Flash Fiction Magazine

By Jill Witty

Look, Officer. You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t murder either of them. Hear me out.

First, this girl comes skipping by my pad whistling like a Sunday cardinal, and so I go out to shush her, because all the kiddos are asleep, you know. She shows me this lunch she’s bringing to her grandmother and invites me to join them for a feast. The smell of sweet cherry pie hits me hard, and my mouth starts to drool, and all I can think is how badly I want to bite into those plump, luscious jewels. So I say sure, I know which house she means, I’ll meet her there.

[Read more…] about Follow Your Nose

By Andrew J. Hanna

I was ten years old. I was walking up a hill with my father, humming a tune that has long since faded from my memory. The sweltering summer sun was setting, and a cool breeze had picked up, whistling through my unkempt hair. Beside me, my father shifted his grasp on our fishing rods as he trudged up the hill, silent. Finally, we reached the top. Before us lay a small lake, glinting as it reflected the flaming sun. My father handed me my rod, tightening the knot that held the hook in place. For a few minutes we sat quietly on the grass, loosely holding our rods. I reeled my line in slowly, spreading ripples across the glass-like surface of the lake. After a time, my father put his hand on my shoulder. “Son,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

[Read more…] about Sunrise at Sunset

By Lara Ameen

Some say that siren songs are a myth. A myth that enticed curious sailors and arrogant princes of royal lands. Others say that siren songs can still be heard today in the modern world. The songs are not sung with the intent to deceive, but the intent to give hope.

But only if you listen.

[Read more…] about The Siren’s Song

By Tanya E. E. E. Schmid

I stood in front of a kitchen full of dirty dishes when my niece, Melissa, shared the best definition of love that I have heard. She said, “You know you love someone because you could tell if they’ve been abducted by aliens.”

A loud hurrah came from the living room where the men watched the Thanksgiving football game on TV. I continued rinsing plates and putting them in the dishwasher, as it took me a moment to find a good response to Missy. The world worried about polar bears drowning, the risk of nuclear war buttons being pushed like doorbells, viruses wiping out entire nations, but alien abduction had not been a recent news topic.

[Read more…] about Between Love and Alien Abductions

By Marc Dickinson

That night, after we paid the babysitter and threw away the empty pizza box, your mom wanted to watch the two of you sleep. It was sentimental, she admitted, taking my hand to lead us upstairs. We stood there a long time, looking through one doorway, then the next. It was quiet, not even a night light to keep away the dark. Both of you claimed to be too old for such things. I wanted to get a closer look—hoping some of your sleep would rub off on us—but your mom refused to cross the thresholds, as if already imagining herself absent from these rooms.

[Read more…] about What We Now Knew

By Alex Bisker

You wedge the spatula in slowly, feeling for purchase between the sponge and the pan, holding your breath. The crumb is wrong, you can feel it already. It’s dry, it’s cracking, it’s cracking, it’s cracked. It’s ruined. Dammit. Damn. It.

You smile into the phone.

People can hear that, can hear if you’re smiling. Something about the muscles of your face shifting the tone of your voice, you heard that somewhere. And it doesn’t even matter if it’s a real smile or not. That, the sincerity, that doesn’t translate, doesn’t present in just the voice. But people can see an insincere smile, can spot a fake one, one that’s all mouth and no feeling. Because a real smile involves the eyes. Everybody knows that.

[Read more…] about Burnt