Online Collection of Flash Fiction, Micro-fiction, Short Short Stories, Very Short Stories

Reality TV Intergalactic Wife Swap postcard science fiction from Rob Hopcott

2008-10-21T02:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Reality TV Little Swap Sister,

It's Prudence here.

I'm writing this intergalactic postcard hoping it will get through to you soon because I want out of here!

When I agreed to be swapped with a wife from another species, I did at least expect that they would have two legs, two arms and one head. After all - as I learned in my Texas hometown school - we are all created in Gods image!

But, after travelling uncomfortably for billions of miles in a tin can, to be faced with a two metres tall hairy intelligent spider who expects me to eat him after we have made love is just totally unreasonable and I want out of here! Immediately!

Love

Prudence.

Dear Reality TV Little Swap Sister,

It's Harold here.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for my wonderful intergalactic wife swap who is absolutely fantastic.

Admittedly, she doesn't seem to keep the place as clean as Prudence - there are cobwebs everywhere - but the, er, physical side is literally out of this world. I'm loving every minute of having all those legs wrapped around me and she is an absolutely voracious lover! I'm breaking out the champagne!

Guess what! My new intergalactic wife swap even reckons we might have started to make some babies together already.

How fantastic to have intergalactic offspring - a first for your Reality TV show!

The tip-off that she's pregnant, she tells me, is that she's beginning to feel really hungry after making love.

Tonight, after yet more love-making, she says we are going to have a special lunch together!

With the love-making so good, I can't wait for the meal :-)

Woohoo!

Yours Gratefully

Harold.

The End

If you liked this, you might possibly also enjoy In THEIR eyes YOU are just compost - a short flash science fiction (Sci-fi) story by Rob Hopcott :-)

Bye for now

Rob

Rob Hopcott - online author

This postcard science fiction short story about an intergalactic wife swap reality TV show is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short sci-fi post card humor story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

A Green Car for Christmas - Rob Hopcott's Christmas story for 2008

2008-10-20T07:44:00.000-07:00

When the car parked next to me drew away without a sound, I was startled and did a double take which was noticed by its driver who gave me a broad smile suggesting he was proud of his silently moving motor vehicle and pleased it had drawn attention.

It was quite unnerving to see such a large vehicle noiselessly gliding down our busy high street past all the brightly lit shops and shoppers who were out buying their gifts and presents for Christmas.

Obviously, I realised that it must be one of the new breed of cars that are powered by electricity in town but use a conventional petrol driven engine for longer distances, but I still couldn't help but stand and follow the progress of this strange new car as it built up speed down the road.

Puzzlingly, nobody seemed to be paying it much attention but, inveterate reporter of life in all its strange forms as I am, the seeds of a small article on green fuel was already germinating in my writer's mind.

So I stopped to make a note in my ideas for articles notebook that I always carry in my pocket everywhere I go.

It occurred to me that such a green powered car would be an ideal present for my wife although, of course, not one that an impecunious author like me could ever afford.

I was just turning away to continue my search for my wife's Christmas present when the car reached the end of the street ... increased its speed ... and took off.

As I stood transfixed like a dummy watching this four door saloon disappearing into the clouds, I could just see the driver looking back with red cheeks and smiling eyes and hear him laughing.

"Ho, Ho, Ho ... Merry Christmas and Goodwill to All Men!"

The End

Bye for now

Rob

Rob Hopcott - online author

P.S. Every year, I write a Christmas short story or flash fiction for all my friends online and otherwise instead of sending out Christmas cards and this flash postcard fiction is my Christmas story card to you for 2008.

It is a small thing but I hope it gives you some pleasure.

Perhaps you would also like to read some of my Christmas stories from previous years :-)

Ho, Ho, Ho ... Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy New year!

Snip goes your tie - a tale of the unexpected post card micro fiction murder mystery story by Rob Hopcott

2008-09-02T00:41:00.000-07:00

"Snip goes your tie that you wore to work each day to ogle that adulterous bitch.

"Slash goes your shirt that you unbuttoned to press flesh to flesh at your despicably secret rendezvous."

"Splash goes the petrol."

"Scratch goes the match."

"May your soul burn in hell."

......................

Headline: Midchestershire Journal and Times June 2008.

' Shocked High Street onlookers describe mysterious death of suited man in full public view writhing in agony from multiple cuts then bursting into flames from causes unknown.'

The End

If you liked this, you might possibly also enjoy my first murder - a postcard fiction crime story by Rob Hopcott :-)

Bye for now

Rob

Rob Hopcott - online author

This micro fiction murder mystery postcard short story about a lovers revenge is a tale of the unexpected copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short postcard revenge and adultery story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

In THEIR eyes YOU are just compost - flowers from outer or inner space - a short flash science fiction (Sci-fi) story by Rob Hopcott

2008-06-03T00:33:00.000-07:00

The President of Earth tried to stay focussed on the small flower that was floating above his Presidential desk but he found it very hard to concentrate.

To his right and to his left the generals and senior diplomats of all the countries of Earth, were looking as serious and as confused as the President.

On the other side of the table were massed a very large number of floating flowers in devices that looked like futuristic flower pots.

The President of Earth had heard that talking to flowers made them grow better but had never heard of anybody having an intelligent conversation with a flower in a plant pot, futuristic or from the local hardware store.

"We come in peace," said the flower that was floating opposite the President. The metallic voice was thin and reedy and seemed to come from the space between the flower and the President not the flower itself.

"On behalf of all the countries of our planet, which we call Earth," said the President, "Welcome to our home. Naturally we would like to know where you come from and what your intentions are, how long you're staying and how we can make you comfortable. Er, would you like any fertiliser?"

As the President of Earth waited for a reply, he contemplated that it was extremely difficult talking to a flower because they didn't move or react. They didn't have mouths to see them speaking or eyes opening and closing to give an idea of what they were thinking or feeling. Because the meeting was being held at the President of the World's Council Offices (PWCO), there was no breeze except that which was coming from a small fan in the corner so they weren't moving, either. Without any doubt, the President thought, talking to a flower is very difficult.

Whilst talking to these flowers was unnerving, the mere existence of these flowers on the planet Earth, was cause for even greater concern to the President especially since he usually enjoyed his Thursday mornings on the golf course.

How had the flower space ships got through Earth's Strategic Air Defences (ESAD)? The President pushed the thought from his mind. They were obviously a very advanced species to have got here at all. The fact that they were floating in their flower pots twelve inches above his presidential conference table was even further proof of their abilities.

"We are the Flower People. We travel through space and time bringing peace to every world we visit. Many of these worlds are populated by warlike animals such as yourselves. We show you the error of your ways and how to make your planet more beautiful by putting flowers everywhere and removing yourselves from your global ecology. By so doing, we make the universe a better place."

The President of Earth didn't like the sound of this. He replied firmly.

"Er, did you say you are going to remove us? What exactly did you mean by that?"

The disembodied voice coming from somewhere in between the flower and the President continued.

"It is a very easy process. We provide you with flowers that you will be compelled by your greed to eat. You will then fall into a deep sleep and soon afterwards we will spread all your carcasses around the world to make a fine manure for our people to feed on and live in contentment. Peace be with you."

"Er, had it occurred to you that we may not like this version of your peace?" Spluttered the President.

It was time for some tough talking, he thought. Perhaps these annoying flowers could be persuaded to go home to wherever they came from and then the President could get back to his normal Thursday morning's golf.

"Resistance is futile," said the floating flower, pleasantly.

The President of Earth noticed that each of the floating flowers had sprouted smaller flowers which were gently descending in front of each of the President of Earth World Delegates (PEWD).

It crossed the President's mind that these flowers looked rather nice to eat. It had obviously also crossed the minds of other delegates that they looked nice to eat because many were currently already munching their allocated mini flower.

Absentmindedly, the President started munching his flower and it certainly tasted very nice. Now what was he trying to remember about flowers not to eat - no, it had gone from his mind for the moment. Perhaps it would come back after a round of golf.

The head flower continued.

"Peace be with you. Thank you for helping your world become a better place."

As the President of Earth's eyes gently closed, he felt himself pleasantly slumping forward onto his huge presidential conference table. It crossed his mind that planet Earth really would be a much better place with flowers growing everywhere.

Apart from looking very pretty, it would certainly stop global warming.

****************************

The President of Earth felt his eyes, flutter open. The nice looking nurse was blonde and had an Irish accent.

"How are you feeling, Paul," she said.

The recovery room of the Victoria Hospital Operating Theatre looked clean and sterile. Paul experimented by opening and closing his eyes several times. The nurse was now busy telling Paul that she was called Theresa and he was just to lie still until he was taken back to the ward. She looked very pleasant indeed and had a nice smile.

"I had a strange dream," mumbled Paul.

"There, there," said Theresa, "That is not unusual. Just rest and relax until you recover your strength. You've had a nasty car accident but you are all right now and will be as right as rain after you've had a rest.

Paul tried to move his legs and found them encased in plaster.

The trolley on which Paul was lying started to move, pushed by two cheerful ward orderlies. He closed his eyes again until he was parked up with some other beds with occupants who were about as immobile as he was.

Thank goodness the stuff about the flowers was just a dream, Paul thought.

He felt an overwhelming need to sleep. But before he drifted off, he had one request.

"Um, you see those flowers on the window sill? They are doing my head in. Could you please get rid of them?"

Before the orderly could comply with Paul's request, a petal fell from one of the flowers and landed just within Paul's reach.

Absentmindedly, Paul popped it into his mouth.

The petal tasted so nice as he fell asleep.

The End

All comments welcomed :-)

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online science flash fiction horror author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy my story 'Gone Fishing' - a flash science fiction short horror story.

Have you ever thought about what it would be like if flowers could talk :-)

This short flash fiction horror story about flowers from outer or inner space is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short flash science fiction horror story about flowers from outer or inner space and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Gone Fishing - a flash science fiction short horror story by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-21T07:04:00.000-07:00

The President of Earth glowered at the auto-cue and the television camera in the small Presidential Studio attached to the Presidential Palace besides the Presidential Golf Course which was where he should have been right now instead of reading ridiculous public service emergency announcements.

It was his day off and he reckoned that the world and its wretched public service announcements should wait until tomorrow.

Unfortunately, the world didn't want to wait and the World Parliament had prepared this announcement for him to read so he was glowering at everyone to show his displeasure.

The auto-cue started rolling and the President relaxed his scowling face and beamed into the television camera, exuding bonhomie to the billions who were watching as he read from the auto-cue.

Scientists are today investigating objects that are appearing across the world and which seem to present a degree of danger to anybody touching them.

Where these objects come from and where they disappear to when they are touched has not yet been ascertained. Any person identifying one of these objects should use the telephone numbers and contact details on their television screens at the end of this announcement.

World Scientists are advising that, under no circumstances should these objects be touched and to do so could be extremely dangerous.

Once one of these objects is identified, scientific experts and the military will place a cordon around the object while it is being investigated.

However, experience suggests that the object will soon disappear from within the cordon and may subsequently appear again nearby.

Although there is little information to corroberate reports, it is suggested that persons touching these objects appear to have gone missing. In short, the person touching it disappears with the object.

Unfortunately, these dangerous objects can often be very difficult to identify and are likely to appear to be every day objects to most people on Earth. In attempting to provide some guidance as to which objects are dangerous and which are not, the scientists are suggesting that the objects may appear to be out of place.

A heavy metal object that is floating on a pond would be such an example. A tree growing out of concrete would be another.

However there is no guarantee that objects will always have this incongruity and scientists are advising the general public to proceed with great caution, especially when at home where unfamiliar objects may be more easily identified.

The President of Earth leaned back in his presidential chair and gave his most reassuring smile.

Well that's it folks. Take care while we get to the bottom of this. You can be sure we are working on it hard. So bye for now from your President, goodbye!

The President of Earth slumped back in his chair and allowed his face to briefly assume the look of gloom and anger he had worn before going on air. He had agreed to one interview and one interview only about the public service announcement and that, as far as the President of Earth was concerned, was one interview far too many.

The red 'on air' light came on again and the selected television interviewer's voice boomed in the President's ear. It was a typically idiotic and aggressive question about the number of people who had disappeared and the length of time it was expected to sort the problem out. To compound the foolhardiness of the question, the interviewer even suggested that it was almost as if human beings were being treated like fish by some unseen hand, possibly from a different dimension.

To play for time while he thought of a way to avoid a straight answer, which was necessary because he had no idea of numbers or anything else, the President reached over and picked up a rather nice paperweight on the table that was sparkling under the bright lights of his Presidential Studio.

At that moment, billions of people across the world watched the President of Earth disappear from their screens.

Moments later, a television announcer appeared reassuring everybody that there was a technical hitch and normal service would soon be resumed.

Few of the billions watching believed the television announcer when he sarcastically suggested that the President had become suddenly indisposed and had perhaps gone fishing.

Most of the billions watching correctly drew the conclusion that, instead of going fishing, the President had been fished.

The End

All comments welcomed :-)

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online science flash fiction author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy my '2020 News - Twinning with Galixos 2867#3' story - a flash science fiction short story about global warming and climate change.

Have you ever thought how it would feel to be a fish? I'd love to hear your fishy thoughts :-)

This short flash fiction horror story about life as a fish is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short flash science fiction horror story about extra-dimensional fishing expeditions and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Nightmare to romance at the comedy club - a short flash fiction romantic story about life as a stand up comedian by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

Some of the audience almost stopped talking when, in a last ditch attempt to make at least some of them laugh, I accidentally walked backwards off the stage.

The rest of the audience at Larry's Laugh a Minute Comedy Club just continued to eat, drink and ignore me, as they had from the faltering start of my comedy routine to its ignominious end.

Gingerly, I picked myself up from the grimy wooden floor. My skinny body didn't seem broken anywhere so the pain probably wasn't terminal. Hoping the audience had already forgotten about me, I climbed through the drapes to back stage feeling sorry for myself.

One look at the club owner's face, who'd unsuccessfully tried to mark the end of my act with a round of applause, removed any fantasy I'd had about getting paid and my heart sank to my well-worn boots. Without even expenses, the late night bus would have to travel the several hundred miles back to my aunt's home town alone and I was left high and dry.

My night as a standup comedian was looking more marish by the minute.

Earlier, as I watched the mousy brunette who went on before me die a thousand deaths with her cheerful comedy routine about anorexia and a tent dress that looked as if it had been made out of dishcloth material, I'd realized my comedy routine about the foibles of my dachshund were doomed to extinction before birth.

The audience were straight out of a standup comedian's nightmare. They were drinking too much to understand the jokes. They were talking too much to hear the jokes. Probably most of them were mortuary attendants, accountants or psychologists who didn't even do jokes. At best, they'd undergone surgery at birth to remove their joke genes.

Walking on stage under the dim lights of this tatty North of England comedians club was like climbing out of the trenches and going into battle, except it was more certain you'd end up defeated.

Disconsolately, as I stumbled through the dark corridors back stage looking for a way out that avoided going anywhere near the audience, I fell over a body curled up on the stairs.

"Outch," the voice was female. "You're just as clumsy as you are a crap comedian."

It was the mousy brunette.

"Crap comedian or crap audience, you choose," I said. "However, it doesn't really matter, either way there's no money and I'm walking home."

"I heard you fall off stage," she said. "They almost thought it was funny."

"It wasn't even part of the routine," I admitted, sheepishly.

She looked up at me in the darkness - a delicate vulnerable figure with a tiny voice cloaked in an super-sized dress designed for the sort of woman she'd never want to be.

"I only stayed to see if the audience would bomb you out too," she said. "It was supposed to make me feel better but it hasn't and it's still raining outside so I'm still going to get soaked."

"Not as soaked as me," I said glumly. "I was relying on getting some expenses to pay for the bus fare home."

"So you're not a rich entrepreneur in disguise who is going to sweep me off my feet, carry me away and bedeck me with expensive diamonds and untold luxury?"

"Sadly not. I'm an out of work author called Royston from nowhere in particular and with nowhere to stay the night. My shoes let in the rain and I've a habit of falling over things - even when they're not in my way."

"Dead loss then ..."

"Yup!"

"I'm called Lara. I'm not really a comedian but I do have anorexia and I got the stupid idea that, if I went on stage and made people laugh, it might help. It's been six weeks and nothing has changed except now I'm getting panic attacks about bright lights too."

"Life sucks."

"Shit happens."

"You're not an Axeman are you?"

"No, I had to pawn it to buy lunch. Why?"

"If you really, really promise to behave, you could stay at my camper van in the next street for the night? It's small and about as leaky as your shoes, plus it gets scary when the drunks bang on the side of the van in the early hours of the morning, but an extra body might just raise the temperature above zero tonight and save me from hypothermia. I could owe you my life and you'd be responsible for me for ever. What do you think?"

I held out my hand to help her stand up by way of acceptance. Right now, she looked like an angel of mercy.

"I was responsible for a rabbit once," I replied, conversationally. "We had to take it to the vets."

"Why?"

"I dropped it..."

As we walked the dark corridors of that scruffy old building towards a rain swept North of England night and a small leaky camper van parked somewhere by the side of the road, I looped my arm around her shoulders in a brotherly manner. She didn't seem to mind. Perhaps together the world could be a better place for both of us.

"There is one thing we could do to scare off the drunks," I said, philosophically.

"What's that?"

"We could tell them our jokes..."

The End

All comments welcomed :-)

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online stand up comedy romance author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy my 'Blogging Strogonoff' story - a humorous stand up situation comedy about a blog job.

Have you found romance in strange places? I'd love to hear your experiences in the comments below :-)

This short flash fiction story about life as a stand up comedian and romance is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short flash fiction romantic story about life doing stand up comedy and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Romantic valentine getaway with Fred - a short flash fiction story about a weekend hotel break romance by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-14T02:32:00.000-07:00

OMG, thought Angela, as she paid the five-star hotel bill for her romantic valentine getaway in cash. I can't believe I did that. Incredible! What if anybody finds out?

Her long blond hair momentarily fell across her face. She hoped it would hide the blush she could feel rising above the neck of her expensive designer pastel colored suit.

Yet, as Angela walked through the large imposing glass doors of the Dunethorpston Hotel, Surrey, into the bright sunshine, with its scents of exotic flowers and cypress trees that lined the hotel's long winding entrance drive, she couldn't resist thinking back and reliving some of the moments of the perfect valentine hotel break romance that, even now, left her tingling with pleasure.

It had all started so badly on the Friday evening when her lover James had called on her cellphone to say, because of his wife, he could no longer make the valentine weekend they had planned together.

Since Angela had already made excuses to her husband, she was now stuck with the empty, although palatial, bedroom suite with nothing more entertaining than a drinks cabinet and a television for her valentine weekend break.

After the second hour on the Friday evening, boredom had quickly set in.

Fred, the resident entertainment counselor, had immediately responded to her call for information about local weekend break activities.

His entertainment suggestions had quickly become suggestive and the rest was history.

Angela, already cross over being let down, hadn't taken much convincing and Fred, with his jet-black hair, soft-spoken voice, gentle hands and amazing knowledge of almost any subject she could think of, had proved to be a lover to die for. Which was why Angela was still tingling two days later as she left what had turned out to be a very romantic valentine getaway.

The hotel bill, although reasonably priced for such luxury, shocked Angela, but explained much that had puzzled her, including why Fred's answers to her questions had so often been vague.

Lying in his arms, Angela had wanted to know more about his background; where he came from, where he went to school and what his dreams were for his future. His answers had been non-committal. He'd used her questions to discover what she wanted and what he could do to make her happier. It had been a tempting cocktail that Angela, unused to such consideration, found herself, again and again, fully exploiting.

Now, two days later, she had to decide on her future and she doubted whether it would include James, the married man with whom she'd planned to have her valentine hotel romance.

Whether the future included her husband, Angela was unsure. What she did know was that she was definitely going back to the hotel for a weekend break to see Fred again, at the earliest opportunity, and she was going back alone.

The thought filled her full of a strange excitement and abandon she had not felt for years.

OMG, I can't believe I'm thinking like this, she told herself as she spotted a refuse bin.

Angela took one last look at her copy of the hotel bill before shredding and dumping it.

She could take no chance that anybody, including her husband, would see the last entry on the bill or the words printed alongside the item dated this weekend in April 2055.

'48 hours personal entertainment counseling services with FRED (Fully-realistic Robotic Entertainment Device)'

Angela walked to the car port, musing over the weekend's hotel valentine romance that had been so different from her expectations, but which still left her smiling contentedly and tingling all over.

The End

All comments welcomed :-)

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online science fiction romance author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy 'Girl Male Talk', my flash fiction story about new millennium relationships.

This short flash fiction story about a weekend hotel break romance is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short flash fiction story about a weekend hotel break romance and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Romantic gift search yields new romance - a short flash fiction coffee break Internet Cafe story by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-12T03:36:00.000-07:00

'Ideal romantic birthday gift for boyfriend' typed Samantha into the online search engine displayed on the public screen of the Lanzarote Internet cafe.

A quick scan of the suggested items had her wrinkling her pert nose and tossing her long fair hair with disgust. Nothing exciting, nothing interesting and nothing she wanted.

'Boyfriend birthday present' she entered, but again this yielded nothing useful.

'Perfect present lover' was no better.

'Ideal gift lover' left her fuming with impatience.

Why don't search engines ever give you the information you need, Samantha moaned to herself.

Her first holiday morning was fast ebbing away. It was a beautifully sunny day outside with a beach to die for and this Spanish Internet cafe was a lousy way to start her 'use it before you lose it' final two weeks holiday entitlement.

Samantha also doubted whether Nigel, her boyfriend back in England, would inconvenience himself to remember her birthday if the roles were reversed and this thought wasn't encouraging.

Come on Samantha, she told herself. Use your knowledge. You are an I.T. expert. Think like one. What exactly is the problem that you need to solve. Is it the perfect present or is it something else that's the problem.

It's these useless search engines, Samantha thought glumly. They are massively improved on previous years but they are still pretty unintelligent. They don't really understand ideal, perfect or any qualitative phrase or seem to have benchmarks that will enable them to do more than find something that has been described by somebody else as 'perfect' or 'ideal' and most of the time these people have an interest in stretching the truth.

What I need, she thought, is better search technology.

Samantha's clear blue eyes wandered from the screen in front of her and rested for a few moments on the fresh young face of a dark haired, brown eyed young man who had just seated himself behind the network administrators desk. He caught her eye and she looked past him to avoid giving him any encouragement to the new mobile cell phones displayed on the shelves against which he nonchalantly leaned.

Samantha tried to refocus her attention on the search screen and then pushed the keyboard away violently with annoyance as she realised her booked time was up.

The network administrator stopped Samantha on her way out of the Internet Cafe. She noticed he had the deepest brown eyes and beautiful black tousled hair.

"Search engine technology leaves a lot to be desired," he smiled, guessing accurately her problem. His voice was deep and mellow like chocolate.

"I hope you're not going to complain about me mis-treating the keyboard," snapped Samantha, "because I'm in a very bad mood and you wouldn't like to see me when I get really mad."

"I take it that you couldn't find what you are looking for." With a smile that lit his face up, he didn't seem at all worried about the keyboard.

"Half the morning wasted and still no gift for my boyfriend," admitted Samantha. "Search engines are just too frustrating for words.

"Try using this," said the young Spaniard holding out his cell phone.

"It's state of the art and has new search technology built in that doesn't rely on the main search engines. It uses artificial intelligence search algorithms and lots of clever new techniques to search the web and find what you really want. Here's the deal. If it doesn't, I'll refund your Internet Cafe fees for this morning. By the way, my name is Daniel."

He held out his other hand with a radiant smile.

Samantha shook his hand which was warm, soft and gentle and then took the mobile phone he was offering. It seemed very ergonomically designed and fitted her hand beautifully, rather like Daniel's she fleetingly thought.

When Samantha again tried the search phrases she had just used at the public terminal, she gazed with amazement at the results displayed. Without any doubt, she could see there were several that were very promising.

"That's incredible," she admitted and quickly socially bookmarked the gift sites for later reference. "I didn't realise that an improved mobile phone or better cellphone could give more perfect search engine results. This is a new concept and, I have to confess, one that seems ideal. Not only a mobile solution but also intelligent results."

"It's yours, " said Daniel with a smile, if you will go out with me tonight.

"I have a boyfriend already," said Samantha, wryly.

"But a better boyfriend is better, surely." Daniel's smile was easy, relaxed and confident.

Samantha lifted her long eyelashes from the cellphone and gazed into his eyes. They looked soft and gentle and very intelligent. Samantha knew she was a sucker for intelligent men.

A quick decision was needed but how to decide.

One last search, though Samantha, before I give the cellphone back to this attractive young man.

'Should I date him or not?' she entered into the search screen of the bright new mobile phone he had loaned her.

'If you don't, you'll never know what you might have missed,' the beautiful new cellphone startlingly replied.

Samantha lifted her crystal clear eyes to gaze steadily at the young man.

"OK," she said, "I give in. Perhaps my perfect new telephone can also find my perfect mate."

Daniel's hand closed over Samantha's hand and his arm looped around her waist as he led her into the bright sunshine outside.

"I own the shop," he said, "my assistant can take over. Let's start the date now."

As the hot sun fell on Samantha's face, she closed her eyes for a moment in bliss. Daniel's arm was now tighter around her waist and the day ahead was beginning to look very perfect. The sea was blue and her new Spanish companion looked very masterful and strong in all the right places.

Sun, sea, sand and a wonderful new cellphone with clever search technology. Who could ask for anything more, Samantha smiled to herself.

The End

Have you ever fumed at the poor results that search engines have given you in answer to straight forward questions? I'd love to know :-)

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy 'Always loving but never lovers', my short flash microfiction love story about unrequited love in Italy.

This romantic gift search flash fiction short story romance, set in a Spanish Internet cafe, is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this Internet cafe romance and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Always loving but never lovers - a short flash microfiction love story about unrequited love in Italy by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-05T04:36:00.000-07:00

When I first saw Marietta selling oranges under an azure sky by the Napoli roadside half a kilometre from my petrol station in Italy, I knew it was love at first sight.

Every day, thereafter, whether or not my young family and wife had any need for oranges, I found an excuse to visit her stall by the side of the road.

Secretly, I lusted after each curve of her body, the arc of her lips, her sweeping brown hair and her sunny smile.

For Marietta, life was hard as she tended her makeshift table piled high with oranges. Dust was constantly blown in her face from passing cars and lorries and from the scorching heat of the summer or the icy wind in winter there was no shelter. Yet she was always there with her welcoming smile, hazelnut eyes and her special way of sweeping back her hair that made my pulse race.

On the grey day that she was attacked and robbed, her husband asked if she could rest a while at my petrol station to recover. He tended her bruises and cuts as we waited for the police while I watched, unable to hold her and comfort her as I wished.

There was nothing that could be done about the small amount of money the thieves had stolen but the police said they couldn't guarantee it wouldn't happen again. She would always be vulnerable to attack in that remote corner of the highway.

I feared she would now stop selling her oranges but her husband said they needed the money to supplement his small earnings as a farmer so I came up with a solution.

The rent I charged was far below the market value for selling her oranges from my forecourt but at least I now knew she was safe and I loved watching her every day. Her simple cotton dresses ruffled in the wind around her slim body. Her fresh smile and the rich lustre of her deep brown hair in the sun reminded me of my long departed mother. Marietta now seemed happier too.

As the years passed, my yearning for her never changed but at no time did I say or do anything improper. She was married and I was married. We both went to church and were bringing up our families as best we could.

If she knew of my infatuation, she never gave me a clue.

More years passed and our families grew up. First my wife died and then her husband. Still I tended the petrol station and still she sold oranges from the front. There were more cars to fuel and more people to feed.

As time passed, life became easier and when my son, Paolo, and her daughter, Maria, decided to marry, the wedding was a fine and sumptuous affair.

My son's new wife inherited the good looks of my Marietta of yesteryear and perhaps my son inherited some of mine. Without doubt, he inherited my strong passions and these are easy to see when he is with Maria. They make a fine couple.

Now the festivities are over and Marietta and I sit beside my swimming pool at long last joined as family, although not as lovers, watching Paulo and Maria in each other's arms.

Sometimes, I think Marietta understands I have a special affection for her but, since we are now family, it would be a sin to be lovers although my affection for Marietta continues as strong as ever.

Perhaps one day we will talk about our final resting places and it would be nice if we could be somewhere together but that is not a subject for this happy and festive occasion.

Today the sun is shining and the smell of the olive trees is in the air. My son is handsome and his new wife is beautiful. The birds are singing, the band is playing and everybody is happy.

Now there is no need for an excuse to see each other, perhaps I can sell my petrol station, which has become a burden recently, and retire. Marietta stopped selling her oranges when she moved next door and going to work each day now means leaving her behind.

Although I know I will never be Marietta's lover, I am still content that we can spend our time together and watch the sun going down each day - not as lovers perhaps - but always in love.

The End

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Undiscovered Beauty - my flash fiction very short story about a love of art, artists, communication and mistrust by Rob Hopcott

This short flash fiction very short love story about unrequited love, loving and lovers is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short flash fiction about unfulfilled love and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Criminal thoughts - murder confession, blackmail, extortion and justice in a flash by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-03T07:43:00.000-07:00

When my laptop went missing, I was annoyed. It contained my life, my plans, my dreams, my hopes. To imagine that all this was now in some unknown persons hands was unnerving and unsettling.

Naturally, as a safety measure, I changed all my bank account details, renewed my credit cards and warned people with whom I have frequent contact.

But I couldn't change the huge volume of personal information, thoughts, confessions, innermost plans and debates to which they gained immediate access.

Knowing what was on my laptop, it didn't surprise me when I soon received an anonymous email making demands.

The blackmail amount was for ten thousand pounds sterling. My suspicion was that it would be the first of many demands probably rising in value as the blackmailer gained confidence.

The message was simple.

"I know what you have done. Remember, murderers get life inprisonment and there is more than enough evidence in your personal diary to convict you. You have until the end of next week to pay me ten thousand pounds sterling, after which you will not hear from me again. If you don't pay, I will send your files to the police and you can suffer the consequences. I will also send your diary to the national newspapers, just for fun, and, after that, you can say byebye to your wife during your prosecution you debauched old fart."

Of course I didn't have any option and, when details of the place where I was to meet the blackmailer came in a subsequent email, I withdrew the money from my local bank branch and waited to be met as instructed.

It was a frightening experience and the blackmailer came mob handed. Standing there alone was terrifying, knowing that at any moment they could have stabbed or shot me. They checked the money, sneered at me, laughed, turned and went.

****************

To cut a long story short, there was eventually a prosecution and the whole sordid business came out in the newspapers.

In his summing up, the judge said the following words that I will remember for ever:

"You have been convicted of a heinous crime of which you should be deeply ashamed and for which I will sentence you to the maximum term allowed by the law."

The sound of the slamming courtroom doors seemed to repeat the long prison sentence handed down by the Judge through the disinfectant laden courtroom air again and again.

****************

Eventually, back in my home office, after the trial, I finally permitted myself a small smile.

Those who come across a confession to murder, should check the person's profession before turning to blackmail.

Who'd believe a laptop confession from an international fiction author? Certainly the police didn't and the blackmailers were apprehended just after the money was handed over.

I even got my laptop back.

Probably one day I'll write it up as a flash fiction too.

Could life ever get better?

The End

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online author)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Undiscovered Beauty - my flash fiction very short story about art, artists, communication and mistrust.

This short flash fiction very short story about murder, blackmail, extortion and justice is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short flash fiction murder and blackmail story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Undiscovered Beauty - a flash fiction very short story about art, artists, communication and mistrust by Rob Hopcott

2008-05-02T01:36:00.000-07:00

Amanda applied a last touch of green to the canvas with her finest detail paint brush, stepped back and enjoyed the sensation of the landscape's colours exploding in her mind and senses.

She could hear the water trickling down the tiny stream. She could sense the movement of the brown trout that were scarcely shadows in the deep pool. The old water wheel towered above providing a focal point to the picture giving it reassurance and strength. Sunlight seeped through small breaks in the clouds hinting at the ordinariness, permanence and stability yet desolation of the beautiful country scene she had created.

A tear trickled down her cheek. She knew it was one of the best pictures she'd ever painted. The sheer enjoyment of creating something new and beautiful filled her with a satisfaction that made all the effort worthwhile.

She had never sold any of her many paintings but then she had never offered any of her paintings for sale. Instead, when they were finished, they were consigned to an attic bedroom at the top of the house.

Occasionally, a friend or a relative would visit and would see some of her paintings and tell her she should show them to the public. Always, she would smile modestly and pretend she loved them too much to lose them.

The truth was that Amanda longed for more people to see her paintings. In her dreams, she relished the idea of giving up her job in the local supermarket so she could paint full-time and give expression to the ideas, shapes, colours and pictorial stories that crowded her senses daily.

Amanda lacked confidence in her abilities. The tutor of the art evening classes at the local college had told her she should take a course in assertiveness. She never had. He had said she was an extremely good artist. She had believed him but saw no way to realise her dream of painting full-time.

When a leaflet had fallen through her door seeking unknown artists for a new local art gallery, she kept the leaflet but had not called the telephone number prominently displayed. She was suspicious of the gallery owners motives.

Perhaps she would pass by in a few months and see what was happening and look through the window if the pictures were as good as hers. She wouldn't go into the gallery and certainly wouldn't talk to the owner who Amanda suspected was probably some wealthy individual who got rich exploiting the talents of vulnerable and gullible aspiring artists.

Amanda sighed and walked upstairs to the attic bedroom to put the picture away. She was rostered to work on the night shift of the local supermarket and she was already late.

Almost exactly five miles away, Stuart sat by his telephone in a large empty building with spaces on the wall waiting for pictures from unknown artists. In six weeks he'd only received one call from the thousands of leaflets he had personally put through the doors of private houses in the area and it had been from somebody trying to sell him double glazing.

Spending money on home improvements was out of the question. He'd invested all his savings into the gallery where he now sat and waited for the telephone to ring from artists needing promotion.

This was the last day he would wait. Without pictures, his gallery couldn't open. The deal he had devised for the artists gave them all the money from the first five sales during which time he was willing to fund the gallery as a gesture of goodwill to win the artist's confidence. Afterwards, he was hoping to charge 10% towards the cost of running the gallery and provide him with an income so that he didn't have to go back to working in the local national book chain.

All his life, he had dreamed of running a gallery and passionately believed there must be artists who had not been discovered who were producing wonderful creations that others, who enjoyed art as he did, would love to buy.

As the next day dawned, cold and grey, Amanda laid the first strokes of colour onto her next canvas before rushing off to work in the local supermarket and, in another part of town, Stuart walked into his local estate agents to put his still empty art gallery up for sale.

The estate agent thought the building might eventually be bought by a developer to be converted into flats.

The End

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online author)

Would Art flourish in your local area if more people talked to each other and shared their dreams, aspirations and talents?

Do people talk to each other these days or do we prefer to relate on a one to one basis with mass media such as television, video or computer games.

What you think, I'd love to know :-)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy 'Lost and Found' my short flash fiction story about lost property, poverty, honesty and the good life.

This short flash fiction very short story about art, artists, mistrust and poor communication is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short fiction art and artists story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Lost and Found - a short flash fiction story about lost property, poverty, honesty and the good life by Rob Hopcott

2008-04-30T06:23:00.000-07:00

The wallet spiralled to the ground and, with a flash of thigh, the immaculately dressed blonde woman in a tailored red suit eased herself out of the sports saloon she'd just parked near to where Smiley Johnson sat on the pavement.

Then, with rapidly clicking high heels and the scent of Chanel, she was gone, hardly giving Smiley a chance to focus his rheumy old eyes on her elegant and fast departing figure or on the wallet she'd left behind.

To Smiley, the London pavements were always hard and cold to sit on, even at the peak of an English summer when the skyline almost shimmered with the heat. Today was one of the sunniest mornings he'd known for years yet the newspapers he'd carefully placed beneath him still couldn't protect his old bones from the chill.

Smiley peered lugubriously at the well-stuffed wallet that the woman had dropped and then again down the busy High Street in the direction she'd disappeared.

He shuffled uncomfortably on the pavement and absentmindedly moved the hat he had placed to receive coins donated by passers-by closer to the wallet.

Although the street wasn't busy, the patterned brick parking places were popular with local office workers and, as they passed Smiley in the morning, they would sometimes be generous to an old man down and out on his luck.

Unfortunately, working this spot meant Smiley had to leave the hostel where he lived early and miss breakfast but, once he had a few coins in his pocket, he could always catch up with his eating later and, with a bit of luck, might even be able to afford a bottle of cider to wash it down.

Sadly for Smiley, this morning his old hat was almost empty, except for the two old washers he had put there to encourage the idea of giving and it was almost time to move on. He had missed breakfast and probably now would miss his cider too.

Nevertheless, as Smiley left the spot where he begged for coppers each day, he almost had a skip in his gait and his heart was as light as the white clouds that floated high above the London traffic on that hot sunny day. A lorry passed, showering him with dust and fumes but he still smiled. Sometimes it was just good to be alive.

Later, in an office block high above the street through which Smiley had trudged, the blonde woman with the tightly tailored red suit was in a meeting with her secretary when her wallet was returned by an apologetic doorman. He explained it had been handed in by an old man who hadn't left his name and who had only given them the vaguest description of its owner which meant it had taken them some time to track her down.

Smiley trudged on contentedly through the streets. The money in the wallet could have changed his life, at least for a time, but the knowledge that he had known the office block in which the well-to-do attractive lady worked and had returned the wallet untouched would give him a warm feeling for much longer.

Bye for now

Rob
(Rob Hopcott - free online author)

Is honesty the best policy or are the ruthless always those that reap the rewards?

What do you think? Leave your opinions - but not your wallets - in the comments section below.

I'd love to know what you think :-)

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy 'One more step' - a flash fiction very short story about an old stone seat, lost love, romance, death and reunion by Rob Hopcott

This short flash fiction very short story about lost property, poverty, honesty and the good life is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short fiction morality story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

One more step - a flash fiction very short story about an old stone seat, lost love, romance, death and reunion by Rob Hopcott

2008-04-26T04:40:00.000-07:00

One more step and I will see the old stone seat at the top of the hill. The prickly green and gold gorse bushes crowd my path and their heady perfume my senses. In the distance, the sea is blue, lapping the shores of the Bristol Channel.

My walking stick, cut from my garden's apple tree in the valley below is my comforter and relieves my arthritic legs as I pause to gaze back across the rolling Exmoor Hills and valleys I've loved all my life.

I know not why but in my other hand, I carry an old wooden flute - my wooden flute. It is a strange thing to carry to the top of a high hill but it is comforting. It has been with me for the happiest moments of my life.

Together, we have made music. Sometimes by ourselves and sometimes with our friends for hour after happy hour. Eyes smiling, bodies bent together, sharing the rhythms, violin bows rising and falling. Always my flute soaring like a lark through the sounds, texture and melodies in perfect time.

My love played the violin until she left me. For many years she was my only love and since then there has been no other. Of all the people with whom I have shared music, she reached me most deeply. Her sounds raised my spirits into the white clouds and held them aloft as they danced among the green hills and the gentle countryside. Together we enjoyed our long romance, spending our lives contentedly walking, living and loving. This was our favourite hill and I am determined to climb it again.

One more step and I am there. The wind is singing in the branches of our favourite tree and a narrow shaft of sunlight is breaking through the clouds illuminating brightly the old grey stone seat we have so often shared. Somewhere a violin is playing and the wind is like a softly spoken orchestra. One more step and I will hear it all more clearly. The air is like crystal this May day morning and someone is calling for me not to be afraid.

As I settle my old body against the cold, comforting stone, I feel calm. Once more I lift my flute to my lips. The orchestra has reached a crescendo and my love's violin is rising and falling in arpeggios more brilliant than the brightest sun.

One more breath, one more melody and my love and I are, once more, reunited.

The End

Rob Hopcott, online author

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Loneliness, love, romance and the long distance railway

This short flash fiction very short story about an old stone seat, lost love, romance, death and reunion is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short fiction love story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Loneliness, love, romance and the long distance railway - an online flash fiction story by Rob Hopcott

2008-03-27T07:09:00.000-07:00

She had short brown hair framing a pert face and a formal pastel green short jacket over a knee length pastel green skirt and was sitting opposite me in the railway carriage.

A magazine was open in front of her but she had not turned a page for the last hour. English towns and fields flashed by under her steady unseeing gaze and her thoughts seemed far away.

Underneath her formal suit jacket, I noticed her white blouse had been wrongly buttoned as if she'd dressed quickly.

Her sad eyes suggested thoughts of lost love or a romance once shared and now ended.

Eventually, the carriage was almost empty and we sat facing each other, alone. It became embarrassing not to speak, not to acknowledge each other.

I wondered what to say. It didn't seem right to be inconsequential.

My London flat awaited me at the end of this journey from Dover. The central heating had been off for the three weeks I had been away in Paris on business. It would be cold. There would be no food and, above all, nobody would be waiting for me.

Our eyes met and I felt that her thoughts were similar to mine. I have never been one for smalltalk and prefer to speak from the heart. It has often got me into trouble but my habits were not about to change.

"You haven't read your magazine at all," I said. "Your thoughts must have been really interesting."

"Not interesting, but they certainly occupied my mind," she said.

Her smile was sad and gentle, with a sideways glance under her fringe that appraised me, I suddenly realised, not merely as a fellow passenger, but also as a man.

She saw my boring black trousers, old grey pullover and old-fashioned Harris tweed jacket and I suddenly wished I'd dressed more smartly.

I threw caution to the winds.

"I wonder, are you thinking about where you have come from or where you are going? "

Her hazel eyes widened and I could see she was struggling with her response. I'd been intrusive but I didn't care.

She answered my question with a question.

"And what about you? Are you looking forward to getting home?"

"My flat in London will be cold. My refrigerator will be empty. Amongst the millions in the city of London, I will be completely alone."

A tidal wave of emotions swept across her face and her eyes were moist as if she was fighting back tears.

"Perhaps it is better," she said, "to return to an empty flat where you will feel alone than it is to return to a house full of people yet still feel completely alone. At least you won't have to pretend."

"And the place you have come from," I said. "Were you alone there?"

"That place doesn't exist any more for me," she said. "Nor does the man I wrongly believed I knew."

"Whoever he was, "I suspect he didn't know the value of what he enjoyed," I suggested.

"He had no idea," she said flatly, and returned to gaze out of the window.

We had made contact and no longer needed to talk for the rest of the journey.

Somehow we now shared an easy camaraderie of intimate feelings and mutual pain.

I helped her with her suitcase and she left me standing beside mine on the platform as she walked away, pulling her suitcase on its tiny wheels behind her.

Slowly, I made my way through the bustling crowds towards the exit, wondering whether to take a taxi or to use the underground back to my flat.

Soon, the platform was behind me and I stood besides the ticket office trying to make the decision.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the lady from the train.

"Do people who are lonely, by keeping each other company, cancel the pain they both feel ?"

Her voice was soft, reflective and melodious. It sounded less a proposition and more a continuation of our conversation.

I put down my suitcase, took her hand and drew her to me, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Hello," I said. "I don't know but I would certainly like to find out."

"Hello," she replied, kissing me back, "neither do I and I also would like to find out."

As we walked hand-in-hand to find a taxi to take us to a place which we would make warm together, neither of us needed to speak .

There would be time for talking later - perhaps even a lifetime.

But, just for tonight, perhaps neither of us would feel alone.

The End

Rob Hopcott, online author

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Deceiving My Wife - a short postcard fiction story.

This short short flash fiction story about loneliness, love, romance and the long distance railway is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short fiction romance story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, science fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Deceiving My Wife - a short postcard fiction romance story about a romantic rendezvous by Rob Hopcott

2008-03-19T06:54:00.000-07:00

On the day I was to deceive my wife, the sky dawned a deep blue with puffy white clouds. There was the smell of newly mown lawn on the breeze and warring seagulls soared and screamed above the houses of our provincial market town.

As I carefully selected the clothes to wear, my hands were clammy and my breathing uneven with an excitement I'd not felt for years.

At 11.00 o'clock that morning, I had a rendezvous with a beautiful lady with auburn hair and the sort of hazel eyes that made me want to dive deep down into her velvet soul.

Every aspect of that special morning was planned like a military campaign.

Avoiding my wife's eyes, I dropped into breakfast conversation that I would take my lunchtime walk early to give me more time to work on my book in the afternoon.

Meticulously, in my mind, I checked and rechecked the route I would take for my secret liaisson.

When my wife announced she was going down the road to do some shopping, I again reviewed my way knowing our paths might meet and uncomfortable questions be asked. At all costs, I must avoid detection. Nothing must go wrong.

My heart was racing, my hands were clammy and I was sure that my smiles to my wife looked as false as they felt to me.

Then the time came. I slipped out of my front door, keeping close to the side of the hedge and drifted like a shadow through little alleys and byways in a circular route to my destination.

The High Street was the worst part of my journey but necessary and I knew my wife could have bumped into me at any point.

Could I have lived the lie? Perhaps I would have blushed, perhaps I would have stammered and she would have said "What's wrong?" After twenty five years of truth could I have lied convincingly?

Only by completely avoiding meeting my wife as I made my way nervously through the tiny streets of our seaside town to miss hazel eyes in her sweet smelling boudoir could I be sure of maintaining my deception.

Finally, with pulse racing, I was there.

The door had been left slightly ajar and I hurriedly pushed my way through and entered her sweet smelling domain.

She smiled and I smiled then I opened my arms to fulfill my mission.

Returning, hurriedly and out of breath, back to my home was equally challenging. My route was again different to take maximum advantage of peeking around corners and achieving clear sight vantage points through the streets.

Once home, I made arrangements to conceal incriminating evidence and then escaped to my study to pretend to work and allow my pulse to slow.

For the first time in my marriage, I had lied to and deceived my wife ... It was easier than I expected and the thought made me feel warm inside.

How I got through the rest of the day, I will never know. Perhaps I appeared offhand or perhaps I successfully concealed my inner turmoil. Ultimately, I was grateful when sleep overcame me.

Morning came with another beautifully sunny day. The robins were singing in the garden and all three of my children telephoned bright and early at 9.00 o'clock to see if their mother had enjoyed the Mother's Day flowers I had bought on their behalf the previous day.

My wife loved the huge bouquet I had surreptitiously carried through our small market town so all my lying and deception was well worth the effort.

The End

Rob Hopcott

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy My Perfect Lover.

This short short postcard fiction romance story about a romantic rendezvous is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short postcard fiction romance story for Mother's day and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

My Perfect Lover - a romantic postcard fiction short love story by Rob Hopcott

2008-02-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

My sweet lover is everything I could want.

She is beautiful and easygoing.

In the garden, it is so romantic resting in our favorite place in the warmth of the sun for hours, just being together.

She is a hard worker and keeps house for me perfectly. I love to sit besides her in the evenings as she practices her rural crafts of spinning, while I enjoy the sun going down over Exmoor.

She keeps our home tidy and the food she brings me is tasty and plentiful.

Everything about her excites me to such enormous passion; her wonderful legs, her soft hair ...

Soon tonight we will make love and, afterwards, we will lie together in the evening sun with her wrapped all around me.

It will be so romantic and I will be ready to give myself to her body and soul.

It fills me full of pride to think that I can help my love - by becoming her next meal - to produce a new generation of young garden spiders.

The End

Rob Hopcott

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Saying Goodbye Hurts.

This short romantic postcard fiction spider love story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short postcard fiction rural garden spider story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Tennis Bell Tolls - a 100 word microfiction about tennis clubs, tennis players and remembrance by Rob Hopcott

2008-02-17T03:55:00.000-08:00

Inside our old wooden club house, that slumbers besides our rural tree lined tennis courts, alone on a shelf, rests an ancient school handbell.

Over the years, with sun beaming down and birds singing in the trees, when our bell has rung, we have stopped playing for a minute's silence in memory of one of us who will play no more.

Now, as I grow old and struggle towards that ever faster bouncing ball, I know soon the bell will ring out again, loud and clear, but that day I will not hear, for it will toll for me.

Rob Hopcott

Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Saying Goodbye Hurts.

This short postcard fiction tennis club handbell story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short postcard fiction tennis club handbell story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.

Saying Goodbye Hurts - a short postcard fiction love story by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-17T08:27:00.000-08:00

She had three inch high heels, wore brightly colored tight dresses, spoke with a crazy husky voice that boomed out from under her brunette fringe and had the habit of getting herself into the sort of trouble in nightclubs that I couldn't resist getting her out of.

I followed her into bars, boardrooms and bedrooms. Like a fly on the wall, I luxuriated in her strong perfumes and observed her mannerisms, her philosophy and even the way she made love to barflies, barmen and, in the last resort, bar babes.

Irresistibly, she became a part of my life.

Every morning, as the California sun slanted through my bedroom window, I'd turn to see her head on my pillow and my heart would lurch with the teasing look in her eyes as she reached out for me.

Every night I would stagger from my bottle to my bed and blow her a parting kiss as she headed downtown for new adventures but only after she had promised to 'tell all' in the morning.

Sadly, I knew, one day, it had to end.

It was always going to hurt and when the time came to say goodbye, it broke my heart.

But there was no alternative and one day, I had to write ...

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia of artists, authors and musicians?

This short postcard fiction love story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short postcard fiction love story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organisation, living or otherwise.

Girl Male Talk - a flash fiction story about new millennium relationships by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-15T04:00:00.000-08:00

"Go on then, Maddy, what's he like, you know, in bed?"

Veronica leaned forward over the Space Agency Tennis Club ladies' changing room wash basin and gazed intently at the reflection of her face in the mirror. She wore a blue tracksuit that matched her questioning eyes, long fair hair and a bead of perspiration on her upper lip from the game of ladies singles she and her friend had been playing. Currently without a man in her life and starved for kicks, she was determined to get her thrills vicariously.

Maddy primped her short brown hair and looked modest but also proud. She knew that her current male was the envy of all her girlfriends. A high flier exchange pilot from the new squadron at the Space Agency, he had the sleek looks and high income universally admired in her post university, upwardly mobile, female circles.

"Awe shucks, leave it out Veronica, you don't expect me to tell you that? Its private."

Maddy had dark brown eyes, a foxy face and a figure that was as delicate as a figurine. She could have been a ballet dancer and had even considered going to dancing school when she was a teenager at the turn of the third millennium but instead had gone into speech therapy. It was through her work as a speech therapist that she had met her current beau, initially as her client and then, rumor had it, as her lover.

"Go on, Maddy, spill the beans. You know you want to. Give me detail and, if you've got one, I want to see the video."

Maddy pulled a pair of amber tracksuit bottoms over her short tennis skirt and examined her eyes in the mirror, a smile playing on her rouged lips.

"He's very strong," she said. "When he holds you close, you know you are not going anywhere else. And he talks all the time. He says the most wonderful things. It's a real turn on! "

Veronica gave a squeal of joy and wrapped her arms around her friend, giving her a big hug. She leaned back and gazed into Maddy's eyes.

"You are doing good gal, now tell me more!" Her face, already flushed from playing tennis, beamed with expectation, excitement and anticipation."

Maddy disengaged herself from her friend, leaned down and picked up her tennis bag, smiling modestly.

"But, before I do, I want to know why you have such an interest in my male. You're not thinking of trying to take him away from me are you?"

Veronica turned to look out of the window, across the tennis courts which were busy with players. Her mood had changed and now she was more defensive and thoughtful.

"No, of course not, but he has a friend from the same squadron who has emailed me and wants a date. My job in admin doesn't usually bring me into contact with the astronauts. It's a new experience and I just felt a bit nervous."

Maddy looped her arm over Veronica shoulders and gazed gently into her friends eyes.

"Treat it like any other date," Maddy said, seriously. "If you enjoy being with him, if you find you have things in common then let your relationship progress just as normal. But give yourself time to get used to him. Above all, don't go to bed with him on the first date."

"Why not, if I really like him," said Veronica.

"Because you won't want to go out with an ordinary man again. He'll ruin you for normal relationships."

"I don't understand?"said Veronica.

Maggie gazed cautiously into her friend's eyes and spoke slowly.

"This is so secret, it's almost classified."

"Tell me, tell me! Stop teasing me."

"Okay, males from his planet have two arms, a head, four legs and are about the same height as our terrestrial human beings, although a bit hairier. Even the children that are born from inter-terrestrial relationships are healthy and happy. But one thing is different. When they make love, that important little thing that gives us woman so much pleasure vibrates as they talk. This means that the love making experience is completely and totally out of this world."

"I don't understand why you think this is a problem," said Veronica.

"Quite simply, the experience is so fantastic that you will never ever want to go with an ordinary human man again," said Maddy.

As they left the tennis club, Veronica turned to Maddy.

"But doesn't that mean that, as more of their species come to live on Earth, ordinary male human beings will lose out?"

Maddy turned to her friend with sadness in her eyes.

"Yes, completely, as soon as this gets out, sooner or later, ordinary human males will become totally redundant."

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia of artists, authors and musicians?

This flash science fiction short story about new millennium relationships is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash sci fi short short story about new century relationships and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organisation, living or otherwise.

Love at first sight - a micro fiction postcard short story about a hotel romance by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-14T08:03:00.001-08:00

As soon as I saw her entering the hotel bar, I knew she was special. Our eyes met and there was a lightening bolt of chemistry that only ever happens once in a lifetime.

We sat at the table by the window and I felt so proud. Her face was foxy, her figure was an hour glass shown off to perfection by her demure black cocktail dress.

We talked about my love of painting and her PhD in Fine Art. We held hands across the table and I was almost afraid to ask.

When she stepped inside my hotel room, we held each other and kissed as if we could make all our troubles go away and prevent the world from ending.

I whispered breathlessly into her ear "I think I'm falling in love with you. I want you so much"

Her voice was husky, low, soft and gentle, and I knew she was mine when she whispered sexily into my ear:

"That will be five hundred dollars ..."

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia of artists, authors and musicians?

This micro fiction postcard short story about a hotel romance is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short postcard romance story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

Darling I want to take a lover - a post card fiction short wife infidelity story by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-11T06:27:00.000-08:00

When my wife said she wanted to be unfaithful with another man, I felt as if I'd been punched in my stomach and all the breath had been knocked out of me.

To be fair, she said she wanted me to be the first to know of her decision and that she'd nobody in mind yet.

I just didn't know what to say, hoping desperately that, if I didn't make too much of a fuss, she might think again.

Since losing my job at the Bank, I'd felt less than the ideal husband, anyway, and I could easily understand her wanting a proper man in her arms, one who was able to contribute to the housekeeping. I felt sad not mad with her. After all, it was my fault not hers that creditors were telephoning us almost daily.

My hopes of a reprieve were dashed when she explained that the only way she was willing to do this was if I assisted in the search for her ideal lover.

To be honest, I still haven't come to terms with my wife's regular infidelity in our back bedroom or the part I played introducing her to my ex regional manager.

She says, he means nothing to her and when they are at the height of their passion together, it's always me she is making love to.

All I can feel is relief. I've got my job back, the threatening telephone calls have stopped and the cash we've stored up under the floorboards will soon be enough for a foreign holiday.

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia of artists, authors and musicians?

This postcard fiction wife's infidelity story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short postcard unfaithful wife story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

My First Murder - a postcard fiction murder story by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-10T05:47:00.000-08:00

When I announced that I had just committed my first murder to the others in the local folk dance band, there was a pleasing stunned silence and my fellow band musicians looked really upset.

Then the lead violinist, a tall and willowy young lady with long straight brown hair and a gentle smile said:

"It was in one of your stories, wasn't it?"

There was an audible sigh of relief all around.

I wriggled in my chair and said, wryly, "sure!"

So we played our dance music through the evening. The folk dancers do-si-doed, formed into straight lines, circles and squares. Everybody smiled and was happy, except me.

Perhaps it was because I still had the murder in my head. The long drive through the night, the flash of the knife in the darkness, the scream of the victim and the sound of the spade in the gravel as they were interred.

The next week, when I turned up to play at the dance, my announcement that the police had been around asking questions, was practically ignored. The drummer played a quick drum roll by way of a flourish to mark my words, but the others in the band hardly looked up.

The dance went well. We had more people than usual and they skipped and jigged around like little lambs, although most were well past middle-age.

A week later and the band had no option but to take me seriously when they read my note apologising for my absence, .

As I explained in my carefully phrased letter, unfortunately, once prisoners are bound over for trial, the police don't allow them to continue playing in the local folk dance band.

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia of artists, authors and musicians?

This postcard fiction murder story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short postcard murder story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

Wife offers husband for public flogging - a humorous postcard fiction short story about office secretary infidelity by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-09T06:44:00.000-08:00

When my wife suggested that I be publicly flogged, I thought she'd discovered my lunchtime infidelities with my secretary. I was therefore quite relieved when she explained she was talking about auctioning my services off through an auction of promises as a weekend domestic servant to raise funds at her local women's club.

A week later, the whole event proved quite boring. Indeed, most of the bids were depressingly low, despite me flexing my well honed physique on the stage to best effect. However, the general lack of interest made it easy for an attractive young lady to come in with a late bid and win the auction.

It turned out to be the most enjoyable Saturday I have ever spent, and I must remember to suggest to my wife she auctions me off again next year.

My day of freedom with no questions asked was well worth all the effort, even if I did have to reimburse my secretary the £50 she paid for me.

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia populated by artists, authors and musicians?

This humorous office secretary infidelity short story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short humorous postcard fiction story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

Last Wish - a micro fiction very short story about dying and fulfilling a lifetime dream by Rob Hopcott

2008-01-08T07:57:00.000-08:00

When my wife came right out and said she wanted to kill me, my first reaction was to laugh until I saw the automatic pistol in her hand.

I have to confess that I was pretty scared. Laura can be very single minded when she decides to do something. Today, apparently, she'd decided to kill me. No doubt she had her reasons but it didn't seem worth investigating them since it seemed clear she'd already made up her mind.

However, she'd always been such a giving person and there had always been a lifetime dream I wanted to fulfill before I died. So I asked her if she would mind me having this one last wish and grudgingly she agreed - as long as I didn't take too long.

I have to confess that having my hands tied behind my back and pulled close to my ankles with my face pressed against the floor was a bit uncomfortable but somehow I think it actually made my last wish even better than I expected.

By the time the explosion came, I didn't really mind dying any more - or anything.

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia populated by artists, authors and musicians?

Copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short postcard fiction dying wish micro fiction murder story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

Marry him should I?

2008-01-07T03:31:00.000-08:00

When he said he loved me and would I marry him, I didn't know what to say. It was all so sudden.

After all, we had only known each other for a few weeks. Admittedly, we had lots in common; walking in the countryside, old pubs with open fires, even fishing. But the truth was that I didn't look at him that way.

He said, if I felt things were going too fast, we could get engaged and live together for a while.

He was very keen. He said he loved my warm smile and everything about me and it would make him the happiest man in the world if I could love him too.

I said it was a shock and I would need some time to think how I should reply.

After a few days, we met up again at a beautiful countryside traditional inn besides the River Thames. There were candles on the tables, lovely oak beams and pictures of country sports on the walls.

I told him that I was definitely and absolutely not gay and never would be.

His face fell and he looked so sad but then brightened when I said

"But I'm willing to go ahead if we can have a house in the countryside with a swimming pool."

The End

(Rob Hopcott - online author - Fiction - News)

Whence my bohemia populated by artists, authors and musicians living in perfect creative harmony?

Copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this short postcard fiction relationship story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.