Flash Fiction Magazine

By John J. Galloway

Earl’s boy wasn’t like the other boys in the neighborhood, the ones that raced each other to the old diamond every day after school, or hunted with their daddies when spring came around. No, Earl’s boy was different, or at least different than he was at that age.

He was named Earl, too, but little Earl never had much use for the name. He called himself Vincent after some long-dead painter, and spent all of his time locked away in his room with paint and brushes while the other boys were out playing and fighting. But he never painted anything real. Big Earl bought fruit and flowers for him to paint, like he had seen in the art books, but Vincent didn’t care. His idea of art was slathering a fuss of odd shapes and colors on the canvas, and Earl could never make any sense of it.

[Read more…] about Pebbles for Vincent

By Lynn H. Powers

“You’re drunk!” Marissa said from the far side of the bed. Ray leaned against the door, backlight from a hallway light.

“I just worked an 18-hour shift.” Ray pleaded. ”Don’t do this now.”

“You can’t even stand up straight!”

“I’m hurt. Sprained my knee getting off a forklift.”

[Read more…] about Bed Bug Therapy

By Conor Montague

The Sadhu leans across JD to spit vile, red phlegm over my lap and through the open window, viscous string trailing after the glob like a comet’s tail. JD’s sunburnt beak remains buried in his Lonely Planet Guide, sluicing a steady trickle of begrimed sweat onto its pages. I nudge his shoulder, unload into his peeled ear.

[Read more…] about Sacred Streams of Dalaji Dham

By Angela Moneyhan

Johnny walked up to them slow and deliberate. He carried the prideful grin of a big game kill.

“‘Sup, losers,” he said, then looked from Lizzard to Eddie. “Yo kid, smoke?”

Eddie hated when he called him kid. Johnny was only older because he was held back a year in seventh grade.

[Read more…] about First Love

By Phebe Jewell

Dad always said you know a person by how they treat a dog. Not that he cared much for them. Nasty mouths on legs, he often grumbled.

He was full of little life proverbs. Measure twice before you cut. Don’t shit where you eat. Look before you leap. When Dad got going, me and Jake would roll our eyes and snicker. He couldn’t say one without running them all together in a single breath. We would mix them up behind his back: don’t shit before you cut, measure where you leap, eat twice before you look. Overhearing us one Sunday morning, he barged into our room, his lean frame barely filling the doorway.

[Read more…] about Measure Twice

By Philip Charter

When thousands of riderless bicycles appeared on the night of June 23rd, there was simply no room for cars. The streets once plagued by fumes and noise were suddenly quiet.

The bikes travelled along the roads, making tracks, weaving left and right, the pedals turning of their own accord. Some were old and rusted, and others were modern racing bikes. A few once belonged to children. There were no motors or hidden computers, and nothing that seemed to power them. Nobody knew where they came from, or what brought them into existence, but they soon dominated the centre of the city.

[Read more…] about Peloton