MAN MADE FLASH FICTION BLOG

"Indira, get the passports ready," said Kash as they approached the gate. His wife complied, and soon they were through and heading for the luggage carousel.      Once outside at the taxi rank they savoured the warm Italian afternoon. Soon they'd be sitting down to eat at their hotel.      "It was a good summer this year Kash, certainly by Scottish standards," said Indira.      "Yes," laughed her husband of almost sixty years, "a mild summer in Scotland is infinitely preferable to baking in Mumbai, just as a warm Indian winter beats freezing in Britain."      Both long retired, Kash and Indira lived on multiple pensions earned working in the UK and in their native country. As usual on their seasonal changes of residence they were making an en-route stopover in Europe, this year Rome. It had become a routine they both prized greatly.      After dining at the hotel the couple sat out on their ro...

"Who was that?"      "A blast from the past, Jim London," said Ross, putting down his mobile with one hand and scratching his head with the other.      "You were pretty abrupt with him," said Lesley.      "Yeah, well, fell out some years ago."      "Where did you know him from?"      "When I lived in England. We had one or two common interests, one might say."      Ross was clearly agitated by the call. He'd hoped for a relatively uninterrupted afternoon with his visitor.      "What's he like," said Lesley.      "A unique blend of considerate, kind-hearted, and supercilious dickhead," declared Ross.      "Being a wee bit judgemental there Ross?"      "Nah, just lived experience and keen observation."      "So what was he after?"      "Just what you heard. He's comin...

Two men met me at Central Station. One stood almost a foot taller than the other. I couldn't determine their ages.      My journey in from the coast had been uneventful - isn't that what they say? - and I'd hoped to spend a few hours wandering round the city centre browsing second-hand bookshops, seeing if any of my street friends might be about.      I wasn't at all aware of ever having met either of these two men now in front of me. Their appearance was entirely unexpected.      "Why did you come to Glasgow, Ross?" the taller one asked as his companion turned to observe a crowd of arrivals over on the next platform.      "Boredom," I offered. "I just needed to get away from my small town, to get some city-centre buzz." I had no idea why I was even talking to these guys. And yet, why did it at the same time seem so natural?      "You almost caught us off-guard," said the taller one. "We...

This particular morning, on a Sunday as it happened, I followed my usual daily routine: prayer, Bible, breakfast, all before deciding how to spend another day alone. And as the late summer morning smelt fresh from the previous night's rain, and with the sky promising to brighten, I decided on an early walk.      What better way to start a new day , a new week ? I thought, heading towards Main Street and the promenade beyond. Life's joys, even in this troubled world, tend to be simple when one lives in a small coastal town.      The streets were eerily quiet, and I realized that no traffic moved: no aged drivers heading early to the supermarket, having risen after a sensibly sober Saturday night; no boy racers tearing up the town's back roads in 1.2 litre dinky toys that boasted fancy tires and chrome exhausts costing more than the actual cars, neds and chavs burning off what alcohol and other drugs remained in their systems from the previous ni...

I froze. It was gone. I'd only laid it down while I stopped to survey my new location. But someone had just lifted it from right under my nose and now all the secrets it contained were in hands unknown. I hoped it was them who took it and not some hapless street thief looking for a way to finance their next fix.      It became crucial for me to get out of public view. I needed to avoid CCTV cameras, step away from passers-by and go somewhere I could think. On finding a busy cafe, I ordered coffee and took a corner seat well back from the plate window and the glare of the street outside.      The papers it contained were innocent enough, just fake contracts waiting to be signed by equally fictitious companies. Nothing damning there. But the laptop was an entirely different matter. Sure, it was encrypted - but if it was they who'd now got their hands on it, the game would be over for me. And if it was anyone else took it, they'd eventually be targete...

John climbed the unlit staircase with caution. A smell of old polish filled his nostrils, adding to the damp odour rising off his lambswool.      The top step was the only one out of the entire flight that had creaked and John now turned to search for the right room: It surely had to be the one spilling light out from beneath its oak-panelled door.      He found the door unlocked and walked in, his breathing still labouring after the stair.      Inside what constituted a library sat a man huddled over an old colonial style desk upon which he dealt cards to himself. A cheap cigar hung from his bottom lip. He didn't look up.      "You bring it?" the man grunted.      "Sure," said John. He took off his hat then reached into his inside pocket to pull out a long slim package.      The man gestured towards a cracked leather chair sat opposite his own. "You ready to play?"  ...

Saturday night and Rock Ridge Saloon was in full swing. The ladies from upstairs were plying their trade on the cowhands gambling and drinking away their wages. In the corner a honky-tonk player rattled the keys. The hubbub suggested a good night being had by all.      Then suddenly a cowboy burst through the swing doors shouting, "Big Mongo's a'comin'! Big Mongo's a'comin'!"      Silence hit the room like an express train.      "Big Mongo's headed this way, and he's mad as hell," panted the cowboy.      Everyone in the room drained their drinks and made for the exit.      A few minutes later as the saloon owner finished closing the shutters and made to bar the doors, a huge beast of a man, seven-foot-six at least, barged his way in.      "Whiskey and a small beer," barked the hulk.      "Mister, you can have a whole bottle of whiskey and as much beer as you want. C...

Thing is, this pandemic didn't in fact infect a single living being, certainly not anyone that anybody knew personally. The alleged virus didn't seem to exist anywhere other than in the media, in the mouths of politicians and the so-called scientists, and, of course, in the minds of gullible citizens.      Indeed, the only people suffering injury or death turned out eventually to be those gullible citizens who had taken the jabs, aka the needle, aka the poisoned spear.      Meanwhile, those who resisted by refusing the spike and disobeying orders to stay at home suffered zero unusual symptoms - except perhaps struggling mental health as the world went insane before our eyes. Nonetheless, we dissenters were vilified across all strata of everyday society.      The whole thing was a clear and obvious hoax. It was a charade, a cynical exercise in manipulating the masses worldwide. It was a criminal act of a government occupied b...

"Is it me or is everything getting more miserable by the day?"      "In what way?"      "It's one step forward, two steps back all the time. Whatever I receive in one hand gets taken away by the other, like my life is being manipulated, as if everything's being controlled at every turn."      "Who do you think is behind this?"      "The same people trying to burn the word down right now? I dunno, there does seem to be a connection."      "Every war, if that's what you mean, is certainly a blood sacrifice, one that's part of a greater ritual. Misery makes this world go round - or, rather, flat, ha ha."      "Meaning what?"      "Do you believe there are 'chosen people' carrying out the will of some greater being, on behalf of something in the spiritual realm?"      "Eh ... it does seem that way ... Hey, wait a minute ... You mean ...?" ...

Ross had heard the footsteps since moving in seven years earlier. Whenever he went through to his kitchen or to use his bathroom he would hear one or two steps follow him, then total silence. It could happen morning, afternoon, evening or even well into the wee small hours. Sometimes he just noticed a tell-tale creak right above his ceiling.      The elderly lady in the flat above was called Brenda. She was quite deaf and had a housekeeping routine that suggested obsessive compulsive disorder. Ross got on quite well with her.      Both of them were very private people. Neither made much if any noise, despite their homes being flimsily built, and both enjoyed quiet solitude. There were never any weekend parties.      But Ross hated feeling as if he were being monitored, his observer hidden, especially when visiting his bathroom.      But he'd never spoken to Brenda about the issue - that is, not until he did.  ...

BACKGROUND: The year was 2029 and martial law now covered what was previously considered to be the civilized world. This started with Emperor Stump suspending the US Constitution a couple of months before the 2026 mid-terms - elections he knew he'd lose heavily if they went ahead. It was Stump's intention to take advantage of worldwide chaos that arose from illegal wars raging across Europe and West Asia. Those wars were started on behalf of a species of degenerate parasites called the Apestein Class. That species, aliens who'd become the ruling class on Earth, had been considered contrary to all mankind almost since the dawn of time. CURRENT : A report received by the Edinburgh station, a hub of New Scotland Enforcement, said that grid surveillance had detected a possible anomaly in the system. That anomaly was a person of interest, a man who needed investigation and, if necessary, dealt with - a subject of the New Imperial society who wasn't conforming. A...

The young English woman came with her female dog and stood directly in front of Rich. Despite facing him, she stared over his left shoulder - obviously hoping to elicit a reaction, clearly daring him to say anything to her, anything at all.      They exchanged short hard looks. Then, apparently satisfied, the woman moved back a few yards and turned away. Rich merely resumed his thoughts, soaking in the rural summer morning and savouring nature's sweet bouquet.      Now recognizing the dog, Rich recalled how a few years earlier he'd made some warm remark to the woman about it being cute, not least as it had looked at him, wanting to be petted. She'd reacted by yanking the poor beast away, quite violently and unexpectedly.      Then, as now, she'd glared at him as though he were an abomination, some shameful pariah, some criminal worthy of hanging, a miscreant deserving a birching, a plague-carrier to be driven out by peasants brandishi...

Doob was a soak who drank alone at his regular barstool in his local, where today the dark interior contrasted with a warm sunlit afternoon outside. He had extended his lunchtime drinking, skipped returning to work, had told his employer he would be out of the office to follow up an unspecified list of potential new prospects.      Donald O'Brien hated his job, hated his life.      Looking straight ahead he saw himself nursing his whisky and beer in the mirror sat behind the optics. This ritual he would repeat until, probably some time mid-evening, he would stagger back to the empty home he no longer shared with his wife.      Now well into his early thirties, Doob's hair had thinned and jowls were becoming noticeably pronounced. The creased suit he wore was just as shabby, as were his stained shirt collar and a tie he'd just loosened to the point it resembled a noose. Doob muttered to himself under foul breath.    ...

    Lesley thought I was just joking about the sombrero. But here I am, wearing it while sat on a train. Despite sidewards looks and titters from my fellow passengers, the ticket inspector says nothing.      Outside, the sea now left far behind, rural landscapes shoot across the carriage window as I hurtle towards Nedburgh, Scallyland's largest city. That is where my friend Lesley lives. I'm feeling pretty relaxed.      Oh, why the sombrero? Same reason I put pebbles in my shoes before putting them on this morning. Same reason my clothes are covering up pretty much all of my skin. I want to maintain anonymity outdoors, to avoid the surveillance matrix. - Nedburgh's Big Z consists of three shop-lined streets that make up a popular feature of the city's commercial heart. It hosts countless CCTVs and other surveillance tech, mostly run by Police Scallyland  but installed by a very different Big Z - those entities behind the E...

    Though I'd rather be alone, I see no option other than to sit next to him.      "Morning, Ross," I say, hoping that won't launch us into some long and involved conversation.      "Morning, Peter," he replies, "How are you doing?"      "Fine," I say, getting my laptop out onto the desk for a spot of writing.      I manage about twenty minutes before he pipes up with a technical question, something about capitalization of place names. I duly oblige him with an answer, before putting my buds back into my ears and getting on with my task.      Another thirty or so minutes go by, and he interrupts me again. This time he's giving me information on some author he mentioned previously and about an audio version of one of the guy's short stories up on YouTube.      I'm not sure if Ross has some neurological condition or perhaps a mild learning difficulty, but he's like t...

I could tell something was wrong the moment he answered, a weariness in Ross' voice that his words couldn't hide.      "Hi Lesley, how ya doin'?"      "Fine, Ross. Seeing my aunt in hospital later this afternoon. Meeting my dad tonight."      "Your aunt getting any better? She's been in for quite a while now."      "Yeah," I said, "she's out tomorrow, assuming the tests stay clear."      "Great news," said Ross, not entirely succeeding in his effort to sound encouraging but sincere nonetheless.      Ross considered me to be his closest friend. This pleased me, even if he'd never have claimed that anyone's friendship with him should be considered any kind of honour, but rather, an acknowledgement of an otherwise difficult achievement. He was an oddball, sometimes funny, despite an ascetic lifestyle, but he could be trusted.      "So what's eating you?" I said. ...