MAN MADE FLASH FICTION

Slice-of-Life 100-word story by Russ Cavanagh So I dissed the local authority's repairs department for incompetent (even negligent) work done at the house I rent from them; not just for substandard workmanship but also for squandering public money. Matters worsened when they botched attempts to remedy their misrepairs, each one creating further mess I'd then have to clean up.      In a formal complaint I called them 'clowns'. They rejected that complaint on grounds of 'abusive language'. Their email, issued by their legal department, contained an assessment rightly saying I was 'alleging discrimination'. They also labelled me 'high risk'.      I'll live with the holes in my walls.   Copyright © Russell Cavanagh  

Cut - spy thriller flash fiction by Russ Cavanagh 'How did you find me?'     'You know it's my job. It's what I do.'     'You just working for her or for the others too?'     'She wants it back.'     'Sure, just like that, eh?'     'Just tell me where it is.'     'I don't have it. It's not here.'     'Really? That's most unfortunate.'     'Yeah, well ...'     'Where is it?'     'Probably somewhere safe by now.'     'Is that even possible?'     'Well, relatively safe. In a manner of speaking.'     'You know they'll put the heat on her.'     'She's a big girl. She'll handle it, just like she did me.'     'Not this time. Far higher players have taken an interest.'     'Who, the boy scouts?'     'I wouldn't joke about it.'     'So who?'     'Think Prague - nine years ago.'     'Oh, I see. And ...

Hard Bastard Terry Ewart - a real life story by Russ Cavanagh I only ever met Terry Ewart once. He had a reputation as a 'hard bastard' and even the toughest boys feared a summons to his office for what would likely be six-of-the-best from his thick leather tawse.      Despite being a heavy smoker, Ewart wore a dark suit and tie each day to work. His gun-metal moustache and peppered hair complemented piercing brown eyes. Months away from retirement, he was deputy headmaster at the secondary school I attended in the nineteen-seventies.      My story with Ewart started one morning after my registry teacher Fran McIntosh, a late middle-aged woman with the vocal articulation of Geraldine McEwan's film role as Miss Jean Brodie, asked me (or, rather, told me) to take a note over to a distant classroom in some peripheral wing of the school building.      I refused Ms. McIntosh politely, being concerned that my first class of the day was in ...