Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By H. L. Cornetto
The sign on the door has hand-drawn UFOs. Beneath the drawings are the words ‘ETAA Meeting 2-Nite @7:00!’
ETAA stands for Extraterrestrial Abductees Anonymous. The group has been using the basement of the abandoned church as a meeting place for a few months. Sharon is the group leader. Meetings consist of abductees showing up and sharing their stories over coffee and Little Debbies. Sometimes there are doughnuts.
[Read more…] about BupkissBy Stacy Carroll Swearingen
The clatter of keys in the copper bowl announced Lou’s arrival before he hollered, “Jesus H. Christ, Annette! Do something about that god-awful smell!”
“I’m trying,” she murmured to Millie, her golden doodle, curled on the bath mat. Millie sniffed vigorously as Annette bent down. Annette sniffed, too, then wiped her eyes.
[Read more…] about No, You StinkBy Florian Rose
For many years, everyone who was anyone in the small town had bought their rugs from Aslan. He was a master rug maker, as was his father and grandfather before him, but Aslan was slowly going blind, and the beginnings of senility were apparent, carelessness in the most simplest of things. He had taught his only son, Mahzun, everything he knew. But Mahzun despised the work, although he was very good at it, possibly even better than his father, some said.
[Read more…] about The Last RugBy K. Di Prima
When Gladys Malone turned up, face down in the water hazard bordering the thirteenth green, her friends were convinced: something nefarious was afoot at Loving Arms Retirement Village.
No ordinary octogenarian, Gladys had approached life the way she’d addressed her Titleists—from the men’s tees. Others ambulated on manufactured knees and hips; Gladys charged the course on her original body parts. She ate like a buffalo and slept like a baby. Gladys wasn’t just “good” for her age. She was spectacular.
[Read more…] about A Good EightyBy Jack Smiles
All I knew about my dad was that he was a WASP. That’s right, White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. So, for my twenty-first birthday, I took a DNA test. I was fifty percent Irish, which I expected from my mother’s side, but the other fifty percent…
Inconclusive.
[Read more…] about InconclusiveMomma told me not to come here. I went anyway.
At the entrance, I froze. The crude hut was cluttered. Reeking, shriveled herbs hung from the beams of the smoke-blackened ceiling. Sharp bones protruded from a fish on the table. The room smelt of fish guts and foul things dredged up from marshes.
[Read more…] about Dreamcatcher