Phil Flannery
Bio
Damn it, I'm 61 now, which means I'm into my fourth year on Vocal, I have an interesting collection of stories. I love the Challenges and enter, when I can, but this has become a lovely hobby.
Stories (65/0)
What a Trip!
My mind was racing, I didn’t know what to do, because the train I was in was racing too, and perhaps under the control of a maniac. I watched the world outside the window whizz by, the buildings blurring into indistinguishable lines, like the Enterprise entering warp speed. I considered my fate. How did I end up on a train? I hate train travel. This one doesn’t resemble my local trains. Am I even in my own city?
By Phil Flannery2 years ago in Fiction
The Fall
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. From the other side of the lake the campers watched as the distant light flickered. The scoutmaster tried to settle the nerves of his young charges. “Now, now,” he said, “settle down, it’s nothing to be alarmed about. It may be that someone has found shelter for the night, or maybe the shack has new owners.”
By Phil Flannery2 years ago in Horror
Roads Scholar
The smartly dressed woman approached the podium which stood imposingly over the full auditorium. She was easily recognisable as the woman whose image was projected on the giant screen which hung grandly over the stage. Applause welcomed Donna Huntley, PhD candidate, the final speaker of the day, who was there to give a talk on philosophy as part of her studies. She raised the champagne flute she had been holding and with a clear, undeniable Australian accent, began.
By Phil Flannery2 years ago in Humans
Last Rocket Down
“Ronald, come down this instant... If you don’t come down now, I will come up there and drag you down. There will be tears.” The mother yelled up at her 6-year-old son, who had made his way to the very top of the giant rocket slide in their local park. “Wait till your father finds out how you scared your mother, there’ll be hell to pay,” she carried on. The boy in the meantime was happily ignoring his mother, today he was Neil Armstrong, about to launch with the rest of the crew on their mission to the moon.
By Phil Flannery3 years ago in Fiction
A Beautiful Thing
Sitting in his car outside the plant nursery, Bob watched the front door. He wasn't waiting for anyone, except for John Denver to stop singing. Annie's song was their song, her song, it played as she walked toward him down the aisle on their wedding day 42 years ago and had remained a favourite of theirs. It was played at her funeral just a year past.
By Phil Flannery3 years ago in Fiction
On Frozen Pond
The big dam was just that, it was a massive dam at the back of old Tom’s property. It sat high on a hill and fed the smaller dams that were created further down the valley. They were for the animals; the big dam was for the family. It had become his favourite place to hide. The farm didn’t need him, Tom junior saw to that, and since his wife Jenny had passed, old Tom found himself here almost every day. It had been the place she liked to come, when the work was done, and the family came around, she would sit and watch the children and grandchildren play and grow. When it took her fancy, she would walk around the edge, until she became too frail to.
By Phil Flannery3 years ago in Fiction
'Celebrate'
It was 37°C and barely after midday, the forecast was for 42°; not far to go then. The scorching afternoon followed the hot morning which was preceded by the sweltering night. Summer had taken hold of the city and the park was all but deserted. Only a few brave beings dared show their skin to the bite of the sun. A man seemed to have melted onto the bench where he sat, baseball cap drawn over his face. Beside him an old-school boom-box had ‘Grand Master Flash’ vibrating the speakers, the sound amplified by the wooden bench. A group of women in sportswear on gym mats doing yoga, the fluorescent colours of their outfits blinding in the bright sun. A picnic of young people, laughing at nothing and ignoring the heat. In the bushes and in the borders of the park, there were others.
By Phil Flannery3 years ago in Fiction