Flash Fiction Magazine

By Mina Rozario

There is an odd gap in my memory the day that fire started in your greenhouse. You ran, panicked, straight into the blaze, with nothing to protect you from the fumes except for a thin scarf wrapped around the lower part of your face. I hung back outside, rooted to the ground, unable to fathom what drives people to plunge headfirst into burning buildings. Love? A lack of self-preservation? After what felt like an hour of standing in a numb stupor, I finally dialed 9-1-1, desperately trying to remember the last thing I had said to you in case it was the last thing I would ever say to you. Something about trying out for the school tennis team? I’m not sure that you were really listening, but you yourself had told me more than once how hard it had been for us to bond when you were a young mother and I was a colicky infant. I sometimes got less than ten minutes of sleep a night, you would say, then add that you were so exhausted for the first two years of my life that you would suffer hallucinations. You’d top it all off with a small laugh, as if it were all said and done, but there would be a tight, brittle note to your voice. 

[Read more…] about Greenhouse Emissions

By John Philipp

(This story takes place in 2017 BCE though, of course, the people in the story didn’t call it BCE because calendars hadn’t been invented. They called 2017 BCE “Now.” Interesting Historical Sidelight: No one who lived in BCE ever used that term.)

Around the middle of Now, a keen observer of nature named OmiGog noticed the temperature seemed warmer every year. He would have labeled this phenomenon “global warming” except at that time no one understood the concept of a round planet. As his tribe lived in Our Valley, he cleverly called the phenomenon “valley warming.”

[Read more…] about Valley Warming

By Bug Hartsock

My tiny wings beat furiously, tried to push against the air below and above me, fought hard to keep my clumsy body from falling to the ground.

I was not graceful.

[Read more…] about I’ve Always Loved the Month of June

By Lauren Lang

Dear Agnus,

I’ve always hated your name. I couldn’t tell you that when you were alive, but now that you’re dead, I can say anything I want. Your parents gave you an ugly grandma name, which didn’t suit you at all. You looked more like a Kelly, you know, with the normal spelling. None of those crazy “i’s” for you.

[Read more…] about Dear Agnus

By Lynn Nicholas

Claire’s eyes were vacant; unblinking and watchful. It saddened me to see her once-vibrant face so expressionless. At least today she wasn’t fearful, ready to spring away or strike out.

“I’ve reached the equinox of my life.” Claire swept long, graying bangs to one side and leaned closer to my lawn chair.

[Read more…] about The DNA Connection

By M. C. Tuggle

Sounds travel farther in the cold December air, especially ominous ones. It’s three in the morning, and I’m walking the dogs. Duke and Bear flinch at every tortured moan from the upscale bungalows we pass. They whimper as they search both sides of the street, taking short, nervous sniffs. I’d worked late at the hospital again, and hoped I’d hear fewer cries of helpless terror from my neighbors tonight. No such luck.

[Read more…] about Social Network

By David X Lewis

It was a special occasion. It must be, or we wouldn’t be going to the Barn. “You can have a knickerbocker glory,” Daddy said. He knew I liked those. “Or a water ice,” he said to Mary.

My sister and I loved the Waterend Barn. It had been transplanted from an estate that had something to do with a Duchess of Marlborough and a man called Churchill. We’d heard those names. Cracked oak beams soared to the height of a church. We thought it was fab.

[Read more…] about Knickerbocker Glory, Stuffed Stags and Extra Cream