1311 Causeway Drive

1311 Causeway Drive

What if you found out that nobody liked you; that all the laughing at your jokes and compliments were bunk.
And if this were true what would you do?
Would you ignore it and go on or write in your journal or just cry yourself to sleep each night. But what if it wasn’t the real you they despised and put up with but a person who looked like you and was you in every reasonable way, except for your most important part, your heart, with a goodness and kindness that emitted but was rebuffed by anyone who did not look deeper into your soul where you were sensitive and thoughtful, but
would only see you as a phony and a put on.
What if that was the only way your personality could be and there was no way to change it, until now; right now; this minute and the true meaning of goodness was buried deep within you and no one recognized it, until today, when all hell broke lose in the world and you were its only salvation.
The End
Oliver stood on the top step of the front entrance to his home.
Home to him and fourteen other people who inhabited the small apartment building of which each one of them called home.
But how could everyone’s home be at 1311 Causeway Drive. It was, after all, this was not a group home, even though each apartment was in close enough in proximity to warrant it.
The air at eight in the morning was thick from smog and humidity and the sky was beginning to unfold from blue to a soft grey, then to blackness, almost night.
A crackling sound erupted from what seemed to be beneath Oliver, which made him place his hands over his ears to blot it out.
The clouds were gone and darkness covered the sky.
The other tenants from the building piled out of their only elevator then shuffled down the stairs from their home and stood with Oliver on the steps, then eventually made their way to the sidewalk.
“What’s going on,” Ellie said holding her hands together in prayer. “Sweet Jesus, it’s the end of the world.”
Ellie was a hold over from the sixties, hippie era. She believed that one day the earth would give up and be enveloped in some sort of apocalyptic hiccup and this was it.
“Calm down. Calm down,” said Norton Penzer , a literary professor in his mid-fifties who taught at one of the universities uptown.
Oliver looked down his street only to see phantom groups of people hovering under street lights. Many of them were on their knees praying, while others stood erect with their hands waving in the air shouting “Save us. Oh my God. This is it. It ‘s finally happened.”

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

A Kiss Away

A Kiss Away

I love the medium strength toothbrush I have, it gets to the places that need it.

But my dentist said it is best for my teeth to use the soft one.

Now that I have it and am using it every day, the head is beginning to fall apart. And I know it is only a mater of time before its demise.

What to do?

Well experts, who are really dentists in disguise, say that you’re supposed to change your brush every two weeks. Even if they don’t show any wear. How are we supposed to remember? Are they time sensitive?

I’ll miss my little red brush, with its bearded exterior and balding head.

Yes mine was the dark red one just as my mates is somewhat kind of blue, well at least in that family of colors.

In this way, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, there is no way for mistaken toothbrush borrowing.

But even if there was, after all they are sitting together day after day and they are really just a kiss away.

Posted in Fay Ulanoff, Flash Fiction | Tagged | Leave a comment

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Benny’s Love

Benny’s Love
Benny pushed away his kibble bowl with his paw.
Uncharacteristic of a dog his age, but this was not a good day for him.
In fact this was the worst day of his sad life.
Can a canine have a sad life?
Just ask Benny. He’ll be glad to invite you into it.
He lives down the street from me and I know how it must be for him. He barks from his yard all day long. Freezing weather, scalding hot summer days, Benny is out there. No wonder his life is in the dumps.
As I pass him tied up with a long rope around his neck, attached to a clothesline pole I stand behind the fence, then reach over to rub his head, the howling and barking ceases and I smile and I know he’s smiling too.
Each time I feel a connection with Benny. I can tell when his paws are aching, because I feel it in my feet.
I also know when he is thirsty, because my mouth gets dry. On these occasions I’ll pour some water from the small bottle I carry with me on my many excursions, into my hand and watch the pleasure Benny gets from the liquid.
You probably wonder how I know his name is Benny. Well I could say I heard his owner call out to him, or I can confess the truth. He told me.
He also spoke of having never been inside the walls of his owner’s home for more than ten minutes at a time. When I realized what was being transmitted, my heart hurt for him.
Benny is a beautiful black Labrador who didn’t look more than a year old.
What could have caused this abuse I wondered sitting in my back yard? Then I sensed his presence again, and it asked for my help, because he was now inside of the house for a few minutes and did not want to leave. I could hear the strap come down on Benny’s back and eventually a door open and close.
After what I’d just experienced I was compelled to run down to the little brown house, with its giant yard, where Benny lived and kick some butt. At least that’s what I intended to do, until I heard from him again. No please don’t come over. I know what you’re thinking and I must tell you not to come. It isn’t safe. He has a riffle and he’s mad at me.
I tried to heed his warning but my emotions ran deep for Benny. I have to admit; I loved him and needed to save him, no matter what the risks where.
In two minutes I had on my sneakers and a grabbed a baseball bat for protection, and then raced down the street and up the honeysuckled pathway where he lived.
Noticing that Benny was still on his lease in back I felt, that in some way I’d be able to help him. If I could just warn his owner that if I ever saw him mistreating his dog again I will call the police, because after all it was a crime to abuse an animal. I’d almost forgotten that Benny was more than that to me.
Then a feeling overpowered me before I reached for the door bell. I see you. Come get me. Untie me.
I was compelled to sneak around to the back yard and crawl over the fence to where he was tied up. Right here, I’m here, do you see me?
“Yes my friend. I’ll be right there.
I noticed that he was beginning to bark while edging his was closer to the fence. In fact I had to verbally warn him of my hopeful rescue. “This way boy, I’ll get you out of here.” After he heard my voice he quieted down, wagged his tail and I carefully followed the long rope to the pole where I untied it. Now let’s get you out of hear.
No please Patty he’s coming. Save yourself.
I turned my head around and noticed the man with the riffle running around from the front of the door to the back yard, when I scooped up Benny in my arms and found a gate in the back leading to the ally. I unlatched it and ran. I could hear the shouting from the man behind us, and also heard someone else, running behind him; which both Benny and I hoped would be the law.
I took refuge for us on the side of a dumpster and eventually made my way back to my own yard gate.Out of breath I released my latch and set Benny down into my own yard and eventually into my home where he lived with me for as long as I can remember.
And as far as know there was never any notice of a missing dog anywhere; and as far as Benny and I commutating as before. It never happened again. Our connection was that of love for one being to another and that was enough for us.

The End

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Definition : flashfictionforall Flash Fiction

Well here it is. The truth about my blog flashfictionforall. Right off the top of my head as I shake it back and fourth. Like dandruf. Not. It just so happens I tend to shake my bounty of long hair after brushing daily. The stories that fall out are lose as the strands they come from. Some have a point, and having said that, others  are pointless and have nowhere to go but to be filed away in the idea folder, which  I’m sure every writer is familiar with. After finally explaining the process of my very short Flash Fiction , one might be able to gleen a little from them and perhaps enjoy the ride. 






Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Sheldon and Ida Through the Lens

Sheldon and Ida decided to leave the Hope Lodge.
Ida held Sheldon’s jacket then slipped into her own coat.
With a quick glance in the mirror she placed her purple cap on her salt and pepper hair, then propped Sheldon’s white one on his.
After unlocking many dead bolts out Ida turned her body back to the door and re-locked one.
Then they slowly descended the wide marble stairs to the lobby and arm into arm they walked down thirty second street towards Broadway.
A crowd pushed past them forcing them to move a little faster across the busy street, until they reached a curb, where Ida helped Sheldon up onto it.
After which, she stopped them in their tracks and ruffled through her bag for some cash, then turned to Sheldon and said, “Maybe we should go to the Roxy Deli and sneak a quick knish. What do you think?’
Sheldon turned back and said, “If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.”
Again they locked arms and proceeded ahead.

Posted in Fay Ulanoff, Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | Tagged | 2 Comments

Ned Nedimire’s Nail Came Off

F. Ulanoff

The truth of the matter is, it had flourished for years as the king of his extremities.
Even as a baby, he would hold it high, along with his other fingers, in order to clutch his baby bottle to his lips.
But this was not to remain so.
When he grew into a boy of five and entered school he held it low under his seat. Until the teacher prodded the class for answers to her many lessons, to which Nedeimier, didn’t have any. It was at that point his pinky turned. Even if he knew an answer, the prized appendage on his left hand would not let him lift it any higher than the seat of his pants. Therefore he never did well with his studies.
After losing control of the rouge pinky, his soon discovered most of the skin on his body was white, and remained that way during his growing years and well into manhood, his left hand, the one of which was the owner of its prized pinky, he barely noticed when the pinky turned dark purple and became rough to the touch.
Its knurly exterior, he assumed, was from the manual labor he had undertaken, because of the lack of education, which was solely the pinky’s fault. Also because of its negative participation in Ned’s education, which was cut short, because of the failure to meet the criteria toward graduation, from any institution.
It was not surprising that Ned felt the need to work hard, but again, because of his pinky, he did not succeed even in the only job he could secure as a day laborer.
Since the pinky was not of the finest kind Ned was not as careful with it as he should have been the day it happened.
Driving down a hammer was a simple job, but not for Ned or his appendage, so the day it happened was no surprise to either one.
Ouch! You hit me the pinky thought and did not let Nedimier continue his job, in fact it was his last day.
Walking off the construction site rubbing his hand was the only solution that made any sense to him.
Failure became a familiar friend to Ned as he drifted from one shelter to the other, until the nasty nail fell off, just as he was opening the last gift the Salvation Army had provided for the holiday.
Yes. The skin around it nail gave way and had pushed it out onto the cement floor, next to Ned’s cot.
The very next morning Nedimier noticed a bit of new growth at the very end of his pinky’s nail bed. Then, after a week it was full grown and of a light healthy hue.
Nedimier rose from bed and decided that perhaps this life was not for him, so he decided to speak with a career counselor.
After months of deliberation and no negative feelings from his left hand he sat in a GED classroom and when any question was posed, his hand shot up and he answered with the correctly.
Nedimier, finally rid of his demon, went on to become a successful college student, and e author of the book, aptly titled Behold You’ve Got the World in You Hand.
Nedimier penned his original manuscript first with his left hand then transcribed it into the computer.

Posted in Fay Ulanoff, Flash Fiction | Leave a comment

True Friends

Your knee snaps out of place and you take a short walk to push it back in. It works every time.

When ever this happens, you can depend on it.


That hot flash, during a diner party when you are freshly bathed perfumed and clothed in your newest couture outfit, it comes.

The heat rises from your waist to your head in a matter of seconds.

When ever this happens, you can depend on it.


Or you are at a rock concert, standing up and swaying to the beat, singing along with your arms above your head, and it comes, the aura begins in back of your eyes, reaching out and almost blinding you. Until you realize this is your warning to med up and stave off a migraine.

When ever this happens, you can depend on it.


Maybe you recall standing at a pet store at the mall and kneeling down to pet the cute puppy.

You pet him and smile at each other. Then rise to your feet and feel dizzy.

When this happens, you can depend on it.


There are many instances I can document here, but my memory is not at its best now.  When this happens, I can depend on it.

Posted in Flash Fiction | Leave a comment


  • System Restore helps you restore your computer’s system files to an earlier point in time. It’s a way to undo system changes to your computer without affecting your personal files, such as e mail, documents, or photos. Sometimes, the installation of a program or a driver can cause an unexpected change to your computer or cause Windows to behave unpredictably. Usually, uninstalling the program or driver corrects the problem. If uninstalling does not fix the problem, you can try restoring your computer’s system to an earlier date when everything worked correctly.

There you are full of vim and vigor. Then the next week you’re down in the dumps.
What went wrong?
No need to worry because the answer is finally here.
It can be at your finger tips before you have had the time to wallow in self pity.
Do you ever go to your computer and things are not what they were one week ago and no matter what you do, that dialog box pops up and will not disappear.
Most people know what to do next: Restore. Of course, Restore to the day, week, or month, before the hideous square shape entered your cyber life.
Now through extensive testing and research it here for you in one simple app.
This app will set your body right. It will not only make you feel as you did the day, week or month before. It will keep you that way until you need to Restore yourself the next time.
A miracle you say. Well perhaps. But this simple application can be purchased for mere pennies a day. Just fill out the form on your screen and we will rush you this wonder product.
Go to http://www.urbetterasbefore.com, fill out the short form and for as little as $19.99 plus SH we will rush this app to you. And soon you will be the person you were.
When you receive this wonder product all you need to do is to install the disk into your desktop or laptop and click on accessories, then Restore.
Caution: While applying, be careful not to remove your hand from the mouse, because it is imperative to keep a natural link between you and your computer. After following the directions included, you will feel like yourself again and you will have crept out from under your funk.

This product is not sold in stores and can only be applied to one computer and any additional applications must be ordered separately.
Order soon because quantities are limited.

Posted in Flash Fiction | Leave a comment

Writing Blindfolded

Writing Blindfolded


F. Ulanoff


            My appointment was set in stone as I popped two Valium into my mouth an hour before it was to take place.

            My mind drifted between the ordeal of two root canals and bliss.

            The bliss from the med,  which calmed my body and soul and the far away thought of what was about to happen within my mouth cavity, only one short hour away.

            Dressed and ready to go, my mate brought around the car to our driveway.

            I drifted into my coat and armed with my backpack and blank journal, I entered the automobile that was about to take me to my destiny.

            We drove for what seemed like five minutes until I realized the moment was upon me.

            I stumbled into the dentist’s waiting room on the arm of my mate, and then was ushered into the room where my procedure would soon take place.

            The surgeon came into the small confined area with his assistant at his side.  After introducing himself to me and making the smallest talk I’d ever heard, he administered, one at a time, what I perceived to be about five needles into my mouth.

            The small talk got lower as I opened my journal and with pen in hand guided myself to the page on my right with my left hand below it to steady the prose.

            With my mouth open and my eyes closed I started to write.

            At first there was little that came to the first page of this academic journey to the dentist except explaining to myself in print what was taking place, but after a while I eased into what I thought might be the beginnings of a story.

            Page after page got filled with my script.  It was as if someone had gotten hold of my hand and forced it through this nightmare.

            When the surgery was over I heard the dentist’s voice call out to me as I opened my eyes and placed my pen in its slot, and then closed my book.

            It took about, what I believed it to be at the time, an hour until we arrived at our house, where I stumbled out of our car, with again the help of my mate, into the living room where I plopped myself down onto our sofa and fell asleep, for a couple of hours.

            Curiosity got the better of me, until I reached for my journal just to see if I had actually written anything of value four hours before.

            To my surprise, the handwriting was so much neater than my conscious scribbling and there within the covers of my journal was an actual story, with a title, beginning, middle and end.

            So as I deduced, that the hand that wrote words was one from deep within my almost unconscious soul, and if I had to admit it I would say she had more talent than I even blindfolded.

The End



Posted in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | Leave a comment