Flash Fiction Magazine

By Richard Gregory

My right hand throbs in pain with every step. I likely need stitches, but it’s not like I can afford it even if I cared enough to go in. I could have done better than wrapping it in duct tape until a ridiculous club was formed, but oh well. It’s not like it will matter soon.

I probably deserve a little bit of pain, anyway. The only reason my hand’s in such rough shape is because I couldn’t stand the loser looking back at me in the mirror this morning. I didn’t hurt that 32-year-old failure where I was aiming, but I hurt him, all right.

[Read more…] about Somewhere I Need to Be

By Clare Diston

Ijemma waited for the day she would return to the sea.

She had seen it only once, as a baby, but Mama had told her about it so many times that Ijemma was sure she remembered. “It was a hot day and you were crying,” Mama said, “but the moment you saw the sea, you stopped.” Ijemma could see her baby-self, hands clenched into fists, wildly kicking and then falling still, the tears drying as salt-stains on her cheeks at the sight of that vast stretch of blue.

[Read more…] about Sea Made

By C. E. Stokes

Among the old buildings converted into apartments and small cafes stood the park. A perfect square block, with trees and greenery to hide people from the straight lines of the city.

Stone walkways cut through grass, dotted with simple wood benches. All the paths led to a small brick square in the center of the park, lined with short walls. The simple pattern of bricks, dark and light, matched the inlaid checkerboard on the table in front of me.

Damn John, he was running late again.

[Read more…] about Opening Moves

By Michelle Rogge Gannon

Once upon a time, a young college woman dated a man who bought her a back brace, so she could improve upon her rounded shoulders and generally poor posture. She explained that her kindergarten teacher had made her walk with books on her head, to no avail, and that she had likely inherited this condition from her father, but the man insisted.

“You’re beautiful, my darling girl,” he said. “Aside from the posture problem—which I’m sure we can fix—you’ve got a great figure.” He adored the red bikini with heart cut-outs that she sometimes wore, as it showed off her body, especially her shapely legs that seemed to fascinate him. The two had, in fact, met at the beach when she was wearing that bikini.

[Read more…] about How a Back Brace Can Help

By F. J. Bergmann

Each morning on his way to work and every evening on his way home, he would have to pass a building that had been vacant for as many decades as he could remember. He felt dwarfed under its shadow, draped from high over the gaunt street. No matter what the time of year, the building was tall enough to enshroud both sides of the street in deep shade. In more fortunate locations, glittering window glass would send a thousand shafts of light bouncing down the walls like pennies dropped into a well, but in that place, the empty blackness of the window sockets seemed to exhale darkness.

[Read more…] about Shade

By Jeffrey M. Greene

We were trying to get out of the parking lot when the tambourine guy and his dancing daughter caught my eye: all the encouragement he needed. Shameless in a blue silk vest, no shirt, and gold pantaloons, he sidled over and leaned into the car, dropping his tambourine on the seat between us as he winked at Iva and talked about the rain that wouldn’t stop. I groped for coins while his Little Egypt moon-walked for a hard hat in an orange rain suit who couldn’t take his eyes off her wet, clinging veils. I smelled his dirt as he leaned across me to snag his tambourine, baring his bad teeth at the five quarters I dropped into it.

[Read more…] about A Year of Rain