Flash Fiction, Stories

Tourmaline (Flash Fiction)

I got into the car, opened the windows and watched the sizzling air writhe its way out to join the rest of the scorching O.  Thank heavens for air-conditioning.

Commissioner Street, Johannesburg.  I tapped into the search function of google maps on my smartphone.  The last thing I needed was to get lost in central Jozi.  Apprehension coated my forehead in translucent beads that had a life of their own.  Did I really need to do this?  Sibongile, my housekeeper and recently qualified traditional healer seemed to think I did.  She should know.  I’d asked her to help me, but she said she didn’t have the power yet.  Her analogy was along the lines of having a car but not the license to drive it.  From past experience I knew how dangerous it was to meddle with the ancestors, so thought it best to go with her recommendation.

I drove past Marshall Street with its ubiquitous armed guards on the corner.  “It’s perfectly safe, you know.  It’s your white privilege that makes you so unnecessarily jumpy.”  This from Sibongile.  Apparently Anglo American weren’t as convinced as she was about safety, since it was they who employed the security guards on Marshall Street.

Was there even any parking?  I drove slowly down Commissioner Street.  My destination was on my right according to the google lady.  Walter Sisulu House was on the far left and I was sandwiched between my destination and a Ria Viya bus stop.  The city traffic hummed like a swarm of drones and every so often it felt like one of those drones was about to attack as a mini bus taxi filled to bursting point, swerved in front of me and slammed on brakes.  People being expelled from the innards of the taxi like a pot boiling over on the stove and those people mixing with the drones.   Nerves of steel were de rigueur when driving in Johannesburg.  My nerves were made of fraying sack cloth.

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Midlife crises a short story by Lacy Muircastle


It’d been simply mind blowing sex.  Wild, tempestuous, no strings attached.  Or that’s what I’d thought.  But you know what thought did, don’t you?

She stood in the middle of my office looking like a petulant child, Aphrodite.  My paramour, my Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and now it would seem as with the goddess she was named after, of procreation too. I should have known better than to get involved with someone so young. Or anyone for that matter.

“What do you mean you’re pregnant?”  My head pounded at my temples, as if Thor was preparing for an explosive storm.  I slumped back in my chair.

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Second Time Around© …. Prologue

Sheridan sat impatiently in the court waiting in suspense for her name to be called. “Sheridan Browne” With her heart in her throat she realised that the time had finally come, all the months of bitter tears and anguish, of her emotions running the gamut of despair at the impending end of a 10 year relationship, to relief and giddy euphoria at the prospect of a new beginning …


Luke stood at the window looking out across a stormy sea, thinking to himself that the weather emulated his grey mood perfectly.  His pain still raw.  His beloved Elaine taken from him so cruelly a year before.  It was the first anniversary of her passing and he still felt utterly bereft.  He couldn’t help himself, as the tears rolled slowly down his cheeks, no matter how many times he was told by well-meaning friends and family that he would be okay given time, he just didn’t see how.