Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Michael J. Brien
You hear the knock. Barely at first. Soft as a sparrow’s beak twisting a twig in its nest outside your bedroom window. Early morning. Sun rising.
It’s early evening when the knocking comes again, and this time it is harsher, knuckles intent on getting what they want—rousing the memory of the bum at your counter yesterday demanding you give him the beer he had no money for. It’s a sound you know all too well, its rhythm unrelenting.
[Read more…] about KnockMy wrists are tied tight enough to cut off the blood, but the numbness in my hands no longer matters. They drag me upstairs onto the stage and strap me face down on the board. My head is locked in place and the blindfold ripped off. There’s no anger or resistance left in me. If our roles were reversed, I’d do the same. But we lost.
[Read more…] about Last VisionI inherited many things from my mother beyond common physical traits like wavy gypsy girl hair, big brown eyes, and short legs. By osmosis alone, I adopted her wholesome idioms like the fake swears we all once made fun of: “fudge” and “sugar”—no one was allowed to cuss in our home. Eventually, I took on some of her personality traits, like her no-nonsense view of family life and her selfless habit of suffering in silence. After Dad died at sixty-five of an anticipated heart attack, Mom figured she would soon follow despite a healthy lifestyle. She started giving me her belongings: assorted jewelry, creative writings, old photos. I read her poignant short stories and poems. Apparently, she had a tough childhood I knew little about. She decided the best cure for that was making a home filled with children and love; I was the youngest. Much to our surprise, Mom outlived Dad by thirty-plus years. Meanwhile, my inheritance kept trickling in.
[Read more…] about My Mother’s Many ScarvesBy Trevor Lancon
The kingfisher flew away, laughing when Cliff emerged from the brush. A steep bank of red clay led to a muddy creek. He dragged the carcass down it.
“Remember when we used to chase them kingfishers up and down this river as kids?” He labored to catch his breath, bent double, sucking humidity into his lungs. “We could never get close enough to ‘em to get a good look. Skittish. Don’t stick around people for long.”
[Read more…] about The Kingfisher LaughsLearn More About Our Contest Here
No one knows why crystals form in my right big toe. My doctor says they come from things I eat: meat, beer, stuff with fructose. But I’m vegetarian, don’t drink, and don’t have a sweet tooth. Doc also says the crystals normally dissolve, though in my case, they filter out—into my toe, causing inflammation. I have a disease of filtration. But why not an ear or elbow instead of the toe? Doc hasn’t a clue. All I know is that it hurts more than if I bunched together all the times I ever stubbed my toe—and I mean all the toes.
[Read more…] about Clown ShoesWe asphyxiated one another and considered it a game. Sometimes you had favorites, the kid you anointed to suffocate you.
A half dozen twelve-year-olds congregate in the yard of a housing project. A sheet of rust screw-gunned over the Hudson calls itself the sky; the iconic jingle of a Mister Softee truck wafts from a far-off site. And the trees of the yard shed their crescent-shaped acorn shells, smacking down onto asphalt every now and again like they could give a shit.
[Read more…] about KissBy J.S. Mueller
Jake held his breath and placed the fourth layer of homemade chocolate sponge atop the soft, pink, raspberry mousse for his daughter’s birthday.
“I can do this…” he murmured to himself.
[Read more…] about The Measure of His Surrender