Short story: The flimflam


Agnes knocked on the door. We stood there for ages; I was hoping no one would answer but eventually we heard slow footsteps and the door opened a crack.

“Please mister,” said Agnes, “my friend isn’t feeling well. Could she have a glass of water?”

As the old man poked his head out I remembered to sag at the knees. He looked us both over. “What’s the problem here?” he said and opened the door wider. “Water d’ya say?” He cupped an ear with his hand.

Behind him silver picture frames and knickknacks glittered on a hall table.

“Jackpot,” whispered Agnes.


This picture, was supplied by Al Forbes for Friday Fictioneers, our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Rochelle posts a picture each week and writers from all over the world gather to write about 100 words using it as inspiration. Click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.

45 thoughts on “Short story: The flimflam

  1. A clever and well written scene, that leaves me wanting to know what happens next! I love that you went in an entirely different direction than the crowd. Well done! I was sure I had followed the flow this week, but still waiting for another warrior story…


  2. Dear Claire,

    Five stars for leaving the usual behind and taking a road less traveled. Perhaps he’ll turn the tables on them. Old men don’t get to be old for no reason. Loved this story.




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