Flash Fiction Magazine

By Frank James

George Clementson lived a freewheeling life until he joined the Army. Upon enlisting, he discovered a new chance to change something bigger than himself. Mesmerized, he stepped on his bus to basic training and never looked back. He learned and performed all tasks, even in the Gulf War. When the Platoon Sergeant requested volunteers, he didn’t step backward. He bravely marched into the future.

[Read more…] about Redemption

By Robert Goforth

The drought was working at being legendary, something to be talked about for decades. Everyone agreed that something has to be done, but only Diane had an idea as to what that something was. As a professor of Pagan Magic Studies, and arguably the leading authority on the subject, it was obvious to her that a rain dance was called for. With that decided, she gathered the necessary supplies, composed the appropriate prayer, and contacted some of her graduate students.

[Read more…] about Rain Dance

By Dylan Newitt Allen

‘Twas the month before Christmas and all through town, people were putting up decorations and blow-up Santas from Walmart. There were also balloon Grinches and inflatable Mickey Mouses, fat toy trains and snowmen, too. But one person was not amused: the serial popper.

This individual made the front page of The Daily Record when Marcia Peterson of 110 River Drive reported that her Rudolph had been stabbed three times in the neck.

[Read more…] about Pop

By Jean Wong

Going downstairs, Rick heard his wife chatting with her sister Lynda. They were talking and chewing at each other—their voices one continuous line of sound. His mind backed up as he noticed them squeezed into the new kitchen nook. The familiar, roomy table was gone.

“Hi, Hon,” his wife Carol said. She didn’t get him coffee like she usually did.

“Hey, Rick,” Lynda smiled. “You’re a late bird.”

“Well, he needs his z’s—he’s been working like a hound dog. Right, Funny?”

[Read more…] about On the Line

By Leah Mueller

I stand on the stairwell and gaze at the pool. Its harsh, artificial blueness hurts my eyes. The Midwestern sun shines its menacing beacon above my head like a police searchlight. Heat blisters my scalp through my shoddy rubber cap.

I’m the only adult in line for the water slide. A middle-aged woman who ought to be home, watching widescreen television and debating what to serve her husband for dinner. Roast beef or chicken, or maybe leftovers from the freezer. Some boxed wine. After all, I live in Aurora, the westernmost suburb of Chicago. Women know their place here.

[Read more…] about Plunging Downward

By David Mohan

We were taken that night, from citizens to slaves in a moment, our parents standing on the dock, silently cursing the diplomacy of kings.

The crossing is a blur—the hot blue of the sun and sea intermixed into a sun dazzle. The long thirst. The looming of that island.

My first surprise is this—we are brought through the town in wagons, cheered by the crowds as though we were soldiers returned from war. We are driven between tall white gates into a school. An academy, we are told, for acrobats.

[Read more…] about Bull Dancing