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About Literature / Hobbyist Premium Member FranklesFemale/United Kingdom Group :icontheknow: TheKnow
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Deviant for 4 Years
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Flash Fiction



The Clapham and District Pirate ChoirIt had been a long day at Pirate Primary School and the Ruthless Edward (aged 6) was getting ready for bed. He sighed as he pulled on his pyjama bottoms. He really wanted a wooden leg like all the cool kids but Granny had said he couldn’t have an amputation until he was 18.
He buttoned up his pyjama top and got under the duvet with his ruthless teddy just as Granny came in with a snack for him. He sat up and she handed him the plate, and then she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.
“So, what did you do at school today?”
The Ruthless Edward rested the plate on his knee and thought. “We learned about pirated material, Granny,” he said. “Stealing other people’s work.” He frowned. “It was pretty boring—not like real pirates at all.”
“No,” agreed Granny, smiling, “that isn’t much like our kind of piracy but it does have its origin in proper pirates. Shall I tell you about it?”
The Ruthles
Insects“Thank you for coming in,” said the interviewer, as they settled down on opposite sides of the desk. “It’s Mr. Carlton, isn’t it? May I call you Paul?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s fine,” said Carlton, attempting to relax.
The interviewer checked the piece of paper in front of him, and looked up again. “Well, Paul, perhaps we could start with you telling me a little about why you would be suitable for the job.”
“Right,” said Carlton. “Um, well, I’ve worked in security for 15 years, first for—”
The interviewer interrupted him. “Actually, it’s not security work.”
“Isn’t it?” Carlton looked bewildered. “But the advert mentioned intruders and keeping out unwelcome visitors…”
The interviewer smiled a little. “That is true. But we’re talking more about pest control.”
Carlton’s face fell. “Right. Well, I’m sorry fo


HomonymsDarren was carefully pouring a jug of water into his biology textbook.
“What are you doing?” asked Miss Markham.
Darren looked up at his English teacher. “The exams are coming up soon, so I’m pouring over my books.”
Miss Markham sighed. “It’s not ‘pouring’, it’s ‘poring’.” She beckoned to Darren. “Come and take a walk with me, young man. You might learn something.”
Going down the lane, they came across a path leading away from the road. A young woman in a flamboyant white dress and an older man in a morning suit were just about to start hiking down it.
“Ah! Excellent—here’s a good example to begin with,” said Miss Markham to Darren.
She stopped and addressed the girl. “You know, this isn’t a bridal path. It’s a bridle path—for horses and their riders.”
“Oh…” said the bride. “You know, that does make
I've Really Lost My MindThe young man smiled, with just a touch of embarrassment. “I seem to have lost my mind.”
The female attendant looked at him. “This is a railway ticket office.”
“Yes..?”
“You want the lost property section over there.” She pointed at a counter where a severe-looking man was rearranging misplaced umbrellas.
“Thank you!” The young man nodded politely and headed across to the other section.
The lost property attendant looked up as the young man approached. “Is it an umbrella you want?” He indicated the display.
The young man appeared to be tempted for a moment by a purple one decorated with cats and dogs, but then apparently remembered why he was there.
“No,” he said. “I’ve lost my mind. I’m pretty sure here was the last time I used it—I was trying to work out what would be the cheapest ticket to Inverness on a weekday in June, outside peak hours, travelling with my back to the engin
A selection from my flash fiction.
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221Bs



SmugglingJohn was in the frozen vegetables aisle, contemplating the advantages of peas over broccoli, when Sherlock suddenly appeared beside him.
“What the..?” said John.
“I’m here on a case.” Sherlock was staring over John’s shoulder. “Just try to act naturally.”
John looked round and saw a scruffy, prematurely-aged woman shuffling towards the baked goods. He turned back to Sherlock.
“Isn’t that a member of your homeless network—Miss… Adlington?”
Sherlock nodded, and then tensed. “The security guard’s spotted her.”
“Oh, God,” said John. “Please tell me you haven’t got that poor woman doing shoplifting for you.”
Sherlock glanced at John. “Of course not. Miss Adlington hasn’t done a dishonest thing in her life.”
His gaze returned to the woman. “People working in security always make such stereotypical assumptions. She’s just the decoy
Floor Coverings“Oh, dear God!”  Abruptly, Watson found himself horizontal.
He raised his head from where he lay and glared up at Holmes. “Care to tell me why you’ve greased the sitting room floor?”
“Well,” said Holmes, “I needed to find out how far a man would slide if…”
“Just pick me up, you wretched man!”
“Aaargh!”
Holmes rushed into the sitting room to find Watson once more flat on his back, having slipped—perhaps surprisingly—on a patch of ice.
“My dear fellow!” cried Holmes. “I should have warned you of my experiment!”
“You better have a damned good explanation why I’m lying here with a rapidly chilling backside,” said Watson.
“It’s conduction,” said Holmes. “Heat travels...”
He caught Watson’s expression. “I see. I’ll just help you up then.”
“Mud?”
Holmes smiled.

The Prosecution Rests"You? Doing jury service?" grinned John, reading his flatmate's letter.
"I will kill Mycroft," said Sherlock.
Both sides had concluded their arguments.
"Well, it looks straightforward to me," said the foreman, in the jury room. "I don’t think he did the burglary. The prosecution's case was pretty flimsy."
There was general agreement to this.
Sherlock smiled.
"Guilty," said the bewildered foreman.
"Guilty?" said the judge, surprised despite himself.
“Yes,” said the foreman. He paused for a moment, concentrating. “His laces indicate his alibi is false, his posture tells us he’s been in the area where the burglary took place, and his chronic dandruff suggests he’s actually been inside the burgled property. Oh, and the defendant needs 37 other offences to be taken into consideration.” The foreman glanced briefly behind him. “Probably."
From the back row, Sherlock nodded in satisfaction.
John gazed at the stunned-looking jurors gathering in th
Trailing BehindJohn hadn’t been able to drop off at all in the caravan. Sherlock, conversely, was sleeping like a baby. Up every two hours and making a hell of a racket.
“Sherlock,” said John. “There is no nicotine in this vehicle. Go to bed.”
Sherlock glared and sipped his fifth cup of coffee.
John groaned.
At least the case was over. Tomorrow they would be back in London.
John checked the connection between the caravan and car and got into the driver’s seat.
“Shall I drive..?” asked Sherlock.
Ah, apologising for last night, thought John.
“We don’t want to end up crashing into the embankment if your shoulder locks,” said Sherlock.
John started the car.
For an hour he listened to Sherlock complaining. Despite having just solved a case, Sherlock was already craving more stimulation.
At the next service station John pulled over.
“I’ve had enough. Go and buy some cigarettes.”
Sherlock stared. “Really?”
A selection from my 221Bs.
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Fan Fiction for the Unconvinced



Literature Features



The Karma Train‘There is nothing worse than going to school by tube!’ said Alice.
James had no reply.  They were hanging onto a pole in the middle of the carriage, swaying and bumping into each other, and into people on their way to work.  The train smelt of sweat, coffee and clothing.  The only passengers to acknowledge each other were those in school uniform.  The rest stared through each other, or over each other’s heads, expressionless and silent.
The next station is Southgate.
‘I’m never getting a tube again after school’s finished,’ said Alice.  ‘Well, not in the rush hour, anyway.  I mean, look at these people!  What a bunch of zombies!’
For a moment, James  tried to shrink into his school shirt like a tortoise into its shell.  Then he realised no one was looking at them.  Alice was right.  They were zombies, and not the flesh eating kind.  They saw noth
The Business of Dreams“So what’s the pitch?” asked Harper as he strode into the room. “This better not be a waste of my time like last time.”
Swallowing his annoyance, Victor took a seat at the meeting table. They’d been waiting almost an hour for the asshole to make an appearance but sure, they were wasting his time. “I'll leave that for you to decide sir,” he said in his most neutral tone. “But we think it has potential.” He glanced at Sophie, the other dream tech in the meeting room who took that as her cue to begin.
“This one’s a sci-fi,” Sophie said, “Nothing too freaky. Take a look Mr. Harper.” She swiveled in her chair to face the large touch screen in front of her, adjusted her glasses and keyed up one of the images that had been recorded less than twelve hours ago.   
The screen showed a set stage for a kid’s television show. This particular set was of a garage with kitschy objects mount
Ezra and the ImagistesImagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (Life 134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington Life 135).
                                         
Soul FlyUncle Levi and Auntie Gertrude and Katie didn’t miss Gramma. They didn’t even think about her until her Soul Fly Day came. Their flies were silver with big sparkly opal eyes, but Momma said the wood ones Grampa carved for us were just as good.
It was my first Soul Fly Day ever. Momma got me a new black dress and told me it was all right to cry. Katie’s dress had white ruffles and silver flies stitched into it. She pointed at my wood fly and called us poor.
There were so many people there was barely enough room for the shaman to get to Gramma. Everyone got real quiet so we could hear him say words I didn’t understand. Gramma’s Soul Fly came out of her mouth and started flying over us. It was like a paper doll, only just black. It landed on my head and Momma cheered and we sang Soul Fly Day songs. Katie whined about how she should have got the blessing because her fly was so pretty.
And that’s how my painting won first prize at the fair.
SketchyGraphite creatures crawled over planes of white, crossing lines like railroad tracks. Those in lead were the lucky ones. They- the flying tortoises, the moaning pumpkins, and the sea monsters with no gills- had been completed.
These were followed by their half-drawn brethren, who dragged themselves forward in spite of missing limbs. They tripped, sometimes, over beings that had never been granted heads.
Then came the ghosts- creations that had been finished, then erased. They drifted in a fog of pencil smears, and their voices came in clouded moans.
“How could you do this to us?”
The stragglers had all been crossed out. Ink dribbled from places where lines had lanced through their bodies.
Together, the ghoulish menagerie surrounded their tormentor.    
The artist bowed her head, holding her pen out like a general surrendering her sword. “I swear I will never draw again.”
“No,” said a fanged sea monster, “You never will.”

Visual Favourites



Secret World by mikopolFlashes of gold by Faerie2304
A selection from my favourites.
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Plain-and-Mousy

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SCFrankles
Frankles
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Snoopy Writer Stamp by Mirz123
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The Lord gathered all the writers and divided them into four groups.


To the first group He said, “You will be novelists and you will make a living from your work.”

To the second group He said, “You will be poets and people will admire and be moved by your work.”

To the third group He said, “You will write short stories and people will enjoy your work.”

And to the final group He said, “You will write flash fiction and… Yes, well, sorry about that.”


My name is Frankles. I'm a writer specialising in flash fiction.

(When I get called home, there are going to be words.)
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Unless a man is in part a humorist, he is only in part a man.
GK Chesterton
Interests

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Elegant by wei-en
A piece selected from my favourites.
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Comments


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:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner Edited 15 hours ago  Professional Writer
The humor section totally made me think of you. Not sure if you've considered publishing before, or whether these resources accept submissions from overseas, but I thought I'd send it your way: www.freedomwithwriting.com/fre…
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:iconscfrankles:
SCFrankles Featured By Owner 9 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
This was such a kind thought - thank you. I have considered getting my work published but I've never been brave enough to try.

I'll have a look at the resources and see what they say about submissions :D
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:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner 2 hours ago  Professional Writer
Dude, I know what you mean. My inclination has been to start with smaller publications and work my way upward to bigger blogs. I haven't found a larger publication source yet that I feel quite fits me, but I'm on the lookout. For what it's worth, I think you've got a fighting chance. Your work always has me in stitches.
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:iconinkedacrylic:
inkedacrylic Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thank you for adding my writing to your collection! :wow:
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:iconscfrankles:
SCFrankles Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're very welcome ^^
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:iconinkedacrylic:
inkedacrylic Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thank you for adding my writing to your collection :wow: I am honored!
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:iconscfrankles:
SCFrankles Featured By Owner Jun 21, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're most welcome ^^
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:icondays-be-strange:
I appreciate the favorite. Heart 

By the way, you write brilliantly. I mean it. :)
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:iconscfrankles:
SCFrankles Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you - that's very kind ^^
Thank you for the faves, and the watch too ^^ :icongiveflowerplz:
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:icondays-be-strange:
days-be-strange Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2015
No problem. :)
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:iconbattlefairies:
BATTLEFAIRIES Featured By Owner Jun 14, 2015
Thank you for Favouriting my work! This means you now get to ask the Djinn ONE question --> 'Ask The Djinn' stamp by BATTLEFAIRIES <-- clicky clicky
The Djinn will answer truthfully and to the best of her considerate abilities.
Have fun (and come back often)!
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:iconobsydiandreamer:
ObsydianDreamer Featured By Owner May 25, 2015  Student General Artist
Thanks for faving the Flash Fiction contest Journal. Hope you can participate!
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:iconscfrankles:
SCFrankles Featured By Owner May 26, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome - and I think I will have a go ^^ Maracas 
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:iconpikaole:
pikaole Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the watch!
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:iconscfrankles:
SCFrankles Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're most welcome - your work is lovely ^^
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