Flash Fiction

This is an attempt at flash fiction. I’m not completely sure what flash fiction is, so it might have been a bit rash of me to try and produce it before finding out, but patience is not my greatest virtue. It seems likely to me that the word “flash” is descriptive of either the length or the content of the fiction, so I have tried to interpret and apply it to cover both of these options. I hope the one that is wrong won’t spoil it.

It would be great if my attempt prompted others to have a bash at it, and they would be more than welcome to post their efforts here.

So come on folks, let’s get flashing.

If usha and bloody are reading this and fancy having a go, you will be pleased to know that it won’t be necessary to remove your bras.


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Jamie Clearwater left the Headmaster’s office in a bit of a state. This was his first posting after leaving teacher training, and when he had received the message that the Headmaster wanted to see him, he feared it might be about some sort of shortcoming in his performance. Afterwards, as he was walking back along the corridor to his classroom, he was rather wishing that it had been the reason for his summons.

“Ah, come in, Mr. Clearwater,” said the Headmaster on hearing a knock and seeing half of Mr. Clearwater’s face peering round the slightly opened door. “Please, sit down.”

Mr. Clearwater sat on the chair at the subordinate side of the Headmaster’s desk; by now sensing from the Headmaster’s friendly smile that he might not be in trouble, after all. “You sent for me?”

“Yes. The thing is, Mr. Webster was supposed to be taking class 4B today for sex education, but he’s come down with a case of something unspecified but very unpleasant., and I see you have a free period this morning.”

Mr. Clearwater’s mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out, so he closed it again after a few seconds.

“Here we are then.” Said the Head, passing Mr. Clearwater a banana and a packet of condoms, “Nothing too complicated, just show the little buggers how to put one of these things on. And don’t let them mess you about.”

By the time Mr. Clearwater reached the classroom he had already eaten the banana, although, in his nervous state, he was probably unaware of eating it.

The lesson went far better than Mr. Clearwater had expected, or so he thought at the time. Not only did the class not mess him about, but they gave him their undivided attention for the full duration of the lesson, and in complete silence. Overall, it seemed to have gone pretty well. It wasn’t long afterwards, of course, that Mr. Clearwater became aware that his lesson had not gone well at all, and, as he was bundled into the striped car later that afternoon on the last day of his short teaching career, he couldn’t help feeling that he should have known better than to think it had.