Flash Fiction Magazine

By Matt Morea

The small town of Idaho Falls, which was not in the state of Iowa, nor had any naturally occurring water features of any kind, had been the world leader in fake vomit for five decades. When Marksman Frivolities announced it was closing shop to focus on the booming fake poop market, a grassroots effort emerged nationwide to save the factory and its jobs. Instead of reaching for fake poop to put on a co-worker’s chair or Aunt Ethel’s new Persian rug, the country chose fake vomit. The effort made such an impact on the bottom line that after two quarters of record-breaking sales, Marksman agreed to keep the factory open.

[Read more…] about The Factories

By Marge Thorell

For six years after the war, we lived in a rented house in Wissinoming, a town beside the railroad tracks, by the Delaware River. My mother, who had come from a more elite section of Philadelphia, hated this post-war sojourn, calling the town at best blue-collar. My father, who never had a bad word about anyone or anything, deemed it the salt of the earth.

[Read more…] about After the War

By Dan Schwartz

A glacier appears in the middle of town. Nobody knows how it got there. We come out to see it—a tall rock, a mountain made of ice. It stands unmoving and looks the way it does in magazines. Whenever we walk by it, we feel colder, a relief in the middle of summer. It has all of us spellbound. Some people think back to old stories, others tell us about God. We look at it and see only metaphors.

[Read more…] about Take Care

By David Lee

“Do you know how many banks get robbed on a daily basis in this city? And you never hear about it. You wanna know why?”

I look at Tommy across the table. It doesn’t matter if I want to know why or not: Tommy’s gonna tell me. He’s got that look. I’ve known Tommy since sixth grade, and I’ve seen that look many times. It’s the look that says, “Don’t worry, kid, I got this all figured out.” And the hell of it is, ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s right.

[Read more…] about Karma

By Leona

We fell in love over ropes. Literally. “You can trust me,” you whispered, your warm breath at my ear. I leaned out over the cliff edge, you rappelled, I abseiled into love.

In the beginning, you led our climbs. You had experience and certainty. I had trust and willingness. I dropped down cliff faces with my life and my heart in your hands.

[Read more…] about Let Down

By Henri Colt

Clunk. The small, red camping stove dropped onto the granite ledge between the climber’s feet, then rolled to sit upright against his right ankle. It was only a few inches wide and weighed less than a pound, but the sound was heard a hundred feet below.

[Read more…] about Whisper Red