#theflashinicents

[theflashnificents]

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Romance

Twenty-six letters, zealously cherished. Sent by Gloria, vowing quivering passion. Ending with kisses - XXX.

Nothing for months... Until yesterday.

He reads it over again.

“Dear John...”

[theflashnificents]

FAD (F*ck Atkins Diet!)

 "Weight gain ain’t the reason you should diet, sunshine. Body Mass Index, that’s what you need to take into consideration. I don’t worry about my consumption. I'm on a seafood diet: I see food and I eat it! 'The world is my oyster', as Pistol said in The Merry Wives of Windsor... Or was it 'The world is your lobster’? No, that was Arthur Daley in Minder.

 "Anyway, stop goin’ on about food, will ya? You’re makin’ me feel hungry! Fancy tryin’ that new fish restaurant?"

"I’d love to but I’d better stick to the quinoa and alfalfa."

 "Suit yourself, mate. It's your loss!"

[theflashnificents]

Confession

Mansion of The Earl of Arundel, Highgate The eighth Day of April, anno Domini 1626

I, Francis Bacon, Viscount St Alban, Knight Bachelor, King’s Counsel, being of the Opinion that my End is nigh, did summon Pen and Paper to be brought unto my Bed. I am determined to accomplish my Resolution, namely to confess a most heinous Crime.

As a younger man, despite my many pursuits - Philosophy, Science, Jurisprudence, Oratory and Writing - I found Opportunity to enjoy the lowly Thespians Arts to which I was in thrall.

In the year 1592, a chance Encounter with a competent Poet, passable Actor but woeful Playwright of Stratford-upon-Avon named Will Shakespeare led to an Arrangement to our mutual Benefit: it was determined that I should indulge my Passion by writing Plays that Shakespeare's Company of Actors would perform and that, since Knowledge of this would surely impede my Ambition to seek High Office, he should arrogate to himself their Authorship.

For many years, this Arrangement endured with the greatest Amicability. In 1608, however, I did receive a Visit from Master Shakespeare.

Over the course of the preceding several Years, I had written a series of Tragedies - Hamlet, King Lear, Othello, Macbeth. The structure of such plays of necessity involves Conflict and Tension, leading to a Crisis requiring a Resolution: frequently a Death or Deaths.

Shakespeare proffered his Opinion that such Plays do not appeal to the Rabble which form the major Part of the Audience at each Performance and that Comedies or Romances are more well received. I, in turn, put forward the Notion of Aristotle that “Tragedy presents Man as better than he is in Life”.

Alas, my Argument did not prevail. Shakespeare uttered Threats that he would make known the true Author of the Plays which had been ascribed to him. With great Reluctance, I relented and thereafter, in general, I wrote Plays that would pander to the common Herd.

Our Arrangement reached its Conclusion in 1613 when Shakespeare abandoned London and the World of Theatre and retired to Obscurity in Stratford-upon-Avon.

The meagre Amount that he had accumulated was soon squandered when he turned to Ale and strong Drink to assuage the Loss of the Adulation that he had once received. Consequently, he sought me out once more to extort a Subsidy, renewing the Threats to expose my Secret.

Initially, I reluctantly yielded but, when the Demands continued, I sought a permanent Resolution to this Crisis. Utilising my scientific Knowledge, I prepared a lethal Potion that should go undetected, and I travelled to Warwickshire for our final Assignation.

Death once again provided a satisfactory Resolution to a Crisis.

Francis Bacon

Postscriptum: Shakespeare shuffled off this mortal Coil a Decade ago; now I too face my final Hour. I care not what becomes of this Document after my Death for I know that I must stand accountable for my Actions to a higher Power. I only pray that Posterity will look favourably upon my humble Attempts to raise the Calibre of English Theatre, even though Credit for such may continue to be given to “The Bard of Avon”.

[theflashnificents]

Cell

[theflashnificents]

Festive Fayre

Gabrielle and Katrina arrived at Madeline’s front door simultaneously. “Hope she’s OK,” Gabrielle murmured. “She really liked him,” Katrina whispered. “What was he this time? A stockbroker? A venture capitalist?” “An investment banker.” The door opened and both women chorused; “Merry Christmas!” Madeline looked lovely in her dress; “Dinner’s nearly ready!” she grinned, as if forcing herself into the spirit of it all. “Dinner first, then presents, like last year,” Katrina suggested. “Champagne first!” they all said together. The women gathered in the kitchen and champagne was poured. “Who wants to carve?” asked Madeline. Katrina and Gabrielle looked at her imploringly. “I’ve just had my nails done,” Gabrielle said. “You cut meat so beautifully,” Katrina gushed. Madeline sighed and took the meat from the oven. A scent similar to pork filled the room. Katrina and Gabrielle made appreciative noises. While Madeline cut and divided the meat onto plates, they put vegetables into bowls, carried them through to the elaborately laid table and made sure glasses were refilled. In the dining room, the women toasted the year that had been, then Gabrielle asked; “Do you miss him?” Katrina shot her a look. “Course I do,” Madeline replied, “it’s one of those things, isn’t it? I met him in the New Year, he was new and love was new; but we all know that can’t last.” she sighed, putting a forkful of meat in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “They go off don’t they?” Katrina stated. “Start neglecting their bodies,” Gabrielle said, “nice and fit when you meet them, then the gym visits stop and they sit in front of the TV, drink beer and eat doner kebabs ...” “They start wearing jogging bottoms. Then they fart on the upholstery and belch.” Katrina wrinkled her nose. “They expect us to keep our figures,” Gabrielle continued, cutting meat off bone and skewering it on her fork. “And they get irritable with you just for being alive.” “You forget what you saw in them.” They stopped, realising that Madeline hadn’t said anything. She was staring nostalgically at her plate. She looked up; “It’s better this way. Why not feed them up? Accelerate the inevitable decline?” Gabrielle’s face softened, “You did seem to like him ...” “He’d have turned out like the others,” Madeline’s eyes narrowed, “got mean, taken me for granted, spent all his time at work, forgotten my birthday. Little by little with these City men the love ebbs away. No, let it stay new forever and then we three get something out of it, this lovely party, this delicious meat.” “They don’t all taste the same,” Gabrielle said, “this one is the best so far.” “Yes, he was,” Madeline said sadly. “We can’t wait to give you your present,” Gabrielle handed Madeline a parcel, “go on!” Madeline opened it. “Careful!” Katrina giggled. Madeline stared at the sharp, bejewlled dagger in her hand; “Thanks ladies, you shouldn’t have!” Katrina grinned, raising her glass; “Here’s to January ...” “And hunting in Canary Wharf!” cried Madeline and Gabrielle.

[theflashnificents]

TITSSSZZZ

The office Christmas party started when Josh opened a bottle of Moet, tools were downed, glasses found, cakes taken from the fridge and party poppers let off. It was Mad Friday and by 6pm the judgement of Josh, Simon and Derek was completely skewed. When they went on a perfume sniffing mission, involving them burying their heads into the décolletage of every female, the office manager promptly suggested the three leave for town. On their way out, they noticed a whisky bottle in the kitchen and decided to take it. They piled into the room laughing at their audacity. The cleaner, in an extremely bad mood, was putting glasses into the dishwasher. “Hello darlin’!” shouted Josh, looking at his mates giggling, “I’m gonna sniff the cleaner’s tits!” She straightened to protest, but he swept her slight frame up, sat her on the counter and buried his head in her tiny chest; “Peanuts!” he yelled. “That’s what she smells like?” Simon laughed. “Soap is what she smells like, peanuts is what she has. You need a boob job, love!” Simon thought it was hilarious, but Derek intervened, pulling Josh off; “Town,” he said and mouthed an apology to the cleaner. “Wait,” she said, without hesitation, “there are women with better tits at eibmoZ Club. It’s where WAG’s and models end their night.” Simon handed her his smartphone, “Plug the postcode in, sweetheart.” Later, they found themselves in a graveyard. Puzzled, they suspected it was a joke, but were willing to see it through. Then they saw a crypt with fairy lights round it and a neon sign – eibmoZ CLUB. The bouncer wore a hooded coat that rendered his face invisible. “You can’t come in,” he grunted at Derek, “you’re drunk. You two are welcome.” It was a fair call, probably was Derek’s home time, he stumbled away, while Simon and Josh entered, walking down steps into a wall of thumping R&B music. The club was dark, but they could see females in silhouette writhing on the dancefloor, long haired, thin with huge tits and curvy behinds – perfect! They skipped the bar because they still had the whisky bottle and headed straight to the women; “Wanna sniff your t ...” Josh stopped mid sentence, staring at the redhead in front. She was wearing a mini skirt and low top, but her flesh was hanging off her thin arms and decaying, her rib bones stuck through her exposed midriff, her face was slack and her tits were huge lumps of silicon yellowing with age. She grabbed his head and pulled it against her, the overwhelming smell of corruption causing him to puke. The music stopped; Simon, aware they were surrounded, pulled Josh up; “Ladies, excuse us, it’s the end of the night.” “The night never ends here,” they chorused. One of them pulled up her skirt to flash her silicon enhanced bony behind; “We’ve been waiting for lads like you!” There were too many too push past, Simon and Josh gave up and let the wall of surgically enhanced women in various states of decay close in. At least these girls were up for it. Outside the cleaner leaned against the crypt wall, sharing a large cigar with the bouncer. She gave the starlit sky a contented look and said to nobody in particular; “Merry Christmaszzz.”