Section
Showing 49-72 of 115 pieces
Fiction
I’m tempted to allow the whole bright clamor of them; after all, they survived this weather. But even the garden is on lockdown, and there are too many for one pod. There’s only so much water to go around. Wrong place, wrong time, summer’s children.
Fiction
I remember how invigorated I felt during my first time reaching into that bag. Closing my eyes, I desperately swirled my hand around to try and feel its contents, pulling out a kaleidoscope. Peering into the hole, I shook it around some and looked back in. Colorful shards rearranged themselves into a new collage—magenta and royal blue. Lime green and canary yellow.
Fiction
I watched him climb over the splintered railing of the bridge and stand on the short planks on the other side. When he saw me on the bank, he let go and waved at me. I wanted to tell him not to jump, but when I stood up and tried to yell, I could not remember the words.
Fiction
You wade through the swarm of people, automobiles, and animals and find a clean spot to display your wares. Nobody looks at what you have to offer. There are too many things to buy here, you see. You slip under the radar, and somewhere you are thankful for it.
Fiction
It is not an easy thing to come upon a monument to such loss in the middle of a cloudless November afternoon when your thoughts are on the joys of life. To witness the horrible beauty of green moss thickening over the memories housed here. The terror of names and dates steadily vanishing from human knowledge.
Fiction
His way of extracting laughter from us floated immediately to mind. His bursting into our after-worship classroom, imitating our rector’s Harvard yard accent: “Jes-a-us say-ed to he-as disc-ah-ples…,” never failed to leave all present in stitches. Learning he’d convinced his fellow high school students that his name was Barrack, like the current president, set something in us free.
Fiction
The student teacher was substituting that day in 11th grade English. This pleased Butch Warner, a tough guy who resented authority. He expected a lame..
Fiction
There is a Japanese folk tale about a palace under the sea, a palace made of crystal and ruled by a Dragon King, where time..
Fiction
Please enter into the simulator and prepare for the memory reconstruction workflow. Sofia’s humanoid voice rippled through her mind. She stole a glance at the..
Fiction
I hug my wet sweater to my body as I stare at the retreating bus. Seriously? Bitch, I take this bus every day, and you..
Fiction
There were chimpanzees in our back yard. Oops, I did it again. Chipmunks. A dozen of them, constantly scurrying across the lawn from the sparse..
Fiction
The cup broke into three pieces. There was no cinematic splatter of fragments; just a flat note of three sturdy pieces and a few splinters..
Fiction
“Please don’t lose this,” I say to the cat-sitter, placing my house key in her palm. “It’s the only one I’ve got left.” 1 The..
Fiction
“There. No. A little to the right. Yes. Perfect.” My daughter presses the bandage firmly against my skin and I wince at the burning sensation..
Fiction
A woman puts on her angry coat. It really just springs to her skin as she leaves the house. She starts her walk. She encounters..
Fiction
I drove under a rainbow on my way home from clerking at the library one summer evening. The clouds I would drive into were brightly..
Fiction
I pull the mango from the brown paper bag and press it twice with my thumb. Above me, Ethan’s alarm clock buzzes and the kitchen..
Fiction
When Soki stood in the eastern corner of her terrace, she was hard to spot. Her petite frame fit into the cranny overlooking the main..
Fiction
Death is total. But only two thirds of the creature who gave her life to become bacon and pork chops is useful. The other 33%..
Fiction
Two pieces of flash fiction by poet and translator, Allison A. deFreese.
Fiction
It was the year of strange weather. Whirring blades of Chinooks above him, he rehearsed a monologue sometimes, in preparation for a testimony he felt would be demanded, soon.
Fiction
The first letter of Georgia’s name was supposed to be a tribute to a dead great grandmother on her father’s side that no one remembered.
Fiction
A collection of four works of flash fiction presented in the style of four works from a museum.
Fiction
My wife screams and my daughter’s hair-mottled scalp crowns. The doctor guides my hands and I grasp my daughter, her small body taught and alive,..