Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Len Kruger
It’s just a bunch of dudes. Nobody’s talking. In the center of the room, a tight circle of red metal chairs.
I go up to one guy. “Hey, man,” I say. “Where are the ladies?”
He’s this little shrimp with a crew cut and wearing a plain white T-shirt. He tells me the women are meeting in a separate room and that after the concurrent workshops are over, they’ll join us.
“There’s a party, right?” I ask. “That’s what the ad said.”
Continue Reading This StoryThe air is heavy with the weight of what’s about to happen. I’m three. I’ll remember it forever and ever, until I’m thirty and old, the flourish of my mother’s paisley blue summer skirt, rising in the air around her calves.
“You wanted a dancer,” she says. “So here, I got you a dancer.”
Continue Reading This StoryThere is a myth that the acres of flowers planted in the gardens near North Qu’Appelle equal the number of dead buried in the Saskatchewan hills. The waves of yellow primrose, tiny witches’ bluebells, and bleeding hearts reek with the sweet smell of death.
Here you are, dear sister, confined by consumption, the king’s touch, the white plague—to give it a simpler name: slow death. With your passion for life and no fear of dying, you starved yourself, smoking cigarettes like the film starlets who grace the cover of your magazines. Beauty in death awaits; your reward from scarcity. Do you feel a feverish glow in your ethereal thinness?
Continue Reading This StoryBy Noor
The big door at the end of the hall never opened.
It remained locked at all times.
The teachers liked it shut, they said.
They. My classmates.
The teachers’ pets.
The pretty girls.
The basketball team.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Amy Bush
Sam considered the two dresses laid out on her bed. A lavender empire dress was spread out on the left. It was incredibly comfortable, but she looked like a sack of potatoes in it.
The black bodycon dress she’d bought to wear to tonight’s gallery opening lay on the right. It was sleek and stylish. Unfortunately, it required wearing a pair of Spanx underneath.
She picked up the undergarment and gave the elastic a tug.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Marc Audet
The rain fell for two days, mingling clay, sand, and chalk into an ankle deep layer of mud that grabbed onto the boots of the men as they walked through the trenches. The rats scurried everywhere, feeding on spilt soup, licking empty beef tins, and nibbling shreds of viscera scattered by shell bursts. In the quiet space between salvoes, flies hummed as if bored, swarming over corpses abandoned to rot away in no-man’s-land.
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