Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Emma Kierans
Charles was fascinated by sea creatures, extraordinary creatures from the deep. He absorbed himself in strange fables about huge whales, flying fish, and terrifying beasts that lived in the submarine abyss. He studied specimens in his pickling jars for hours, collected from fishermen on the quayside.
He was particularly captivated by stories of giant squid, depicted in drawings of ships being overpowered by huge tentacles.
By Colette Hill
Susan was out of sorts. When the children formed a circle by the windows, she’d found herself next to James, who you had to be kind to on account of his leering and his difficulty with words. Jessica, who was supposed to be Susan’s best friend, had parked herself next to the new girl, Yara, who looked like Susan wished she looked—graceful and tanned and very thin. Susan’s thighs chafed against the prickly rug; she was getting fat and her dress didn’t fit anymore.
Jessica’s mum held the needle over the record: “Quieten down, all of you. Have you got ants in your pants?” Everyone squealed and Susan did her best to join in, though the thought of down there made her blush.
Still Life
Plump plums in white bowl. Nestled. Like lovers spooning. Black coffee steaming.
Character Study
(In Four Acts)
Act I: The Farmer
Seventy degrees at seven a.m. In May. Bill Farmer sweated even with a breeze blowing Mary’s lilac window curtains into the kitchen. The hem brushed across the tin mug where his coffee steamed. Poured fresh from the pan, hobo style, which Mary never stood for when she was home.
I was sitting at the bus stop when I noticed he had left the keys in the ignition. I don’t know what came over me, but I crossed the road, jumped in the driver’s seat, and turned on the engine. I couldn’t drive stick, so I bunny-hopped an awful lot as I took off.
Black smoke choked from the exhaust and a sweet melody came over the radio. I moved the car all but twenty metres. Parked it. Stepped out. Closed the door with the keys still stiff in the ignition and returned to the bus stop.
Ten minutes later, the man returned, groceries in arms, tapping his pockets. Then stumbled to a stop when he realised his car wasn’t where he’d parked it. He found it eventually. With the keys right where he’d left them.
By Laura Goodman
Two days since the evacuation scramble ahead of Katrina, a day since the drowning of their city and the certain knowledge of losing everything, a few hours since finally falling asleep, she awakens, dragging the dream with her. Sheep, shorn to a bony nakedness, shivering, bleating. She can’t tell if she’s awake or still in the dream, hearing the noise or not.
By Andrew Newby
As I sit by the car, you slide down my side like cold egg yolk off a plate, sit in the dirt like you used to, forfeiting leg strength on that rug we bought at the outlet—the place with candied nuts, the room that smelled like a caramel pool hall, the man with the cold-blue forearm tattoo of a naked woman wrapped in the fantastic embrace of a panther, a wet bruise on liver-spotted leather, picking up and putting down the tray of assorted nuts all day long, asking, “Would you care for a sample?” in January.
