Daily Flash Fiction Stories
He steps up to the ticket booth.
Top hat on head.
Cane in hand.
~
Roll up, roll up.
Step this way, ladies and gentlemen.
Put your best foot forward into the darkness that is your future. See for yourselves the broken promises you’re leaving your children. Immerse yourselves in the punishment that awaits us all.
She held up the level parallel to her mouth, her arms straight, moving the plastic ends on her fingerprints. Facing the window across the small bedroom, she squinted. The natural light drew her lashes closer together, bending the creases between her cheekbones and eye corners. Levels always made her think of tiny lava lamps, or the toxic ocean you swam through once you reached the polluted water level in Donkey Kong Country, and she was never able to hold them completely straight. She watched the bubble rock from side to side, finally landing in the middle. Her arms were beginning to tire, and it still looked crooked. Everything always looked crooked.
By Megan Alexander
“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” You stare at me from across the table and your eyes hum with expectation.
By Amanda Saint
Jenna fiddled with the ribbon bow on the front of her knickers as she lay on the bed watching Steve pluck his eyebrows.
“You know it’s not really very manly to pay quite so much attention to your appearance,” she said.
Steve’s reflection in the mirror poked his tongue out at her. “It’s not very ladylike to lie around in just your panties playing with yourself.”
By Lee Hamblin
You don’t usually go out at this time of day.
You tell yourself that you should have brought that extra pint in Asda’s last Saturday.
You knew you’d run out, what with the neighbour’s ginger cat now having got the taste for full fat—and yes, you know it’s all your fault—but he’s such a lovely boy, and oh so friendly.
You know that Mr. Beresford next door only feeds him dry food and some days he even forgets to refill his bowl.
By PJ Stephenson
The autumn wind had grown strong. It whipped up the valley to encircle the old stone cottage in its icy grip, turning fallen leaves into clouds of whirling dervishes and playing tunes on the chimney stack like an out-of-key flute. The window panes rattled and, somewhere in the dark, a wooden door slammed. But inside the living room, it was warm and cosy. A fire flickered and crackled in the grate and the smell of wood smoke and fresh baking filled the air.