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

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

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

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

'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

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

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

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.