The Battleground

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I’m not surprised it should end here.

This has always been the hub of our home. Evening meals as a family, the kids covering the table with their homework.

Then, when they left home, it became our battleground. You occupying one end of the kitchen table me the other. Taking turns to throw barbed comments and hateful accusations across no-man’s land.

I’m not sure what was different about today. It might have been something you said but I can’t think what. I simply remember screaming, lashing out, hitting you again and again with that old iron.

So utterly satisfying.

Mike Jackson

100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.


  1. It was inevitable that it would come to this. One voting for Brexit, the other against.

    One or the other would eventually have to prove their claim to being superior in speed and of reach. First to grab the old French flat iron and then smash out with it blind with passion, again and again.

    Oh if only they’d stuck to staycations in Little Britain. If only they’d never discovered the joy of mooching together through the Sunday stalls at vide-greniers and such like both Mum and Dad would both be alive today

    What a lousy way to terminate a spent love, blow by bloody blow by bloodier blow. Crossing the Channel and mingling with the Continentals was never going to lead to a happy ending. The daft not of ‘travel broadening horizons’ has a lot to answer for. .

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Brexit is but the latest of the many things that divides us one from another, and I’m interested in the boundary between writing that is grounded in reality and that which is the fruit of an imaginary seed. I enjoyed your ‘Battleground’ very much Mike thank you.

        Is it just my impression or do others share the view that most successful stabs at short fictions revel in dystopian storytelling?

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Read not ‘daft not’, rather read ‘daft notion’. Were it not for not for my typing skills I might more often manage to write what I mean. Ha!


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