Flash Fiction Magazine

By LC Lin

As the chilling winter wind blew away the artificial flowers of the sympathy standing wreaths, my eyes were glued to the moving conveying belt. I was waiting to complete my mission here because none of my siblings could stand it.

Abruptly, it stopped. One of the two workers at the crematorium spat on the cement ground, yelling angrily at the other worker, “Ben, you push it!” Ben, pushing the coffin into the mechanized door, grunted, “Luke, next time, your turn.” The tiny wooden box, with Amy inside, was engulfed in flame. “Luke stood beside the belt, rubbing his hands, and said to me with a smile, ”Cold.”

[Read more…] about The Sparkling Eyes

By Kevin J. MacDonald

The priest vowed to sanitize his hands before touching any unclean Bible. He trusted God, but he did not trust bacteria. Whenever members of his congregation coughed or sneezed while he delivered a sermon, his faith was tested. It was a testament to its strength that he persisted even when doubting his safety. Despite the airborne germs descending through purgatorial space, like Lucifer exiled from Heaven, he would keep his mouth open and continue to deliver God’s word. The Holy Spirit compelled him to.

He had just finished delivering a sermon when his stomach rumbled. The priest was impatient. What if there was no food in the kitchen? Instead of making a fruitless trip to the pantry, he checked the package of the body of Christ he had opened for the Eucharist. He debated on blessing the crackers before indulging but decided it made no difference to God. The crackers satiated him. When he reflected on the fullness of his belly, the Holy Spirit compelled him to go to the bathroom.

[Read more…] about The Germophobic Priest

By Carly E. Husick

The girl had read seven books so far in the single week of summer vacation they’d been on the boat. She sat on the bow, growing crispy under the sun, and turned pages with thumbs that left oily suntan lotion marks in the margins. She didn’t look up or out and her mother watched the girl sit there oblivious to the refractions of light that danced around her. The turquoise glisten of the island sea. The clear crystalline water that slapped at the hull thwack thwack thwacking against the rustle of canvas sail on wind.

[Read more…] about The Sea Turtle

By Lou Gaglia

By the third day, I’d had enough of the German Shepherd puppy. He nipped at my hand if I tried to pet him and bit my calves when I walked. When he chomped into my ankle near the garbage chute, I roared into his face. My new neighbor gaped at me from her apartment door.

“He keeps biting,” I said.

She said nothing. The dog ran to her.

“No, no,” I called. But when he reached her, she bent to pet him, and he licked her fingers.

[Read more…] about Good People

By Viviane Morrigan

Jane recoiled from the heat as she pushed the shopping trolley out of the air-conditioned mall.

Her slacks and cardigan that helped warm her poor circulation were suddenly uncomfortable. The sunlight was blinding and drove her to rummage in her handbag for sunglasses. They were old-fashioned in a clunky kind of way, but Jane was grateful. At least they still did their job. Surveying the spread of orphaned cars waiting in the baking sun to be claimed, her tall frame slumped, shoulder drooping, Jane struggled to remember what their car looked like. She was overwhelmed by a sense of futility: nothing looked familiar. The task of finding their car seemed impossible.

Is it that one? Jane wondered, looking at a white car parked nearby. Turning to Sarah, she said as calmly as she could, “Dearest, can you see our car anywhere?”

[Read more…] about Lost

By Carolyn McGrath

When she was dying, she said to him, “I’ve had a great life, mostly due to you.”

He hesitated. “I owe everything to you.”

“I should die more often,” she said.

“I mean it.”

“You could have let me in on it earlier,” she said and smiled.

“You know I’ve loved you in my way.”

“What way was that?” she asked.

“You were very beautiful.”

[Read more…] about As She Lay Dying