Daily Flash Fiction Stories
“I must now ask that all the ladies leave.”
A score of women rose and departed. Most remained in their seats, notably those whose seats were located in the public gallery. The season had not yet begun. Near Christmas time, many of Fannie’s girls would return to their work as legitimate seamstresses, sewing dresses for the balls and dinner parties.
By Alan Gerstle
Johnny and Nora sat three feet apart from each other on the grass by an oak with a trunk so wide that Johnny thought it looked like it was about to burst, its branches and leaves so spread out that they seemed to be showing off. The couple had found this small, circular park while walking around Newport the night before. They were in town to be part of the folk festival. Now, in daylight, Johnny noticed how perfectly mown the turf was, as he watched girls in flower print dresses wandering around the perimeter while others had settled on the grass, talking in circles.
By Paul K. Riley
The noise of the night before had subsided: the slurred yells, the blaring television, the pounding on her locked bedroom door. From the bed, she stared across the room past the pressboard dresser, sagging under the weight of middle school books, to the bedroom corner where her rocket-shaped escape stood. It pointed toward the ceiling as if ready for take-off. In cautious silence, she changed into her suit.
By EJ Dahm
Sheila’s breath catches as she spies her four-year-old son’s torn sleeve in the rubble. Kage stirs. Rocks catapult in every direction as she uncovers her son. Blood cascades from his forehead. She can’t help but panic. He needs stitches. What if…? She can’t think it. Superficial wound, Sheila tells herself. Breathe.
Nadine had left the pamphlet on the counter along with a post-it note telling me she was leaving. I stood in the kitchen turning it over in my hands. I wondered how Nadine had packed up all of her things and left before ten in the morning, but then it occurred to me that maybe she had left yesterday or the day before. It had been a while since I’d gotten up and gone into the kitchen. Since I’d been fired, I’d had a lot more time to read.
[Read more…] about Understanding Book Use and Its Impact on You
By Whitman La Torra
Each spring on the second week of February we would sow mother’s garden. Each hole would be dug to exactly one-and-a-half finger lengths and spaced two fingers from the next. Each column would be precisely offset to ensure it’s neighbours holes would be two fingers away at a 45-degree angle. We would plant each one so that it was different from all of its neighbours. We’d carry seven bags of seeds, planting each in its turn, first dahlias, then anemone, marigolds, iris, pansies, tulips, and roses. One after another, each in its turn, placed exactly when and where mother believed it should.
