Yes, I’m the bracket
Believe it or not, we’re not an endless supply – some hunchbacked factory replicas made en masse to order. We’re rare – and we work harder than anyone or anything. Continue reading
I’m the bracket
Believe it or not, we’re not an endless supply – some hunchbacked factory replicas made en masse to order. We’re rare – and we work harder than anyone – or anything. Continue reading
Rejection is a funny thing. It’s not so much laugh out loud funny as it is grinning through gritted teeth funny, but I suppose by now I’m immune to it really.
People from all walks of life try to mask it as constructive criticism, and some even try to console you by letting you know that there are others out there who’ll want you, that you’ll be the perfect fit – now that makes me laugh; really makes my sides split in two. Continue reading
Jim pushed his paperwork around the table like a child does their peas around the plate. He recounted the phrase in his head, over and over again like clockwork. The syllables clasped his brain as he studied the sentence inside his head; words of wisdom served to him from beyond the grave.
‘You’re never too old to learn something new and never too young to teach’ was the phrase that had changed his life in ways he couldn’t quite explain, ways which were far less tangible; they were floating in the air around him. Continue reading
Jim was lost in an eyeball circus of beams, bells and Lucky Sevens. Today was going to be the day.
Having grown up in Reno, Jim knew all about the majesty of the slots; how they made men and broke them in two; how they sucked you in and then spat you out without warning. But, of course, that was the appeal. Continue reading
Hello Everyone!
Recently, I launched a mini audio book titled Flash in the Pan: Sticks Like Glue.
To celebrate its release I’d like to give a few copies away – basically on a first come, first serve basis. Continue reading
An announcement:
Flash Fiction is a big passion of mine and as a result, I’ve made a small audio anthology of some of my work…
Flash in the Pan: Sticks Like Glue is the first of three volumes in this audio book mini-series – and if you’ve got 20 minutes or so to spare in the shower, car, tube, subway or while walking to the shops – it’s most definitely worth a try! Continue reading
In this second instalment of Flash Corner, I’d like to present my Hit the Road mini series.
This consists of two pieces of Flash Fiction loosely based around one of my own travelling experiences. Essentially, both tell the same tale but from two different perspectives:
Hitching South
It was rocky on the road to Dunedin.
I sat cramped in the rear corner of the campervan amongst two American tourists, two travel companions, six bags, three guitars and one overzealous German Shepherd; it was getting warm.
The day was bright and prosperous, as were the blue and emerald blurs of the South Island buzzing by the window. We had been chatting and singing, but as the temperature grew and our thoughts became our own, an exhausted, almost paranoid atmosphere began to linger in the air – we were no longer a bunch of happy campers.
Before long, the Americans were dropped off on their merry way, leaving myself and my two friends at the mercy of the German Shepherd’s sloppy embrace. Twilight set in above us and we were heading for the sticks. The friendly man with the bushy beard driving us became less jovial and more subdued as we trawled along barren land which showed no sign of the city lights.
Nerves grew; sweat steamed the passenger windows and our fists began to tighten as we looked at each other in disbelief.
Someone had to do something. We had to find out where this hill dweller was taking us.
“Excuse me friend, how far are we from Dunedin?”
“Far enough not to see it” replied our bearded driver as he grinned and showed tombstone teeth.
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Driving Back
I like company on the way back from the North Island, even with the dog it gets lonely.
It’s not even so much being able to prod and probe someone for information, it’s just the ambient sound of crowd noise and sing songs in the background that keeps me entertained; you know like when you leave the telly on to do the dishes.
That’s why I pick ‘em up and cram ‘em in. There are lots of backpackers hustling for a free ride on the road from Christchurch to Dunedin so I’m rarely ride on my own these days – the wife tells me not to trust people and their unpredictable ways, but she’s one to talk.
Occasionally they’re chatty, sometimes they’re silent and other times they just talk and joke amongst themselves as if I’m not even there; they’re the best ones.
Last week I picked up a bunch like that. When the two American guys went on their merry way it went a bit quiet, so I cranked up the radio and ploughed on into evening. After some rustling and bustling in the back one of them asked me how far we were from their destination, to which I replied “far enough not to see it”.
They didn’t like that too much and firmly requested that I pull them over on the most desolate country road they’d probably ever seen. They even tried to take Shep hostage: I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Just as things started to get real heated, we pulled into my driveway where my full beams glistened on the faces of my wife and children and things were instantly diffused.
Hours prior to our little funny little face-off, I overheard them saying that they’d blown most of their dosh in Wellington and hadn’t eaten properly for a while, which was plainly obvious due to their pale complexions and the tent-like sweaters that swayed from their coat hanger shoulders.
That’s why I took a detour: to invite them in to for a feed and allow them to book accommodation with my internet facilities. Yes, even a hill-billy like me surfs the web sometimes!
After a hearty meal, a few smiles and some friendly banter I dropped them at the pub up the road so they could grab a pint and pick up a local connection into the city.
They returned to my doorstep beaten, bloody and potless less than an hour later. The three of them had been turned over by the locals, so I let them to stay the night and then drove them to the British Embassy in Dunedin the following morning.
I went down that pub today and collected one third of their bags, coats, passports and wallets. Well, there’s no such thing as a free ride, is there?
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Next year I’ll be relocating the blog, and launching my literary publication. In the meantime, if you’re a keen writer of fiction and would like to be published as part of Flash Corner, please drop me a line.
As a huge fan of Flash Fiction, I’d like to share some of my own work, and encourage others to do so too.
As a result of this, I have launched Flash Corner – for the time being, this will be an integral part of the Catchy Content Blog, however, next year I’m looking to make it a full time blog and entertaining literary resource.
So, to kick things off, here is a piece of Flash Fiction simply titled The Smoking Area…
He blew a smoke ring which spiralled into the air and merged with the wall of grey above his head.
He looked down at his feet, then out at the pane of glass that separated the smokers from the rest of airport’s thriving activity, he was alone but he wasn’t happy.
Through the haze of the smoking tank, he could make out lots of people in their various costumes, doing various things and going to various places, all for various reasons.
Stalked legged stewardesses wheeled their cases proudly to their vessels; rotund mothers chastised their kids for dragging their heels; yuppies glanced at their phones with sour faces, and moist eyed singletons marched in sorrow to their respective gates. Everyone had somewhere to go. Everyone had an agenda and all the while, he just stood there watching. He lit up one more and inhaled deep.
He only had a few minutes until he had to move on himself, and used them to puff and think. Thinking about his children made his palms sweaty and say to himself “what must they think of their old man?” to which the answer was “a real piece of crap”
They hadn’t been in his life for a good five years but he knew they were better off without him and would be doing well at school. He didn’t carry a picture in his wallet – their faces were firmly printed in the back of his mind should he ever wish to see them.
He stubbed out his cigarette and as he picked up his stuff, wondered if he would actually pluck up the courage to go and visit them. He opened the door, let the cloud out into the terminal and in doing so, picked up his broom and went back to work.
By Daniel I Hughes
I hope you enjoyed the story. If you are a writer of Flash or Short Fiction and would like to be considered for Flash Corner, please drop us a line via our inquiry form with your name, a short bio and your work included in the body of the email.
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