4: The Bomb Lives Only As It Is Falling - Mr Flash365

She didn’t stop to think, she just leapt from her chair.

                 That was what the witnesses said.

I can’t believe she did it. It’s just not like her.

                 That was what her sister said.

She was very quiet, what with being wobbly on her pegs, you know? We barely saw her.

                 That was what the neighbours said.

She was a mother of four, grandmother of six. Nothing more than an ageing housewife.

                 That was what the papers said.

She came out of nowhere. She saved my life.

                 That was what the security guard said.

Without her, he would have got away with a little over half a million.

                 That was what the bank manager said.

She shouldn’t’ve bin there. It should’ve bin the fucker with the cash.

                 That was what the gunman said.

She died from massive blood-loss due to gunshot trauma.

                 That was what the coroner said.

She was my wife, and she was always a hero to me.

                 That was what her husband said.

Now. Now is my time. At last, my time to act.

                 That was what she thought.




[The title is taken from 'Zakalwe's Song', the poem at the end of Use of Weapons by Iain M Banks. ]

3: Why Frank Couldn't Be President - Mrs Flash365

His father set him on course for the presidency at a very early age.  He was schooled in the history of the Union, from the importance of 1492 through the Civil War, the Cold War and the war on terror.  He knew how many signatories there were on the Declaration of Independence and could name every single president and date their terms in office.  He had been on 3 tours of the West Wing, including a short visit to the Oval Office, and used the nickname POTUS, except in school.

But Frank was born in Hackney and no matter how hard he tried and wished and learned fact after fact, he never could stop not being a natural-born American from thwarting his dream.

3: Burning Embers - Mr Flash365

Shelly held up her empty bottle and reached for Dan’s. “Do you want a last one?” she asked him.

             He nodded, gazing into the fire, then realising that she probably couldn’t see him properly in the dark, said, “Yes, please, honey. Thank you.”

             She stood up and made her way back across the garden, carrying the empty bottles. A slice of light slanted onto the grass as she opened the kitchen door and went inside.

Dan didn’t watch her go, but kept his eyes on the fire, watching the flames lap gently across the wood, yellow paling into blue. The fire was burning low and the cool of the night was starting to eat into the cocoon of warmth it had woven. It would be time to go in soon.

Shelly returned with two more beers, and set one down on the table next to Dan. He didn’t look up.

“I got your beer for you.”

“Hmm? Oh. Thanks, honey.”

He leant forward and picked up the poker from the ground, then he used it to shift the big log in the centre of the embers. It would burn a little hotter there. Hotter, but quicker.

He sat back in his chair and picked up his beer.

“Thanks,” he said again as he took a sip.

The two of them sat in silence, watching the flames lick higher and brighter. Dan looked across and could see his wife looking at him, the yellow light reflected in her eyes.

He raised his bottle in a salute and she did the same.

With a soft crump, the last log in the fire split into ashes and the light died.

He turned back to watch it, and they sat in silence as the last of it glowed in shades of amber and red.

2: Frank Denies An Apprentice - Mrs Flash365

Dear Lord Diehardt

Thank you for your application for a government-subsidized apprentice under the national Apprenticeship Scheme to increase employment opportunities for our young people.  I am sorry to inform you we are unable to proceed with your application for the following reasons:

1) The government is happy to consider apprenticeships in a wide range of areas, in both practical and office-based environments.  Your wish to train “a nemesis and arch-criminal mastermind” is commendable but we do not feel it is an area we wish divert limited funds into.  Further, the scheme seeks to develop skills that would equip a young person in the workplace in their future career and your suggestion is unlikely to lead to anyone developing a diverse range of transferable skills.

2) Before we could permit any apprentice to begin work, a full health and safety assessment of the workplace and main duties would have to be carried out.  A cursory glance at your submission tells me your “lair filled with diabolical devices” may be something of a health and safety nightmare.  “Fiendish plans” is insufficient in detail for me to assess the workstreams fully, but if there is any likelihood of utilizing said diabolical devices I can again foresee problems.

3) I’m afraid we are unable to provide a steady stream of new apprentices to you as you request.  Normal practice is for a successful applicant to be employed for at least 12 months in a single role.  If you are likely to “lose one a week” it might be wiser for you to review your work practices than to just replace the unfortunates.

4) Some of the examples of tasks you cite do not seem compatible with the ethos of the Apprenticeship Scheme.  Rather than “learning to laugh maniacally” consider understanding the principles of a filing system.  Perhaps “strapping an heiress to Big Ben’s clapper” could be replaced with a solid knowledge of Microsoft Office.  Team working and time-management skills would be preferable to “tying knots too tight to escape from” either on rail-road tracks and overhanging mountains.

5) Lastly we feel you just aren't any good, are you?  She’s a slip of a girl for heaven’s sake.  Nothing you have done has held her up for more than a matter of minutes.  If she is a swindled heiress, where is she getting the resources to visit the opera, the Rickenbacker Falls, London and who knows where to track down the Sultan’s dearly sought-after skull?  Can’t you even get swindling right?  When did mountain climber start to equal superhero?  You simply aren't successful enough to set a good example to any young person looking for a sound start to their working life.

I do hope you understand the reasons for our decision.  Details of our appeals process are in the accompanying leaflet.

Yours,

Frank Burkhampton.

2: Terror in the Sun - Mr Flash365

Part 366

Last time: our intrepid heroine, swindled heiress and mountain climber, Lucy Burkhampton, has been flung from a cliff by her evil nemesis, Lord Diehardt, after the two of them discover that their lives are actually fictional and being written by a crazed author reaching the end of his tether at the end of a long project. Will she plummet to her death in the fog? Will Lord Diehardt escape? Will the writer make it all the way to end of this one? To find out, read on…

All was fog and rushing air. Lucy waved her arms, desperately trying to grab a handhold. This was a cliff, after all. Whenever she had been thrown from a cliff before she had always found a well-rooted sapling, a tough tussock, or a passing eagle to grab hold of.

But this time… nothing.

She fell.

And fell.

And fell.

But the expected agony of her well-muscled back impacting on unyielding rocks never came. She simply fell.

Or did she? The wind was rushing yes, but maybe it was blowing. In the fog it was impossible to tell, but maybe she wasn’t falling at all. Maybe she was floating inside a gale.

She didn’t know how that might be possible, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t.

And then…

She was standing on a street, but it wasn’t like any street she recognised. The sudden shift from falling to standing made her dizzy and she went to one knee. Her hand planted in the dust, and it was dust.

She looked around and saw wooden buildings, with long board-lined porches and hitching rails for horses.

The street was empty, and then a man in black stepped out from the shadows of the saloon. His silver spurs winked and glinted in the sun, jangling a jagged carillon with every step.

He stopped in the middle of the road and faced her.

Lucy pushed herself to her feet and stared down the length of the street to the threatening figure. As her eyes adjusted to the hot sun beating down on her, she made out more figures, cowering inside doorways and windows; watching.

“Burkhampton!” came the shout from the figure.

She recognised the voice. Of course she did. She had spoken to him only moments before he threw her from the cliff and she ended up… here. It was Lord Diehardt, but dressed in a way unlike any way she had ever seen him dressed before.

Head to toe in black, with a black hat, black boots and black guns hanging from a black gunbelt, he looked like nothing more than a cowboy.

As her brain finally caught up with her sudden transition, she realised that his dress was entirely appropriate for the situation, and she found her hand reaching to her side where she found a gun nestled in its holster. Her other hand rose to her head where she found a broad-brimmed hat settled over her lustrous hair.

It shouldn’t have made any sense, but she found that in a way it did.

“What?” she finally remembered to reply.

“I’m calling you out!” Diehardt shouted in a drawl.

She looked around her. “What does that mean?” she replied.

She could see his shoulders slump in exasperation.

“It means that you have to draw, and we see who survives!” he continued in his normal clipped, educated tones.

She nodded. That was pretty much what she’d expected.

“Why?” she called.

Another slump. At this rate her questions were going to render him prostrate before she even had a chance to do so with her gun.

“Because that’s what we do!” he called back.

Before she could ask another question, he continued. “You were right! When we talked! You were right! None of it’s real! We do what we’re told! But this is what we’re told to do! If it was Mars we’d have space-guns! But it’s not! So, draw, you mangy cur!”

With these last words, his hand dropped to his belt and, in a blur, she saw the barrel of his gun rise into view.

Her own hand was moving without her even exercising any volition. The gun felt good in her hand, felt right. She straightened her arm and pulled the trigger.

Will our heroine have outgunned her nemesis? Will she survive this duel? Will she endure only to find herself in yet another precarious situation which she will then escape through some tenuous scheme? Tune in next time, if there is a next time, to find out…

1: Frank’s Ant Farm - MrsFlash365

Everyone else in the class already had a partner so Frank had to fill the glass tank with bright blue goo by himself.  It reminded him of the colour of his mother’s eyes, how they used to be before his father left them and made his mother’s eyes all red and puffy.  

“They’re not like us,” his mother said when he told about his science project.  “Ants stay together in one big family.  An ant doesn’t disappear from the farm for three nights leaving the other ants wondering where he is.  An ant doesn’t need time out to find himself.  An ant doesn't decide to move to another farm where the ants are younger and prettier.  Ants are not like people.”

Frank watched his ants, every morning in class.  Between them they nibbled criss-cross through the blueness until they had created a network of channels from side to side and top to bottom of their farm.  Every one of the ants worked together, following each other in a determined line.

“Didn’t any of them piss off down the pub?” asked his mother.  “Or stumble home at 2am, singing so loud the neighbours threatened to call the police?  Maybe try to bluff away a load of stuff that showed up on his little ant credit card statement?”

Frank’s teacher said every pair, plus Frank, had to write a report about what they had learned from their ant farms.  Then they would be allowed to take the the tanks home for the weekend, to show their families what they had made.

Frank wrote, “I never saw an ant make another ant cry.  None of the ants were lonely.  None of the ants ignored the others and did what they wanted to do instead.  They wanted to be together.  We could learn such a lot from ants.  Ants are nothing like people.  If I take my ant farm home, my mother might be sad.  But I think I will send it to my Dad.”

1: Time Will Tell - MrFlash365

Saturday, 12.38pm

Judy was already in the café when Derek arrived. Her coffee was steaming in front of her and she was just adding sugar.

             “Hello, baby,” he said, as he walked up to her table. “Sorry I’m late.”

             She looked up at him, confused.

             “I think you must have the wrong person,” she said. “I don’t know you.”

             Derek stared at her for a beat and then slapped his hand against his thigh. “Damn, sorry.” He turned and walked away. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he called over his shoulder.

Saturday, 12.38pm

Judy was already in the café when Derek arrived. Her coffee was steaming in front of her and she was just adding sugar.

             “Hello, baby,” he said, as he walked up to her table. “Sorry I’m late.”

             She looked up at him and gave a vague smile.

             “Hi, there,” she said, then paused. “Derek, isn’t it?”

             “Yes.” He put his hand on the chair opposite as though to pull it out and sit down, but stopped when a puzzled look crossed her face.

“We met at Julie’s, didn’t we? A few years ago? We got on quite well, I think. You were going to call me.”

             “And I didn’t?” Derek asked. He slapped his hand against his thigh. “Damn, sorry.” He turned and walked away. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he called over his shoulder.

Saturday, 12.38pm

Judy was already in the café when Derek arrived. Her coffee was steaming in front of her and she was just adding sugar. Another coffee sat on the other side of the table.

             “Hello, baby,” he said, as he walked up. “Sorry I’m late.”

             She looked up at him and broke into a broad smile.

             “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I’ve only just been served.” She pointed to the cup opposite as Derek pulled out the chair and sat down. “It’s still hot.”

             “Great,” he took a sip and winced at the heat. “Thank you.”

             She stirred her coffee and smiled at him.

             “So, I was wondering,” he said. “Do you think it’s time we took it to the next level.”

             She frowned. “The next level?”

             “Well, yes. I was wondering if it’s time we moved in together. It would save all this travelling.”

             “But, Derek,” she said, her frown deepening, “we’ve only been on a few dates, and I know so little about you. I think we should wait a bit longer.”

             He nodded, staring down at his coffee, then stood up and walked away.

             “Where are you going?” she asked.

             “I’ll be back in a minute,” he called over his shoulder.

Saturday, 12.38pm

Judy was already in the café when Derek arrived. Her coffee was steaming in front of her and she was just adding sugar. Another coffee sat on the other side of the table.

             “Hello, baby,” he said, as he walked up. “Sorry I’m late.”

             She looked up at him and then back down at her coffee.

             He pulled out the chair opposite and sat down. She said nothing.

             “Something wrong?” he asked.

             She shrugged and then went still. He waited. She looked up and fixed him with eyes that were brimming with tears.

             “It’s just that it’s typical, isn’t it? I mean, you’re always late. I’m always the second choice for you, behind whatever else it is you have to do.”

             “Well, that’s why I was thinking. We could move in together. Save all this travelling.”

             She stared at him and he could see her thinking it over. She shook her head and looked back down at her coffee.

             “I don’t think so, Derek. It’s just not going to work out. We’ve spent so much time together, but it’s like you don’t really want to get to know me. You don’t want to work at this. You just expect it to be perfect with no effort.”

             She reached for her handbag and stood up. She pulled her coat from the back of the chair and slung it over her arm.

             As she passed him she bent and gave his cheek a kiss. “I do like you, Derek, but it’s like you’re never really here. You can come and get your things from my flat later, if you like.”

             Derek sat and stared into his own coffee as she walked out.

Saturday, 12.36pm

Derek was already sitting at a table, sipping at hot coffee, when Judy approached with her own drink.

             “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “But the place is heaving and this seems to be the only free seat. Is it okay if I sit here.”

             He smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

             He waited until she had sat down and then extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Derek,” he said.

             “Judy,” she replied and reached for the sugar.

             There was silence while she stirred and then she looked back up at him. “So, if it’s not too much of a cocktail party question,” she said, “what do you do?”

             “I’m a time traveller,” he said and she laughed.

             “Really? What are the hours like?”