Oct 2014

Flash Fiction Friday double header

Flash! Friday Fiction - Stories x 2

Flash Fiction Friday is one of my have flash comps and last week (10th October) as part of the Flash Dog challenge I had to write two - yes two! - stories instead of one. The picture was this one of some poor ill child being visited by some creepy clowns (all clowns are creepy you know!). Here are my two stories inspired by the photo. Both are 160 words short.


circus-clowns-visit-sick-boy-boston-public-library

It’s All About Timing

There is nothing quite so soul sappingly depressing as a clown with self confidence issues apart from perhaps a whole troupe of them.

The troupe from The Great Tortellini Circus found themselves in one of the many Jacksonville’s when they had all reached rock bottom together. Smaller paler imitations of themselves looked back from the mirrors in the make up tent, their faces painted thick with smiles splattered wide across their cracked white faces wouldn’t fool anyone, least of all themselves. They were all now officially not nearly as funny as toothache.

They knew they had to get out of the rut. Perhaps they should just get fired out of the state by the giant canon. At least that may get a laugh from the audience.

When Tortellini went in for surgery, after the accident involving the lion and the broom handle, the clowns finally tried to run away from the circus. They were too far gone to recognise irony.


What do you want to be when you grow up?


The four men stood before young Charlie Dunnings, who had recently had his appendix removed. He laughed at them, which they appreciated. The art of laughing at clowns was a dying art.

Charlie laughed and laughed as the clowns squirted flowers in their own faces, beeped horns and slipped on imaginary banana skins. He laughed until his sides hurt.

The nurses would drive out the men who seemed taller on the way out of the ward, buoyed by their time with him. Clowns everywhere heard about Charlie and his wonderful powers, he healed their bruised egos with his laughter. Queues of unsure clowns lined the hospital waiting to see him. They really were funny, Charlie proved it; and it was cheaper than paying for therapy.

Once Charlie had his medication correctly adjusted he no longer laughed at the ridiculous sad men. When he asked one of them ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ they stopped coming.




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