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This week’s blog features an introductory short story ,representative of what is called ‘Flash Fiction’-a style which I enjoy immensely...and will hopefully lead you to my books pages on this website so you can sample more (at a minimal cost)…but this one is on me : ‘Phillip Mitchell celebrating the birthday of Soren Kierkegaard in Albert Square’ featured in my first collection some while back…it may ,hopefully, bring a smile to your face…

‘…Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages)...’. 

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn." is a six-word story, generally attributed to Ernest Hemingway, although the link to him is unsubstantiated.[1][2] It is an example of flash fiction. 

The claim of Hemingway's authorship originates in an unsubstantiated anecdote about a wager between him and other writers. In a 1991 letter to Canadian humourist John Robert Colombo, science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke recounts: "He’s [Hemingway] supposed to have won a $10 bet (no small sum in the ’20s) from his fellow writers. They paid up without a word. ... Here it is. I still can’t think of it without crying— FOR SALE. BABY SHOES. NEVER WORN."[1]

Tony Hyland  October 2024       T 

PHILIP MITCHELL CELEBRATING THE BIRTHDAY OF SOREN KIERKEGAARD IN ALBERT SQUARE

'... Philip Mitchell esquire was undoubtedly the hardest man in Walford, and arguably the whole of London. He was so hard he had once banged his head against a wall in sheer frustration and knocked the whole building down. He had also head butted a pillar box and it shattered into pieces-that’s how hard he was. He admittedly suffered slight migraines as a result but a few painkillers usually did the trick.

Through a life of crime, deceit, rapacity and downright dishonesty he had carved a role for himself as the leading entrepreneur in Walford and tried to establish his supremacy by securing all the key properties and businesses within the vicinity. If Walford were to have a Mayor, he would surely be the leading candidate.

Philip had tried to lead a normal family life amidst the chaos but with great difficulty it must be said. It is fair to say his enemies outweighed his friends. People found him boorish, intolerant and insensitive but did not tell him so for fear of him ‘kicking their fucking heads in’.

One day Philip inexplicably had a crisis of confidence, as he approached middle-age, and decided to make a token gesture to the community of Walford. He had an epiphanic moment and went through a period of radical transformation which saw him put together an event as a vehicle for him to share his newly found enlightenment with his fellow citizens.

On the 5th May, and as a celebration of the birthday (1813) of the eminent Danish Philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, he erected a platform in the gardens of Walford itself, and decided to share some pivotal Kierkegaardian themes with the public.

A large crowd gathered in front of the platform as Philip began his address: ‘‘…Dear Compatriots of Walford… …I once thought you all to be complete and utter wankers… …not worthy of my company… …but I come to you now in peace to describe the malaise that lies at the heart of our community… … I have suffered like you the boredom, anxiety, despair… …Yes I have led a nefarious, piratanical existence taking the piss out of you all where I could, but I know this must now stop…. …I must now share with you my new enlightenment: the thoughts of the eminent philosopher cum theorist Soren Kierkegaard… …we must continue to struggle with the daily conflict we face between our ethical and religious duties… …we must all have a ’total’ unquestioning faith in the one God… …and trust in his graciousness for forgiveness… … And to find the true way to live… … The correct path to lead our lives… … We can find ephemeral gratification through our appreciation of the Arts but these do not lead to lasting satisfaction… …Only by finding the right way to conduct our lives and by possessing that absolute faith in God can we be granted salvation!...’’

A large crowd had now thronged in front of the platform, many of whom seemed transfixed by the message espoused by Phillip Mitchell and in thrall to his performance. Ian Beale, Phillip’s nemesis over a number of years, however, was not held captive by the presentation. ‘’…Appreciate being told how empty our lives our Phil… …a bit late now isn’t it for salvation!... … Given you have been one of the most intractable problems in this community… …bit rich for you now to offer a view of a brand new world you hypocritical tyrant!...’’ ‘‘…Beale, I come to you in peace… … And offering salvation!...’’ ‘‘…Piss off, you fat bald cunt!...’’, Ian squealed.

At that, Philip lost his newly found composure, and leapt off the stage shouting: ‘‘…I’ll kick your head in you stupid disbelieving motherfucker…’’. The two fought amongst the throng and Philip predictably kicked Ian’s head in. ‘‘…You have forced me to take such drastic action Beale… … And I need to rid the square of such iniquity and rancour… … And we need to start again!...’’ At that Philip set fire to the makeshift platform and the denizens of Walford ran for cover.

The conflagration spread quickly and widely and the whole of Walford was razed to the ground. Many of the Walford community died in the wild fires that scorched many of the businesses.

It was thought Philip himself succumbed to the inferno and no doubt found his way to God’s right hand side. As the fire began to subside, Dorothy Cotton, the Manageress of the Launderette, sat alone at the back with the smouldering washing machines, in fear and trembling...'