Category Archive Browsing Category: Flash Fiction

He peers over his spectacles at the empty chapel, the Book of Common Prayer turned to the proper lectionary reading for the third week of Pentecost. His eyes fall on a line on the page:  lighting upon the disciples, to teach them and to lead them into all truth. But what if there are no…

The little shit almost smiled when he brought me the envelope from Corporate. “No deviations, Howard. It is to be read exactly as written.” I’d been with KGIM since the Nixon administration, working my way up from cameraman to morning sports and weather to the Big Slot, the daily six-and-eleven newscast. I’d won countless awards…

Our guide was a good-looking boy with dark eyes and hair like Tony Curtis, olive skin. Well-dressed, but I could see his clothes were cheap, especially his shoes. His accent was so heavy I had a hard time understanding. “What?” I said. “Say it slowly so I can understand.” “Your faith. Are you a Christian?…

Jeff always liked to quote Mike Tyson:  Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.  And we didn’t even have a plan. How could we, for something like that? It was so unreal that I couldn’t admit it was really happening until I saw Dolly lying there, blood soaking the bright yellow…

I don’t recognize her at first. Different clothes, different hairstyle. I smile, stand up. “Thanks for coming,” I say. “You want coffee?” “No thanks.” She sits. Her face is leaner, the high cheekbones defined. “You look great,” I say. “I’ve been doing crossfit.” “I hear that’s pretty grueling.” She flexes her bicep. “It’s paying off.”…

She awakes again to the thrumming of rain on the patio tiles, her stomach clenching as she ties her robe. She goes to the window and hears the beating of the surf more than a mile away, so it isn’t exactly a surprise when she arrives at the cafe to find that yet again the…

The head custodian rode me hard from the minute I punched in right to the end of my shift, night after night. The son of a bitch moved as quiet as a cat and had the nasty habit of popping out like a jack-in-the-box in places you’d least expect—a stall in the ladies’ room, a…

“Don’t you like it?” He prods the pasta with his fork. “It’s great, Ma. Just like I remember. I’m not so hungry is all.” “You’re so thin,” she says, then trails off. Her eyes drift across the hook that replaced his beautiful hand, move over the ruin of his face, settle on the eyes. The…

Crispy and me see the pile as we turn the block, but he knew this morning something bad was coming.  He wore it on his face like a wince before your mama slaps you. Every school has a Crispy, a kid whose clothes are never clean, who always asks if you want the rest of…