Tag: social
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NOSTALGIA

‘Are they close enough together?’ He looked at the room. It seemed crowded and cluttered, but apparently that’s how they used to do it. ‘Four round that small table?’ They would be banging elbows. ‘It’s how they wanted it,’ the maitre d’ shrugged. The serving staff would have trouble manoeuvring in and out the small…
Iain Kelly
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ANOTHER WORLD

It felt great to be back out in the world. She couldn’t wait to head into the hills and revisit all her favourite spots – hill climbing was not something you could do while locked down in your house and sticking to the local area. She felt a little rusty to start with, even though…
Iain Kelly
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PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

‘Man, all three of you couldn’t hit a barn door. Try again.’ Hank loaded a clay into the thrower. ‘Ready?’ ‘Pull!’ The clay disc fired out over the field. Three shots fired off. The clay landed in one piece a hundred yards away. ‘Dammit, these guns is useless,’ whined Dwight. ‘How we expected to hit…
Iain Kelly
2nd amendment, access, America, clay pigeon, constitution, creative writing, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, gun, gun control, gun laws, gun range, killing, licence, literature, NRA, practice, rights, school, shooting, Short Story, social, society, story, trump, violence, Writing, writing prompt -
TICK-TOCK

‘Tick-tock, tick-tock,’ went the clock. ‘Time’s up! Time’s up!’ cried the People. ‘No more! No more!’ chanted the Poor. Save me! Save me!’ weeped the Earth. ‘Me Too! Me Too!’ screamed the Victims. Louder and louder the voices grew. Higher and higher the echos reached. Some of the Powerful fell on the sword of justice.…
Iain Kelly
#metoo, #timesup, clamour, class, clock, countdown, creative writing, culture, earth, end of times, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, have, have not, literature, me too, oppressed, politics, poor, power, prose poem, Short Story, social, society, story, tick-tock, time, time’s up, voices, wealthy, world, Writing, writing prompt -
WITHERED ROSE

She had withered over the cold winter. The gradual process of ageing had taken its final undignified collapse. Francis wheeled her mother outside into the garden, where the morning sunshine had evaporated the dew and birdsong brought promise of the arriving spring. As the rays of light beamed over the frail figure, the hunched back…
Iain Kelly