

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