Flash Fiction Magazine

Hank’s New Song

May 26, 2014 Leave a Comment

Hank Mullins wakes to silence. Hank is not used to silence. Even the goddamn birds have stopped singin’. There’s no potterin’ or sizzlin’ comin’ from the kitchen. There’s no hissin’ from the bathroom, that sound of sharp summer rain he’d heard every mornin’ for as long as he could remember. There’s no hollerin’ from his daughter: “Where the hell are my shoes, Momma?” There’s no scratchin’ of Bronco’s paws on the old wood floors. No huffin’ or a pantin’. Nothin’.
The only sound is Hank’s laboured breathin’ after too many cigarettes and too many whiskey’s at Cal’s Bar last night. [Read more…] about Hank’s New Song

Filler Flower Heart

May 23, 2014 5 Comments

By Sarah Brentyn

I heard a soft voice, too quiet for real conversation, before I felt the hand on my hair. “It’s time,” my sister whispered.

“No,” I stumbled forward and pointed. “I don’t want those here. They smell bad.”

“They don’t smell. It’s just baby’s breath…” She pulled her hand back quickly.

I ran to the wreath.
[Read more…] about Filler Flower Heart

The Woodshed

May 22, 2014 6 Comments

By Sarah Brentyn

The woodshed stood on its own at the bottom of our large garden, beyond my father’s beloved vegetable patch. When I was a boy, one of my many chores around the house was to go down there and bring chopped logs up to the kitchen, not that I could carry many at a time. It was my father who used to chop them, rather skillfully, with a long handled axe, although he never said where he picked that particular skill. It was always a delight for me to go to the woodshed; it wasn’t only the constant smell of freshly cut wood, but also the lingering aroma of pipe smoke that was so much a part of my father. It was one of the few places my mother would allowed him to smoke his pipe. But each time I was sent to the shed for logs, I was accompanied by my mother’s words:
“Don’t touch that axe.” The axe was my father’s pride and joy. It was always clean and constantly razor sharp, leant against the wall in the back corner of the shed, presumably where a small boy wouldn’t be tempted to play with it. [Read more…] about The Woodshed

The Ugly Girl

May 21, 2014 5 Comments

By Andrew Parker

There was something about Gloria. Maybe it was her thick, blond hair, nice skin tone, nice body, or that she knew where all her body parts were at any moment.
Maybe it was that she was ugly.
But something was magical about her, something beyond the gleam in eyes of a shark fisherman surrounded by great whites, something beyond the infinity of the stars above.
Perhaps Gloria’s essence could be seen glistening on a white rose on a dewy morning.
Perhaps it couldn’t be seen.
One day, she came home crying after being teased by her classmates.
Her mother sat her down and said, “Gloria, you’re beautiful. I don’t mean inside, because everybody is ugly inside. You have a prominent forehead, startling wide-apart eyes, an exquisite curved and twisted nose, and an electrifying crooked mouth. God has been good to you. Good looking people only seem that way because they have average features. And, Gloria, you’re not at all average. You have distinctive looks. You’re gorgeous, and your physical beauty is only part of what makes you so special.” [Read more…] about The Ugly Girl

Getting Away from the Fish

May 19, 2014 Leave a Comment

By Vanessa Raney

This in no way fits what you should be seeing. It doesn’t match what you’ve read about. How, why, what does it matter? You want to get out of there, but you can’t. That thing, whatever explains it, shouldn’t exist.

Your first thought is chemicals, but what combination of them? But it can’t be that!

What else, then? A mutation of some kind? But it’s so big! And alive when it should be choking! Do fish choke?

Sure, small species of them walk around. On sand, maybe up nearby trees. But you’re 500 miles from the sea! The closest river would take a whole day to drive through. It’s child sized!

What’s it doing now? You see its tail on the floor, with only the backside of its feet visible, its body bent down, the long spikes stretched along its back.

Wait, feet? You just noticed them? WHAT?
[Read more…] about Getting Away from the Fish

The House

May 16, 2014 1 Comment

By J Cassidy

Lisa’s here to win a bet. She has nothing to be afraid of.
She pauses for a moment at the start of the long path to the front door. The wood is rotting, the windows devoid of glass. This late at night it looks like the typical haunted mansion, deserving of its reputation. Her friend Kathy says a kid she knew went inside two months ago and still hasn’t come back. Lisa thinks it’s just a story. As she starts up the path, a hand grabs her arm, hauling her back.
“Don’t do it,” a coarse voice says as alcohol-soaked breath washes over her from a bearded face. A scar runs over his sunken eye, his mouth and chin. The stinking man looks like he hasn’t seen a bath in years.
“Get off me!” Lisa says and tugs her arm away. The man steps back in to the shadows of the unkempt hedges. She rushes up the path, arms tucked in, reaches the forbidding entrance and pushes the door open. It’s warm inside. Wanting to check that the drunkard hasn’t followed her, she walks over to a window and stands on her tip-toes. A gasp escaped her throat when she sees daylight. Running outside, she notices the houses of her village have been replaced by silver towers. All she can do is stare, open-mouthed. [Read more…] about The House