Flash Fiction–Postcards

Postcard #1

The second time the waiter spilled soup in Archibald’s lap, he ended up with bouillabaisse stains on his pinstripes. The waiter—he’d better succeed next time—was positively abject with apologies. I plan to wear yellow to Archibald’s funeral before I leave for Paris. See you soon, my dearest.

Postcard #2

Well, mum, you were right. Why didn’t I see it as clearly as you did? Had to trip the blundering fool twice. If she could pay him, I can pay him more. Tonight, I think. Then I’ll be home for a good long rest. After her funeral.

Fran Stewart
Atlanta Branch, GA


  1. How this story came about? I was leafing through “Deadly Doses: a Writer’s Guide to Poisons” and got to wondering about disguising a deadly dose in some sort of soup. As soon as bouillabaisse came to mind, I had the beginning of a terribly continental mystery. I do wonder about Archibald’s mum and her insights, don’t you?

    • Yes, I do wonder! Could be a complex relationship. Who is the “real” villain is left wonderfully ambiguous.

  2. Very Funny! If only people spoke to each other instead of plotting against each other!

    • Or if people only REALLY wrote letters and postcard instead of emails!!

      • What a novel idea! Writing letters and/or postcards???
        My thoughts, exactly.
        Whenever I travel, I write a story to my grandchildren on fifteen or twenty postcards. Naturally, I don’t number them, so they have to read the postcards aloud and figure out the order of the story. Great fun, for them and for me.

    • But if they did, what would those of us who write murder mysteries do for a living? Nobody would believe our stories!