Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Betsy Neely Sikma
Leona looked at her dainty gold watch. 12:34 p.m., long past the time big church should have ended.
That pot roast would be ruined by the time they got home. Tough as a two-dollar steak.
She should’ve laid the stroganoff out to thaw.
[Read more…] about A Heart for the LordBy Peter Eckblad
It was late fall and cold. Eva and I went out to the backyard to rake leaves and pick up sticks. The wind whipped through our jackets and dark clouds swirled overhead.
“Look!” Eva cried. We found an army of strange caterpillars. They were furry and black, with white stripes on their backs filled with red dots. The caterpillars were searching for leaves on the branches of the bare trees.
[Read more…] about The ChrysalisesBy Joshua Blattenberger
Tobias enjoys taking naps by the river in the forest. He lies there for hours among the gentle pitter of the water and the warm blots of light filtering through the canopy. It is his post-work ritual. He feels his evenings are best spent there.
Today, as he indulges in this picturesque scene, he takes a deep breath and fills his lungs with cool, autumn air. When he exhales, he lets himself sink deep into the bed of leaves beneath him.
[Read more…] about In the LeavesBy Fannie H. Gray
“We need to talk.”
Ruth is standing in the kitchen still wearing her Rusty Spoon apron.The bag of trash, which I was supposed to have taken out, sits by the back door like an overlooked dog. A mismatched set of chipped dishes and dirty old jelly jar glasses are stacked in the sink. I have left an empty egg carton and cellophane wraps from cheese slices on the otherwise clean, Formica countertop. She sighs and shakes her head, bends down to untie her shoes. When she stands up, she squares her shoulders, fixes me with her milky eyes.
[Read more…] about How to Leave HomeBy Avalon Dziak
I stood at the kitchen sink, hot sauce dripping down my chin and landing in puddles on the stack of unwashed dishes. I wiped the sauce from my face with the heel of my hand, pausing to lick the spicy red from my skin. We were out of napkins. I was out of napkins.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat.
He’s taken to going into her room and lying on her bed. Boxes and garbage bags fill the space as if she’s moving back in. Like she did before, after the big falling out with—he can’t remember. She was always leaving and coming home. He wishes he could remember their last conversation.
He takes The Book Thief, the brass Shiva, her belt with the silver buckle, and the Stetson with the headband stained with sweat. Laying them on the bed, he hopes for inspiration by osmosis or some higher power. He turns to his phone. On Insta she’s rounding up cattle on a quad bike, red dirt flying, big smile. He scrolls the comments on Facebook: love ya heaps, miss ya lil bro! on his birthday. The thing that gets to him the most is the canvas bag with her good clothes folded too neatly, ready for the next chapter. It was in the hallway of the cabin on the day they went to clear it out. It seemed too orderly, too prim, and a side of her he didn’t know.
[Read more…] about He Is on His Back Staring at the CeilingBy Dan Keeble
She pushed the point of the steam iron between the buttons on his shirt. It was the unironed area that bust her lip for the first time. It could well have been the collar. In ten years he needed no excuse for a rolled fist. Steam rose, and Jeannie saw the misty cliffs above the ocean. She once ran to her brother’s house by the sea. But her brother was no match for him when he dragged her back home. She saw no sense in them both taking a battering.
[Read more…] about Through the Mist