Flash Fiction Magazine

Sky Fliers

September 15, 2014 2 Comments

By Pam Plumb

There was a man sitting in the sky. Mum said we’d have the beach to ourselves so I was a bit cross when I saw him. He had a bright blue kite-thing that was really shiny underneath. Mum called it iridescence (she spelled it for me). It looked like the inside of the shell I found last summer, creamy and smooth. I wondered where he could have come from because we hadn’t seen him from the car. When I said he’d flown across from America mum told me not to be daft. But that’s where ad is and he flies back here. Continue Reading This Story

Fewer Would Come

September 13, 2014 Leave a Comment

By T.S.M. Davies

Under the big blue sky, even in the dead of winter, I was not changed by the structure of modern life outside of my tribe. Like any other day, the felt was unloaded from the oxen and wrapped around the yurt timber skeleton to ward off the chill of early winter. Mountains loomed in the distance, preluded by the rolling hills. They were a constant reminder that my tribe was still strong. Yet even as I worked, I felt something change, a tear in our way of life.

My father felt this too. As I continued to work, wondering what this strange sensation was, he looked off into the distance, toward the trees, like he could see something coming. “Fewer will come this time,” he said. He spoke softly to himself, but I could hear his gruff voice carry on the cold breeze. There was a particular tone of grief to which I could only relate to the death of the khans.

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How Murakami Saved My Life

September 12, 2014 5 Comments

By Dan Leach

I read all the books you left behind. What? I couldn’t help it. You had, by then, stopped answering my calls and it was the closest thing I knew to hearing your voice again. Pathetic, I know, to think that I could find some part of you in a line by Carver or Munro. But, by then, I was not thinking clearly and each new sentence seemed to shine like a clue that, if studied hard enough, might lead me back to you.
I read them all in public, in coffee shops and cafes and on all those little benches scattered through downtown that nobody ever sits on. My arms would get sore from the angle at which I held them, an angle designed for you, just in case you happened to walk by. I wanted the sunlight to fall just so and the cover to look as lovely as an outstretched hand. I wanted those books to bring you back.
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Our Tangled Roots

September 11, 2014 2 Comments

By Aaron White

Your naked feet suspended sugary off the edge of the porch swing. It was painted as white as your skin. Your head rested in my lap. I tied knots in your honeysuckle-scented hair and read aloud from the newspaper. Somewhere in North Carolina, turkey vultures swarmed a quiet neighborhood and preyed on pets. We laughed and speculated neat squares of yard sporting tall, trimmed trees overtaken by black coagulations as big as children. Continue Reading This Story

Albatross

September 10, 2014 2 Comments

By Jerry McGinley

I was reading Ellery Queen in a coffee shop when I noticed an old man, bib-overalls, flannel shirt, stocking cap, watching me. I nodded a greeting. He smiled and said, “Don’t live it up so much you can never live it down,” and returned to his sports page.
“Sounds like you’ve been there,” I said.
“Damn right. Got scars to prove it.”
“Life can be tough.” I don’t know why I said it. Continue Reading This Story

Metamorphosis

September 9, 2014 2 Comments

By Rachael Smart

I paint myself a new face just for the occasion. The woman pouting back in the mirror looks like a show girl, a rainbow of the pale old me. My anxiety is flawlessly concealed under a blend of Estee Lauder foundation; usually I’d have left it at that, no frills, just me and my nude skin. Pascal adores me bare. But I’ve got this compulsion to mask my face, paint over the nakedness with rich, velvety cosmetics to make myself look new. It’s quarter to. They’re due at eight. I feel very calm inside; it’s strange because going out anywhere usually gives me butterflies, but my hands are steady holding the make-up applicators.
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