Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Yelena Crane
The mountain burned. Plumes of smoke rose, the stench of burning waste permeating every square inch of the rubbish island. Beneath Almeeda’s feet lay the shame of her country—hidden to the tourists expecting paradise. In the same pair of steel-capped boots she got when she first started the job a decade ago, she waded through the mountains of garbage, separating the real trash from what could still be salvaged for other markets.
[Read more…] about One Person’s TrashBy Isabelle B.L
I can only see the tops of flame trees and part of my neighbor’s corrugated roof. I see mynas and pigeons. I see mother’s club meetings on the lawn, but I never see him. Each day, morning, noon, and night, I hear a man whistling a tune beneath my window. I could leave my chair and look through the window to see who it is, but I like not knowing. Middle-aged women need to add a little mystery to their routine.
[Read more…] about The WhistlerBy Wendy T. Edsall-Kerwin
You’d be surprised how many people leave their pets behind at the end of the world. I’d been making my way house to house gathering up the left-behinds and bringing them back to my farm. The occasional grandparent, spouse, or kid I’d stumbled upon during my searches were welcome to come along as well. More often than not, they chose to face the end at home.
No one had seen the object until just before it plowed through the moon; something to do with its trajectory being blocked by the sun, or Jupiter’s gravity pulling it off course. I was never into that space shit. Both rocks shattered into thousands of smaller pieces, and they were falling toward the Earth’s atmosphere. We only had about a week left, and no one had time to make an ark ship, underground civilization, or send in Bruce Willis to save the day.
[Read more…] about Leftovers1. New York means New York City. What else?
2. Dating someone in a different borough is a long-distance relationship.
3. A shortcut through the park at night isn’t worth the time you save. The bruises fade, but the memories don’t. Hey, at least you get to write about the experience.
[Read more…] about Fifteen Things You Learn After Moving to New YorkBy Carter Merenstein
“Do you think it’s hard to be a bunny?” my son asked, hiding behind my leg as we watched a large brown rabbit aggressively cleaning itself. My son was more afraid of small critters than I thought someone his age ought to be. I hoped that some level of exposure might lead to the understanding that they were not out to get him, but I hadn’t quite expected this level of empathy right away.
I hesitated before replying, “It doesn’t seem so tough to me.” Six years into fatherhood and I still, sometimes, felt unsure about how to talk to kids. I kept carrying, in the back of my mind, some pop-psych ideas that if I said the wrong thing I might scar them forever—as though I remembered anything my own father ever said to me.
I asked why he wanted to know, but he didn’t reply. I lit a cigarette, and we just stood in silence, watching the bunny as it twitched its nose and rotated its ears, scanning the wind for foxes, hawks, and then twisted around to continue cleaning its other side. It really didn’t seem that hard.
[Read more…] about It’s Hard for the Animals, TooBy Amy Marques
When I was a child, a stray cat wandered into our yard, found a little alcove under a bush shaded beneath one of the fruit trees, and popped out three kittens.
“You can’t touch them yet, girls,” my dad said. He was a veterinary doctor and a university teacher who knew all about animals, so we hung on every wise word.
“Will they die?” My sister had the biggest, greenest eyes you’d ever seen, and when she asked important questions her eyes would go extra wide.
[Read more…] about My Father Killed My Kittens