Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Grace Brannan
Betrayal was a dungeon, cold and dark. There was no respite in the damp, slimy walls or stone floors. Her daily rations were moldy, stale, mealy, worm-ridden. The sole reminder of her humanity was a bucket to relieve herself, emptied once a week. None of the guards would speak to her, or even look at her. They were told she was dangerous, that her sobs were manufactured, her tears an illusion.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Branden Veale
Yesterday was my brother’s birthday. Mom got him a big cake from Clay’s Bakery, my family’s favorite place. That’s where we get all our cakes from. She ordered it with extra balloons on top, and there was extra frosting too, just how we like. I had three pieces, my brother had four. My babysitter Kim was there too; she loves to celebrate our birthdays with us. She’s my favorite babysitter. I kept telling her to try some, but she didn’t even have a bite. She said she’s on a diet. My Mom is too, but she still had a piece. Mom said she thought it was weird. I did too, but I didn’t mind. That means I get to eat the leftovers right now.
Continue Reading This StoryBy John Henry Whelan
Among all those knobbly mastiff-jawed manglers there are only perhaps a few go-getters, but what they are going to get is you. No, we can’t hide under the bed—they’ll look there first, the smart ones will. They’ll look everywhere eventually.
Of course I’ll help. Hush, old friend. Hush. I have an idea, but you’re going to have to be very brave. Still trust me sideways?
Continue Reading This StoryBy Kali Horvath
It was the only story you told me of your stepfather. Your earliest memory. How he spanked your toddler bottom with your plastic fishing rod. When you cried, “Why?” he replied that you were wasting money by throwing your fish toys into the ocean. You didn’t appreciate how hard he worked to afford this gift for you. Even when you took the beating, and then reached out to have your reel back, he wouldn’t release his grasp.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Randy J. Craig
Early morning. Awake, but groggy, the floor cold on my bare feet. I noticed the death right away.
A fish lay motionless at the bottom of the aquarium. Its shiny, electric orange color turned a sick gray pallor. Bloated body. A rotting fin.
I discovered the corpse of my female swordtail, Xiphophorous hellerii, after I turned on the aquarium lamp. I stared for a minute, then crumbled flakes of fish food on top of the gently rippling water. Five fish dashed to the water’s surface for their meal. I brewed coffee.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Marina Richards
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She hears their claws clicking along the narrow curve of earth where the sun and moon illuminate a river of light. She sees them when her eyes are still closed and she’s floating inside her tiny ocean in her mother’s belly.
She dreams of fiery skies and purple painted deserts. Sooty smears of black highway. Wild sunflower eyes. Teeth and fur.
Continue Reading This Story