Flash Fiction Magazine

By Jeff Gard

Monday

Frank’s fingers thrum against the top of my cubicle wall. Every time his wedding ring strikes the plastic trim, I can feel the migraine spawning behind my right eye.

“So, did you have a good weekend, Natalie?” he asks.

“Good enough,” I mumble.

[Read more…] about Inane Conversations with my Boss

By Hannah Madonna

Saturdays they go to the lot. Most of the floodlights are out, so some cars keep their headlights on. But too many headlights would be too bright, and the thin, silver glow of the moon is barely light at all. It’s just the suggestion of it, cold and dim, like a thin stream of water trickling through the dark. The kids all use their cellphones to see. They don’t need to see much, anyway, not really, and they’ve broken a few of the lights themselves. They’re only there because there’s nowhere else to go in their small, rural town, no other place away from rules or obligations or their parents.

[Read more…] about Saturday Night on an Away Game

By Beck Banks

She should have tanked the neighborhood’s housing market, but instead, Backyard Baba Yaga caused the prices to climb in the Philadelphia suburb of Bryn Mawr. People passed by the home hoping to hear Backyard Baba Yaga’s deep cackles or feel the tremors from her riding mortar and pestle as it thumped to the ground. A wealthy young couple bought the house almost as soon as the for-sale sign materialized.

[Read more…] about Backyard Baba Yaga: A Cautionary Tale of Consumerism

By Heather Teague

Plump, vermillion lips stared back at Molly in the mirror. When Cindy had first started selling makeup, she’d kept begging Molly to try it out. Cindy’d mentioned it at the church bake sale, Renee Jonhson’s baby shower, and then her persistence had come to interrupt their Sunday brunch. “You’ll be abso-lutely drop dead again! And I’ve got colors out the wah-zoo! Why, I’ve got a shade of red, honey, that’ll make everyone forget you’re a mother!”

[Read more…] about Lipstick

By Becca Wierwille

I wanted to stay. I loved him. For five years, I couldn’t picture life without him.

He was good to me—most of the time, at least. He listened when I told him about my day. He kissed me every morning before we parted ways. He drew me beautiful pictures of trees and rainbows and families.

My Daniel was an artist. He’d get frustrated at times. Some nights, tears gathered in his eyes because he couldn’t get it right. But I told him to never give up. I told him his talent was real. I pray he believed me.

[Read more…] about Stay

By Kristen Petry

Jackson was sitting in the basket part of the shopping cart because he was way too big for the seat up top. It was Friday night and, other than us, the place was mostly empty. People had more exciting things to do. Years earlier, I would have, too. That was before I became a mother and now a big night was shopping with my five-year old-son in ShopRite’s makeup aisle.

[Read more…] about Jackson’s Last Laugh