Story One
“I’m telling you, something was holding on to my foot!”
Pete tried to look sympathetic, but he was tired of it. He had planned this walk for months, a route through some of the most spectacular hills in Scotland. He wanted laughter, a bit of challenge, a memory to keep. Instead, Steve had spent the whole trip finding things to complain about — the midges, the blisters, the weather, the food.
Now it was ghosts. During the night, Steve claimed, something had grabbed his foot and refused to let go. He said he had hardly slept and would be heading straight home. The bus back to Glasgow stopped outside the hotel, he said, and it would be passing just after breakfast. Convenient, Pete thought.
When the bus pulled away, the others stood watching the taillights vanish along the road. No one said much, but the silence felt easier somehow.
The clouds broke. The loch brightened. Someone laughed about nothing in particular.
Steve had gone, and the day finally opened up.
Story Two
In the dimly lit tube carriage, a scruffy man spoke, disrupting the silence of the passengers.
“Haven’t seen you in this carriage before,” he said to a young girl sitting opposite.
The girl’s eyes narrowed as she noted his unkempt appearance and blatant disregard for the unwritten rules of the underground.
Their interaction unfolded like a scripted drama, with the girl taking the role of the indignant enforcer and the man the unwitting transgressor. She wasted no time in schooling him on the nuances of tube etiquette, her words dripping with frustration.
“No eye contact, no speaking to strangers, and under no circumstances ask for someone’s name,” she declared firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. The man, taken aback by her vehemence, attempted to push back with his own belief of how ridiculous it sounded.
As their conversation progressed, the girl couldn’t help but inject a hint of sarcasm into her admonitions. “Keep away from those nuns,” she motioned over to the two nuns sitting peacefully at the end of the carriage, “they’re dangerous,” she quipped, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips.
She did, however, have some admiration for the boy seated nearby. “See that guy there? He’s got the right idea,” she remarked, her voice softening slightly as she acknowledged his adherence to the rules.
“Craig”? The man said, “He’s a smart boy, doing a philosophy degree.”
The girl stood up in disbelief. “You! Know! His! Name!” she half shouted, through gritted teeth.
Their interaction came to an abrupt end with the intrusion of a nun’s voice.
“Excuse me,” said one of the nuns, “you do know there are rules to the underground, don’t you?”
With a nod of acknowledgment, the girl sat back down, her mind buzzing with the absurdity of the encounter.
In the quiet of the tube train, amidst the sea of unspoken rules and social conventions, two strangers had met – if only for a fleeting moment – bound together by the shared experience of navigating the underground world.
Story Three
The sustainable practices in agriculture.The United Kingdom stood on the brink of history, preparing to bid farewell to a deeply ingrained tradition. From cities to countryside, all eyes were on the impending event: the execution of the last cow. It was no longer a local affair but a national spectacle, broadcast live for all to see.
In a vast field, Daisy, the last cow, stood solemnly amidst a sea of spectators and cameras capturing every angle. The executioner, a butcher from Hove in a striped apron, approached with reverence, holding a bolt gun against Daisy’s forehead. As the clock counted down, Daisy fell with a thud, her life extinguished.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Daisy crumpled to the ground, her last breath a poignant reminder of sacrifices for progress. The nation watched, grappling with the bittersweet farewell to a cherished tradition.
In the aftermath, Daisy’s execution sparked debates. People remembered the last sheep and pigs already gone, emphasising the magnitude of this moment. Amidst controversy, there was hope. The end of this tradition symbolised a new beginning, a chance for compassion and understanding.
The media frenzy continued for days, with newspapers featuring Daisy’s image and televised debates discussing the ethics of her execution. Some argued it was a necessary step towards a more humane society, while others mourned the loss of a cultural heritage.
As the nation reflected on Daisy’s fate, there was a growing sense of responsibility to treat animals with greater compassion and respect. Daisy’s legacy became a catalyst for change, inspiring initiatives to promote animal welfare and encourage a more sustainable future for all.
Story Four
Robert was a ridiculous name for a tortoise; however, that was his name, and it was forever being called out. “Robert this, Robert that,” they’d say. He had to get away, and so Robert, the hairy tortoise, decided to run away.
Robert was hairy because he had a couple of strands of hair coming through his shell. Compared to every other tortoise, he was literally the gibbon of the tortoise world, a phenomenon caused by ingesting human hair. His unusual appearance made him quite the spectacle among the other garden creatures. The birds would often chirp in confusion, and the squirrels would stop and stare.
One sunny afternoon, Robert mustered up the courage to leave. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his home; he simply craved adventure, a life beyond the constant chatter of his name. With determination, he set off across the garden, his little legs moving faster than they ever had. The grass tickled his feet, and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air. It was a perfect day for an escape.
He got to the end of the garden, a place he had only ever dreamed of reaching. The world beyond the fence seemed vast and exciting, filled with possibilities. But as he reached this milestone, he felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. It was a lot of effort for a small tortoise, especially one as unique as Robert.
Deciding to take a break, Robert retreated into his shell. Inside, it was cosy and familiar. He had set up a tiny, imaginary world for himself in there. With a sigh of contentment, he brewed himself a cup of tea. The aroma of the tea leaves filled his shell, bringing a sense of calm. He turned on his miniature television, just like you see in the cartoons, and settled in to watch his favourite show.
As he sipped his tea and watched the screen, Robert realised that perhaps he didn’t need to travel far to find adventure. Sometimes, a bit of imagination and a break from routine was all he needed. For now, his journey would wait, and he’d enjoy his little haven within his shell.
Story Five
The house on Shore Street had been dark for a decade. Everyone knew its story: old man Arty, his heart giving out halfway up the stairs, found three days later by the postman. Since then, no one would buy it. The kids dared each other to touch the front door.
But tonight, a light was on.
Maya saw it first, walking her dog. A soft, yellow glow in the downstairs window. She called me, her voice a nervous crackle on the phone. “It can’t be squatters. The door’s still boarded.”
We stood together on the cobbles, looking at that single lit window. It felt like watching a dream. The whole street was a held breath.
Then, the light went out.
We waited. Nothing. Just the old, dark house and the salt on the wind.
“It was probably just a trick of the light,” Maya said, not believing it herself.
As we turned to leave, a shadow moved behind the glass. Not a person. It was the slow, heavy sway of a pendulum. The old grandfather clock in Arty’s hall, silent for ten years, had just begun to chime midnight.
We didn’t wait to hear it finish. We just ran, the sound chasing us up the hill, turning a forgotten tragedy into something new, and altogether more present.
Reveal Answer
Story 5 was the ai. Thanks for playing.
https://ko-fi.com/flashfictions
If you’d rather swap a coffee for something you can actually keep, the FlashFictions book is there for you.
Same weird ideas, just bound together.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0G34YZ9B2
Flash Fiction is Your Friend 