Giancarlo Rinaldi - Poker Chips

Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Bruce MacKenzie.

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Poker Chips

The big game. Five-card draw, six players and seven days' takings on the table. An old school affair that started on a Monday night and finished on a Wednesday morning.

"Right guys, last hand.

"That was old Pietro speaking and when he said it was time to finish it was time to finish. Otherwise his wife would chase them all out with a pasta ladle.

The cards slid smoothly across the table before being examined intently by a dozen arched eyebrows.

"Open for four hundred.

"It was typical Carlo on the final hand of the night - trying the kind of bluff that was as transparent as greaseproof paper.

"Raise it to eight.

"This time it was big Giuliano who spoke. Everybody paid a bit more attention. Three silver-haired veterans dropped out - only Carlo and Sergio stayed with him. Another big bet left just Giuliano and Sergio at the showdown.

"Three aces," said Giuliano.

"Three kings," responded Sergio with a smile.

"Jesus Sergio," said Pietro. "You must have lost £5,000 tonight and you're still smiling!"

"Five thousand?" said Sergio. "That's amazing. Fantastic, in fact. The shop must have been a lot busier than I thought..."


© Giancarlo Rinaldi 2006

Suneeta Rathore - Bark and Bite

Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Jo Leavesey.

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Bark and Bite

The spoilt child was having another tantrum.
Her screams could be heard throughout the basement of her apartment.
"I want a dog, I want a dog, I want a D", she threw toys. "O", she kicked shoes. "G".
The lace from her hand-sewn collar flew to the floor.

The nanny, tearful knew she'd be beaten. Her role was to ensure the childs continual contentment. Madam's hefty footfall barked the mistress's displeasure.

First light, the puppy arrived.
Procured from 'Purveyors of The Finest Pedigree Dog Emporium', Bayswater.
It was snowy and small, scented and decorated with a hundred fine silk ribbons.

The child screeched, gleefully pulling its tail.
The dog yelped.
"Puppy is talking to me", she grinned, pulling its tail even harder, whereupon the dog swiftly turned and nipped her.

The spoilt child sprang into action.
Indiscriminately she kicked, a frenzy of self-absorption.

The dog cowered, its breathing distorted, peppered with muted howls. Then silence.
Its neck was broken.
But the child did not stop.

Dragging the limp shell and panting with exertion, she continued until the room was perfumed with fur and ribbon and fear.
Nanny would be beaten, she dare not move.
"It bit me", the child smiled.


© Suneeta Rathore 2006

It was the most... by Vivien Jones

Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Robin Dalgliesh.

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[Untitled]

It was the most beautiful t-shirt. White, light and sleek. Perfect cut. Ashley twirled in front of the mirror, loving herself from every angle. It was so cool. She grinned at the assistant.

‘Go on then, where is it ?’

The girl tried to look interested but it was 4.00 pm on a Saturday.

‘Where is what?’ she asked.

‘The label.’ Ashley spoke in her isn’t-it-obvious voice.

The assistant shrugged. She came close to Ashley and ran her fingers along the hems and seams of the t-shirt.

‘There isn’t one,’ she concluded.

It was Ashley’s turn to be puzzled. This was a designer outlet, not a just a shop. Of course there was a label. Unless...

‘Not having a label – wow!’

This could be the start of something. She could be a trend-setter, first with the newest thing. The ultimate in cool. Wasn’t there some cigarette adverts ages ago that never said the name of the cigarette ? She looked in the mirror again. It looked just as good but something was bugging her.

Just how would her friends know without a label ?

What if they thought it was only High Street ?

Ashley blanched in fear.

No sale.


© Vivien Jones 2006

Jim Gardiner - Henrys boots

Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Bruce MacKenzie.

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Henrys boots

My dad he goes Jake this is History. Arsenals last match at Highbury. Ever. An I want you to remember you wos there. Wont be no classic though. Its Wigan.No classic. Were 2-1 down an then old Henry only goes an scores an atrick.Bang, bang, bang. 4-2. Well the games over an the crowds goin mental. The players are walkin around respectin the fans. Were down the front like always. Then Henry takes his boots off an walks over an I still dont believe this he only hands me his boots. Im so made up I near piss myself. I just kiss em. Didnt even thank im.

Now them boots cause ructions. I can hear em. Ma goes We aint bleedin millionaires. We should get them on E bay an pay for some schoolin cause he aint learnin nothin down that comp. Dad goes Over my dead body. Then he comes in my room and we look at the cool bit in the alcove with its scarfs an the boots at the centre the shrine Dad calls it an he smiles an he goes Its a man thing son.

© Jim Gardiner 2006

Angela Everitt - Community Spirit

Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Jo Leavesey.

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Community Spirit

They’d hired the community mini-bus and left the village square just as dusk was falling. The trip had been well organised by the Community Association. Mrs Dugdale was the responsible adult: she’d been through police clearance as the Brown Owl. Young people had an important role to play.

So eight villagers, from thirteen to seventy-three, packed together with black bin liners of rubbish from the cafes, with secateurs from the Horticultural Society, with boxes of chewing gum from the village store, set off to visit three villages that night. They travelled silently and parked just before the first village sign, tubs beneath it all freshly planted. They parted company. The younger members chewed their way round the village centre, spitting out gum and stamping it into its weed-free pavements. The older ones littered the village green, by the dedicated benches and amongst the bushes. The gardeners ‘live-headed’ the strategically placed tubs and the baskets hanging outside the village pub, the cottages and shops.

Jobs done, they turned for home, exhausted, but fired with community spirit, singing together, confident in the knowledge that Little Ousebottom now most certainly would be the best small village in Britain in Bloom.

© Angela Everitt 2006

Peter Blake - Plastered

Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Bruce MacKenzie.

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Plastered

Diners at ristoranti Da Delfina are presented with a glass of prosecco to sip while making their selection from the menu. Favoured guests, are served by Carlo himself. He joined me at my table and poured the wine talking rapidly in his Tuscan Italian. He can speak English but refuses; it’s as though he feels speaking anything other than the Tuscan dialect will somehow dilute the purity of his cooking. Carlo Cioni is Italy’s foremost Tuscan chef.

As I lifted my glass in salutation he noticed the plaster on my finger, I trapped it in the door and the nail had turned black.

‘Aha!’ he said. ‘If you worked in my kitchen you would have to wear a blue plaster. It is the rule from Brussels for ristoranti, so if it falls off in the cooking, we can easily see it and throw away the food.'

‘What a good idea’ I said. ‘It’s nice to see something useful coming out of Brussels?’

‘Of course, you are right.’ He said. ‘It is good to have sensible rules, however.’ He paused, leaned closer and said softly, ‘have you considered how many of the old plasters you have eaten?’


© Peter Blake 2006

Hugh Bryden - We Have To Do Something

People's Prize Winner and Runner-Up in Dumfries & Galloway Arts Association Flash Fiction Competition 2006. Read by Robin Dalgliesh.

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We Have To Do Something

“We have to do something. Socialism is slipping through our fingers like sand.”

Boris was worried, so were the gathered representatives of all the remaining communist states, they too could see the writing on the crumbling wall.

“Jose has an idea that I think is a stroke of genius,” Xiang said enthusiastically.

“Well, we have to outdo them at their own game. We have to secretly form a super organisation that will dominate the western world by having stores that provide everything, are in every town, all over the cities. We start by selling food and control all the markets due to our buying power. Expand into all consumer goods, undercutting other shops. Then banking, insurance, internet access and communications. Buy the people with cheap baubles and suck them in with dividend schemes. We will have everyone dependent on us, know all their details, everything about them. When we have total domination we can reveal that it has all been a socialist coup – everything has been nationalised.”

“That sounds remarkable. What should we call it?”

“I thought to begin with – TOTAL ENTERPRISE SECRET COMMUNIST OBJECTIVE”.

“That’s too long - what will it shorten to?"


© Hugh Bryden 2006