Flash Fiction Magazine

By Williamaye Jones

Our cart overflowing with groceries, Momma and I made our way to the exit. The first set of glass doors swished open, and we heard the pounding sheets of rain pouring down outside in the parking lot.

“Honey, you stay here,” Momma said, “and I’ll go get the car.”

I watched, fascinated, as she went out into the deluge. People ran past her, hurrying to their cars, but Momma walked as though her internal battery was blinking yellow, and she needed to reserve her energy. Before she went more than a few yards, she stopped. She spread wide her arms and tilted back her head, letting the rain pour down upon her as she twirled and twirled, laughing. People rushed by, heads tilted down, clinging to their umbrellas as they sought the dry haven of Wal-Mart.

[Read more…] about Washed Clean

By Kerry Madden-Lunsford

“I always like a lady who give me chocolate,” the old man with no teeth said swiping an Oreo from the girl.

At the Soup Kitchen at the Church of the Holy Redeemer, the chimney swifts flew overhead as the mother sent her daughter out to deliver cookies for dessert to the mottled gray sea gathered after Sunday services. The mother stood watching, alert but safe behind her sandwich-making station of processed turkey, white bread, and iceberg lettuce with globs of mayonnaise and tasteless tomatoes. The child and her friend wandered through the crowd with Oreos for the homeless. They were twelve and together, safe.

[Read more…] about Chimney Swifts

By Staci Mercado

“Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange.” —Virginia Woolf

When I got home from work, I found Pop in a heap on the porch. An enforcement drone had burrowed a small but lethal hole in the base of his skull. Left behind was a small black box projecting his infraction on the front door: “75th violation of the Save Our Planet Act. The earth is worth it.”

I had no idea he’d been caught that many times or how he had managed to hide all the notices from me.

[Read more…] about The Death of the Father

By Hammond Lake

“Your skin tastes like lavender,” he said to her as he took another drink, the dew from the swing set soaking into his denims like blood into a bandage. For that’s all they really were to one another: bandages, helping to heal the wounds of isolation and muffle the other’s cries of pain and replace them with pleasure. “Shut up and fuck me,” she commanded, the smell of Cabernet and cigarettes still fresh on her breath. She tossed her blonde hair back and wrapped her pale and muscular legs around his waist as he unzipped his pants; they were lost in the moment, in each other, a duo blissfully unconcerned with the consequences of indulging in the desires of the flesh on an elementary school playground.

And then he woke up.

[Read more…] about Sleepy Sunday

By Andrew Ough-Jones

Okay, where am I?

A hard yellow surface, in a huge room.

CLUNK!

What’s this? One of the two humans who kidnapped me has encased me with some kind of invisible barrier that I cannot penetrate. My world just became a lot smaller. Now, they leer at me, speaking in strange tongues. Perhaps if I remain completely still, they will tire of me.

“Aw look at Ralph! He’s so cute just sitting there!”

What the fuck’s a Ralph? Hang on…I appear to be standing on some kind of platform in a giant enclosure. There is a ladder descending to a lower level and space below which may offer some privacy. I move quickly; I must figure out what’s going on here and fast.

I descend and make my way to the darkest corner of the enclosure, away from the prying human eyes. Right. Time to think.

[Read more…] about First Day

By Den Bwalya II

The wine is cheap and red and perfect for the moment. The sun has almost finished its slow stroll across the sky. Drops of diluted scarlet stain the cotton of the afternoon clouds. The grass and leaves aren’t moving much. The breeze is coy with its comfort, rarely breaking the thick warmth of the backyard.

I’m going to miss this backyard. I’m going to miss the empty pool below my feet. And I’m going to miss the company. Sozi is sitting on the over side of the wine bottle, sipping from his glass with the care and grace of someone who was taught to be proper from a very young age.

“You know?” I say, “Tao used to do this thing where she’d grab my face and twist it around, playing artist with daddy’s good looks.” I sip the wine. “Sometimes, I wonder what my face would look if it stayed the way she wanted it to. I’m sure I’d be good enough to frame.”

Sozi gives me a smile that says I’ve told this story a few too many times. That’s true, and I don’t care. Stories are how I keep her around. And I know every toddler does the face grabbing thing. But when they do it, it’s only cute. When Tao did it, it was God, and it was heaven.

But I’m glad Sozi still listens. I’m going to miss that, too.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” I say. “Thanks for being there, Sozi.”

He turns to me, and gently sets his glass down.

“Oh. And where are you going?” he asks.

[Read more…] about Shoreline