Category: Story Telling

This is the 100th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

The Salesman’s Destruction, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 11th March 2013

Word count: 795

The story:

“If you think this kind of behaviour is acceptable you are sorely mistaken. We do not con our customers,” the manager, Kirk Brentwood said furiously. “Have you any idea how much grief I’m getting over this? Head office wants to investigate thousands of sales, and for what?”

“It was a mistake,” Francis said, feeling hard done to, but trying to show contrition.

“I listened to the call, I’ve seen the quote records, and the sale record, are you really telling me that’s a mistake?”

“Yes,” Francis said, “I was just trying to be the best. It’s been a tough sales month.”

“Bullshit,” Kirk said, “That’s bullshit. You don’t want to be the best, that’s not why you’ve been top sales man this past three months. You want the extra five hundred pound bonus that goes with it.”

“No…” Francis started to say.

“Hey I don’t mind, your a sales person, I expect you to be after the rewards, hungry for the commission. We’re a sales company. But here’s the thing, you don’t cut corners. Right now we have a pissed off client, and to make this right, he’s going to end up with his order gratis. That comes out of my budget, and it makes head office nervous. They want to know about liability.”

“Nothing like this has ever happened before, it was just a mistake,” Francis defended himself.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 100: The Salesman’s Destruction”

This is the 99th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Peace Maker, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 10th March 2013

Word count: 782

The story:

“What would you know about it?” the Sheriff O’Halligan said dismissively to the reporter.

“My father was sheriff, the first sheriff of this colony. Back then there was only him, so I’d help out. In my experience a bolt gun wouldn’t do something like that, it’d need something with higher output. You need to look at military spec,” the reporter, James Williams pointed out.

The Sheriff mulled it over, “You could be right. I’ll need to get the coroners verdict.”

“When’s the doctor due?” the reporter asked.

“Next Tuesday,” the Sheriff said.

“In my opinion that won’t be quick enough,” the reporter said.

“We work with what we have, Mister Williams. We don’t just go round shooting suspects these days,” O’Halligan started snotitly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, my deputies and I have a body to store.”

“That man is horrendous, pompous, and an idiot,” James said walking into the pokey offices of the station news channel. “There’s gang warfare about to break out, and the big guns arts coming with them, and he wants to wait on a coroner before acting.”

“Coroners not here until next week,” the only other reporter on the station, Louise Parker said, alarmed, “Are you sure it was one of the gangs?”

“Who else could it be? The guy was shot with what looked  like a proton gun, it wasn’t a standard bolt gun that’s for sure.”

“What are we going to do?” Louise asked.

“I think I’m going to go pay Finn a visit,” James said flatly, “Maybe we can head this thing off before it escalates. Over a third of the population are in one of the gangs, a war would be devastating.”

“Well good luck with that,” Louise said backing off, afraid of the very name of the station’s King Pin.

Finn Gillespie wasn’t pleased to see James, and he made sure he knew it by making him wait. Finally after two hours he let him in.

“What is it you want?” Finn asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

“I’m sure you can guess,” James said, but continued anyway, “One of Freddie’s boys bought it yesterday, I want to make sure things aren’t about to escalate.”

“It weren’t nothing to do with me, and if that arsehole is trying to blame me, there will be trouble,” Finn said menacingly.

“He was shot with a military spec rifle, I know you keep a stock of them.”

“As does Freddie,” Finn pointed out.
“Yes, but why would he waste one on his own men?”

“Beats me, but maybe you could beat it out of him,” Finn said. James was just about to leave when the sounds of combat broke from out in the corridor.

“Here’s your chance,” Finn said grabbing a couple of pistols, he threw one to the reporter, “You still as good a shot as when we were kids?”

“Let’s find out,” they gathered by the door, Finn pressed the switch to open it, and then stood back. Bright blue bolts shot past.

“I came here to stop the war,” James shouted to Finn.

“Bit late,” Finn leaned round the corner and fired indiscriminately. “Okay, there’s two on the left, one on the right, my guys are dead or fled.”

“I’ll take the two on the left,” James said definitely, “And it doesn’t have to escalate beyond this.”

“On my mark,” Finn said, “And you know it does, I didn’t start this war, but I’ll finish it.”

More blue bolts whizzed through the open door.

“Mark!” Finn shouted.

Both men leaned round the door, as low as they could, and waited for the attackers to expose themselves. They did, two of them went down instantly, the third managed to duck back into cover.

“You can run home now,” James shouted down the corridor as Finn crept forward into less protected cover and waited. “No one would blame you, two to one aren’t good odds.”

The attacker came out of cover and fired, James barely avoided being hit.

“Clear,” Finn shouted.

James stepped out again, “If you didn’t start this war, you don’t have to find it. You can find a better path.”

“That’s not how this works,” Finn said holstering his weapon, “What’s done is done, I can’t back down.”

Suddenly he was thrown backwards by the force of a bolt gun blast hitting him in the chest.

“Sorry,” James said as he closed his friends eyes, “There are too many good people on this station who would get hurt or killed in this war.”

James heard the Sheriff approaching, so he dumped his bolt gun in the nearest trash shoot and waited to tell a careful story to explain all of what happened.

This is the 98th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

The Dull Life, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 9th March 2013

Word count: 979

The story:

“Its simple, all we want you to do is going in there small talk about whatever, make the switch and get out,” the blue suited detective said, “at all times there are going to be a dozen cops ready to protect you.”

“Simple,” he said. Simple is a con, it’s a lie, a devastating one as it turned out for him and his team.

I went in, and as soon as Breaker saw me, I lost my bottle. I didn’t grass, I never said a word, I didn’t have to.

“Where’s the device?” he demanded of me, and without thinking I handed over the ornament.

From outside there was the sound of screeching tires, there went the backup, and then there was an explosion outside. The flash was visible through the blinds.

“Do you know why I asked you to come here?” Breaker asked.

I shook my head.

“We share the same employer you and I,” Breaker said, “I knew they’d be bugging you, I let slip to one of their informers that I was going to contact you. Naturally they jumped at the chance to get inside my organisation.”

“I work for a bank,” I said in all innocence.

“I’m taking about the CIA,” Breaker said, “I’ve seen you meet with my contact.”

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 98: The Dull Life”

This is the 96th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Nutmegged, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 8th March 2013

Word count: 996

The story:

“Want anything from the shops?” Margaret asked Julian.

Julian looked up from the football scores, it was the last day of the season and he needed good results to stuff his boss in the fantasy league. “I’m okay, thanks though. I’ll make it up to you alter.”

“I know you will,” Margaret said with a smile, “See you soon.”

Julian went back to the football.

Several hours later there was a bang on the door. Julian got up and opened it, two police officers were stood there, and behind them were a dozen others.

“Yes?” Julian said nervously, having a bad feeling.

“Mister Julian Newton?” the biggest of the police officers asked.

“Yes, what’s this about?” Julian asked.

“May we come in?” it wasn’t really a question, they were already stepping forward, “We have a warrant to search this property.”

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 97: Nutmegged”

This is the 96th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Plague Curfew, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 7th March 2013

Word count: 972

The story:

“Urgh,” Mike groaned in bed as light flooded the room. He tried to roll, but without a blanket that wasn’t much of an escape, and the light hurt. It hurt his eyes even when they were closed, the warmth made him feel sick, his head was a screaming ball of pain.

He rolled right off the bed and hid behind it instinctively.

“Get up Mike,” a stern but feminine voice said, followed by a sigh.

“Urgh,” Mike said groggily raising his head above the parapet of his bed and looked at his beautiful and cruel wife who gave a small laugh at the sight of him. His simple brain ran through a series of reactions, fear, hunger, arousal, though given the pain and the confusion he was frozen in place.

“Come on get up,” she said sternly, “I’ve no sympathy when it’s self inflicted.” She was just finishing getting dressed.

“Urghhhh,” Mike said as he admired her soft supple skin.

“Now you’re not even being funny, bye Mike,” she said grabbing her coat and bag to head downstairs.

Mike pulled himself up and went after her, keeping out of the sunlight as much as he could.

“Urgh,” he said at the top of the stairs.

“Oh go back to bed Mike,” his wife said angrily as she put on her shoes at the bottom of the stairs. “If you’re not off to work you might as well get this place cleaned up. Serves you right for being out drinking after this stupid virus curfew.”

Then she was gone, and with no other stimuli, he had no interest in staying awake, so he went and laid down. An hour or two later the post man knocked on the door, waking Mike up. He ran to the door where he could see the silhouette through the glass.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 96: Plague Curfew”

This is the 95th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Sol’s Children, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 6th March 2013

Word count: 992

The story:

“Its true then?” the Emperor asked.

“I’m afraid so sire,” the lead solar scientist, Royston Miller, said bowing low. “Its the sun’s natural evolution, no one I’ve spoken to knows any way to affect something like this. In five to six years the sun will rapidly expand, and all signs indicate the Earth will be swallowed with a couple of decades at the most.”

“And that’s certain?” the Supre Marsborn, the Emperor’s Scientific Adviser asked.

“No, it may not expand as much as we fear, but even the minimum expected expansions would increase the temperature’s on earth, most of the outer layer of rock would become molton, rivers and oceans would dry up,” Royston said hesitantingly.

‘How many people could we evacuate to the colonies, Admiral?” the Emperor asked.

A gruff old man cleared his throat buying himself time to consider carefully, “Not as many as I’d like Sire. In four years we might make it to a billion, maybe a few more if we kept up ship building. But in reality it would be at most a few millions, the outer colonies couldn’t cope with more. There’s also the problem of the several separatist movements, this could push them over the edge which would make things harder.”

The Emperor nodded his thanks to the Admiral for his comprehensive, albeit depressing, report. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, gather the best, the smartest. We need a plan to save Earth, or everyone on it. We can not let the future of humanity die with a dying star. We must survive.”

Supre Marsborn bowed, “I will see to it your highness.”

The room was cleared, leaving his divine Emperor July Windsor to slump back into his ancient throne.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 95: Sol’s Children”

This is the 94th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Polish Haven by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 5th March 2013

Word count: 991

The story:

The kids were excited, this was there first time in an aeroplane, at six and eight it was possibly the most exciting moments of their life.
Their parents were less fussed, it had been a stressful day, last second packing, trying to keep the two young boys clean, and getting through the airport. It was their first time flying, and it was nerve racking.

The mother rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, he smiled and patted her hair.

“We made it,” he said reassuringly.

She sighed wearily. The flight was only a few hours, then the chaos would resume as they gathered their bags with two over excited kids fit to burst, that’s if it wasn’t sooner.

The seat belt sign came on, the kids were already fastened in, but mother checked just in case before strapping herself in.

“Its strange, you know, that Daddy wanted us to come in holiday right away,” the mother said.

“Carol, you know what Henry is like. He can be a bit odd sometimes,” the father said, just them Carol noted on odd expression in Simon her husband. She was about to comment when the plane started moving, and she forgot in the fear and excitement as the plane got into position to taxi.

Several hours later the plane landed in Krakow, Poland. The kids predictably were all over the place with excitement.

“Can we back now?” the six year old Lewis asked, speaking at the speed of light.

“Soon, my love,” Carol said having lowered herself down, “First we’re going to explore a new country.”

The words didn’t mean much to the boy, until his mother likened it to Dora the Explorer.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 94: Polish Haven”

This is the 93rd in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Mail Call, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 4th March 2013

Word count: 729

The story:

“Bring her round three degrees starboard, and ceiling minus two degrees, and then cut engines,” the man on the end on the end of a tinny intercom instructed.

“Left over, and down,” the space suited pilot repeated casually, but they followed the instructions perfectly. There was a soft bump, a click, and inside the ship there was a hiss as pressure was increased inside the ship, as an earth like atmosphere was breathed into the ship.

“Docking complete at oh six thirty seven,” the pilot reported. Checking the atmosphere read outs, they decided it was safe to remove their helmet.

The first thing that came spilling out was long wavy red hair, then as the opaque helmet came completely clear the lovely features of a young woman appeared. She unclasped herself and walked back into the craft and through the airlock where an official met her.

“You’re a day late,” he said sternly without bothering to introduce himself.

“Excuse me,” she said giving him a glare that immediately caused him to wither, like he’d been struck by a pin and his pomposity was leaking away. “I am never late, in fact I’m here a full day early.”

“Oh,” he said, “Then the earlier delivery hasn’t made it.”

“There wasn’t any news of delays, before I set off,” the pilot said.

“Pirates most likely, they’ve been getting more brazen in these parts sadly. We’ve commissioned the Garda for more patrols, but the needs of one space station aren’t considered important enough.”

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 93: Mail Call”

This is the 92nd in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

The Head Hunter Letter, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 3rd March 2013

Word count: 705

Info: Woohoo this story gets me past the quarter mark. Going to do a top 5% when I hit the big one double zero.

The story:

To my successor,

I am a corporate head hunter, photographs of my many success stories line the walls of my office.

No, I don’t work in recruitment, directly anyway – though thanks to my efforts plenty of people have gotten promotions and new jobs. The focus of my job is quite literally hunting people and bringing them low, destroying them. I mostly do work in the private sector, it’s less morally ambiguous.

If you’ve got a problem boss, maybe he’s an arsehole, maybe he refuses to retire, or maybe it’s a colleague or a competitor compromising everything your trying to build, (usually a bank balance, if I’m being honest), and you don’t care how it happens, I can fix it. Scandals, controversies, on personal and professional levels are my specialties. I sniff them out and expose them, and if there’s nothing, I’ll create one. And I do all this at fairly competitive rates, and with the utmost discretion. Except for the pictures on my wall, but they’re only ones that I feel wouldn’t undo my good work, I might be an egotist, but I’m not mad.

How did I get into this business? Well it started a few years ago, I was a corporate schmuck. For nearly ten years I towed the company line, did everything that was asked of me, yet I had risen as far as I was going to get. There were too many settled people higher up the ladder, those that weren’t were either job swapping in to new areas, or were consultants that effectively filled temporary holes I couldn’t seem to fit into.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 92: The Head Hunter Letter”

This is the 91st in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

The Life of Toad, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2nd March 2013

Word count: 738

Info: a few days late with this one, playing catch up. Bish bash bosh, here they come….

The story:

Toad awoke with a start, he was immediately alert and on the look for whatever had woken him. Two bright dots in the mostly darkness peered at him. Toad crept forward, and the growing dots proved to be from a cat, the weak security light reflecting in curious eyes.

“Go to sleep Cat,” he said dismissively, crawling back into his nest of cardboard and newspaper.

An hour or two later Toad awoke again with the return of dawn. He gathered up his few belongings, his creature comforts, a spare pair of socks he wore only at night, or when the weather was really cold so they’d last longer, a pack of chewing gum, and a half eaten burger he’d collected the previous day, a sign on cardboard that was weathered and faded, and sixteen pence left from his previous day’s begging.

He left his back alleyway and ventured into the town centre. Sitting outside a McDonald’s, out of the way of the binmen and street cleaners, he ate his burger, imagining it was fresh and that he’d just bought it from the restaurant he was outside of.

“Oi, clear off,” the restaurant manager said running out to chase him off before the breakfast crowds arrived.

Toad didn’t argue, there was no point. He went across town to one of the last public toilets, there was a small group of homeless men waiting for the cleaners to clean out, so no one would kick them out.
After that he went towards the train station on a route frequented by the wealthy and well fed, near coffee shops and newsagents.

The begging was poor, but it was that time of month. That said he had enough for a coffee and a buttered bread roll from the market place by lunch time.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 91: The Life of Toad”