Tyson leaned against the bar, waiting for his cocktail and staring at his reflection in the mirror above the drinks display. A late-thirties sales manager on the rise, he wore a few smile lines and flecks of grey, but thankfully, there was no sign of a receding hairline. Tyson winked at himself. With luck, he wouldn’t leave the singles bar alone tonight.
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The job offer notification pops up on my phone early on Christmas Eve. It’s a short-term role helping with overnight deliveries. The regular delivery driver has hurt his back and needs an offsider for heavy lifting. Once, I would have declined the job and spent Christmas Eve with my kids.
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My hearse is lost. I’d like to let the mourners know that, for once, this debacle is not my fault. But my spirit is tethered to my body until they lower the coffin into the grave and bury it. And communicating with the living would be difficult unless someone brings a Ouija board to the funeral.
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Your William Shakespeare crafted clever lines with hidden meanings, like, “All the world’s a stage.” It’s as if he had insight into my five-act play on my pet subject, humanity. Act One: Earth is a Garden of Eden. A troop of apes descends from the trees and totters on two legs on the African savannah.
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If you thought about it, the process for selecting the first matter transference test pilot was archaic, although Mae considered it a lucky omen when she drew the Blue 15 raffle ticket. Blue, not pink, was her favourite colour as a girl, and at 15, Mae had decided she wanted to be an astronaut when she grew up.
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I arrive late for Josh’s athletics carnival. His mum and I attend school events on alternate years. “Tell Josh I’ll be there,” I’d said when she called to remind me about it. “Don’t let him down again, please,” she’d replied. The last event in Josh’s age group, the 1500 metres, is about to start.
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I’m a lone-wolf superhero. Heck, I’m not called Solo Shield for nothing! So, I wasn’t keen when Long Vision suggested we buddy up as a dynamic duo. “I don’t know, Viz,” I replied. “Neither of us wants to play Robin to Batman.” “It won’t be like the comics, Solo,” he asserted. “We’ll be equals.”
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Have you ever had one of those mornings? You know, where everything goes wrong. It’s like a farce, a series of mishaps increasing in frequency and intensity that have you howling with side-splitting laughter or shedding tears of frustration. Mine started when I forgot to set the alarm for Amy’s swim squad training.
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My first attempt at the Australian Writers’ Centre’s Furious Fiction writing challenge was in April 2020. Since then, I’ve submitted entries to every challenge except two when I was away from home on holiday. I wrote my forty-third (official and unofficial) Furious Fiction this month, my fifth April story.
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I wrote The Light Above for the March 2024 Furious Fiction, the Australian Writers’ Centre’s 500-word flash fiction challenge. The brief for March was that each story had to include a character who revisits something, the same colour in its first and last sentence, and the words CAMP, FAST and SPARK.
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The sign at the front desk of the restaurant was emphatic: “WAIT TO BE SEATED.” No “Please” or “Thank you”. Bernie and his date, Sally, glanced at each other in awkward silence. “YES,” a gruff voice boomed from a speaker on the desk, “DO YOU HAVE A BOOKING?” Bernie stared into the webcam taped to the speaker.
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The chemical reaction when I pour the jug of milk onto my cereal sparks a memory: “Snap, crackle, pop!” Growing up, Mum bought us bland wheat cereals for breakfast. “You need the fibre,” she’d say, cutting short complaints and requests from my sisters and me for more popular brands.
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"For Alex his the Adaptive Generation, AI was a logical step in human evolution. It enhanced life, leaving them feeling less stressed and anxious. AI also offered hope for mitigating and adapting to the existential effects of climate change."
By definition, brevity is the key to good microfiction. There is no time for plot and character development, so every word must count. ~ Robert Fairhead
I hope readers enjoy the short story journeys in Twelve More Furious Months and make it home in time for dinner. ~ Robert Fairhead
I look forward to the Writer's Centre's monthly Furious Fiction competitions because I've become addicted to the escapism of writing short stories! ~ Robert Fairhead
This slim book is hard to put down. And the only regret we may feel after reading it is that we reached the end too quickly! ~ Denise O'Hagan
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. ~ Maya Angelou
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