Flash Fiction Magazine

By Lori Stafford

Clyde was the smallest kid in his fifth-grade class. He also wore glasses, had unruly hair the color of dead grass, an overbite, and if all of that wasn’t enough, he was also allergic to peanuts, a fact that forced his classmates and their parents to talk about him behind his back.

Miss Grady needs candy for her jar.

I’ve got some miniature Snickers in the pantry.

Can’t take Snickers into the classroom because of CLYDE.

[Read more…] about The Recess Artist

By David Rae

Each of us may prefer a different songbird: the nightingale singing at dusk, or the tumbling skylark in summer meadows, inspiration for poetry and symphonies in imitation and praise, or the gull with its plaintive cry longing for the sea, the bright twitter of robins, the haunting call of the curlew. Every songbird has its champion.

The blackbird is my favorite. That fluted call; gentle, effortless. In the summer nights of youth, I sat by the window. In the trees above, I watched the blackbirds and listened to their song. A questing, unknowing desire rose within me as I grew from child to boy.

[Read more…] about Blackbirds

By Soda Canter

His long, dry fingers pulled back the broken blind to reveal a pool of dust at the break of the pine forest. The dust dissipated as the crackle of the gravel revealed a black sedan. Almost like the game shows he and Momma used to watch on Saturday nights; a flash of light and the swish of red velvet curtains and the grand prize would be revealed. He unhooked the latch and opened the door to the sheriff. A high school friend who was once intimate but with absent time had become a polite acquaintance. He smiled at the greeting and said, “No, I’m home alone.”

Two little eyes.

[Read more…] about Two Little Eyes

By Manuel Delgadillo

After the long day’s toil, Mr. Maddin pushed open the creaking backdoor of his clapboard ranch and perched himself on the back steps. He stared far away toward the vanishing point of the horizon, where a storm was gathering far off in the dusk. Clusters of overcast cumulonimbus skies rose in tremendous leaden columns.

Mr. Maddin rubbed his bristly chin and stared at the miles of land he had tilled—ploughing the land, manuring it, harrowing it, getting it ready for harvesting. At first, he’d worked with an animal-drawn plow, but in recent years he’d switched over to a tractor because it saved time and halved the work.

[Read more…] about Clay

By North Fox

Raphael was one of the lucky ones. He had been escorted to a storm cellar with a couple dozen other townspeople when the first alarms began blaring. His mom did not qualify, she was in her fifties, and ill.

“Mijo,” she had said to Raphael three weeks prior, “promise me, don’t come back for me. I don’t want to see this place after whatever happens.”

The Earth had been disintegrating into hell for as long as Raphael had been alive. War had left the land barren and dry, all freshwater having long been dried up. Clean water was no longer affordable for most people. Water Peddlers often didn’t make it further than the town’s limits before gangs and thieves got to them.

[Read more…] about Fragmentation

By Victor T. Cypert

It’s Halloween, bitches! My night to fuckin’ shine. Truth is, I’ve been getting ready for this night since summer. Hell, technically I’ve been getting ready for this night since spring. It’s my night, and everyone who sees me will know it. Now, time to go scare the living shit out of some brats.

The cool air greets me, and I grin. Parents wander up and down the street, frown at my zombie face as their kids shy away and nervously reach for Dad’s hand or bury their faces against Mom’s thigh. I smirk even wider, and I’m sure my eyes gleam with sinister delight.

[Read more…] about Mr. Metal’s Night to Shine

By Joan Halperin

During a trip to South Beach, I made the mistake of telling Mother what I was thinking when a thin girl in a red bathing suit who’d snubbed me got caught in a riptide.

With one big hand, Mother hauled me down to the shoreline and dunked my head. I swallowed salty water and seaweed. I choked and sputtered as jellyfish slipped inside my mouth.

“Don’t you dare ever think that way again,” she yelled and slapped my rear end.

I would have slapped her back, but the Island police were picnicking nearby, and she wouldn’t hesitate to have me arrested.

[Read more…] about The Lovely Rocks of Summer