Daily Flash Fiction Stories
By Kate Newton
The voices come in wisps and hums beyond the bedroom door, muffled at times, then sharp and correcting in staccato tones.
“Stop. Just stop. Think.”
“But I—”
“Quiet.”
A harsh exhale—exasperated. Annoyed panic, then murmurs. A shuffling sound, someone pacing on the wooden floor, making creaks.
“I told you it was too much.”
“He weighs like two-eighty.”
Continue Reading This StoryBy Jeff Kennedy
It’s amazing what runs through your mind when you’re handcuffed, wrapped in chains, and hanging upside down from a gymnasium ceiling over a bed of flaming swords.
The argument with Jamie replayed in Geoffrey’s head for maybe the ten thousandth time.
“Why can’t you just give Bill the recipe? Why is this such a thing?”
“It’s a trade secret. All the bloggers rave about the cacciatore. It’s what we’re known for. I made my business on that dish.”
“Jesus, Jamie. It’s just a dinner party. It’s not like he’s going to sell it to a food truck.”
Continue Reading This StoryMy father pretended to phone me last year, a few hours before ending his life. He’d been abroad a while, supposedly for business meetings, and I missed him. The call came late afternoon, as the sun illuminated the picture on my desk. I’ve relived that ninth-grade photograph a thousand times. I owned a new dress and smiled at my date. My father owned a pained smile and his arm wrapped my shoulders. A hopeless attempt to insulate me from boys.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Alexander McParland
It’s strange what you notice when you’re bleeding to death. Brie noticed that everything in the room was covered in dust. The faded floral cushions on the couch opposite her were choked with it, as were the beams of light radiating from the back window. That light—it breathed with dust. Glittering, flowing, settling, in a glare, on the ancient desktop of Dr. William Michaels.
The doctor typed, a placid smile on his face, only stopping to adjust the glasses on his thin nose. “Brian,” he said, “with the right effort, and a bit of help, anyone can heal from any harm. My years of psychiatric practice taught me that one’s mindset is always more important than one’s physical circumstances.”
Continue Reading This StoryMy mother’s dishes are on the table.
I’m standing in the dining room looking at the unfinished meal when the phone rings. I pick it up and the cord gets tangled. I pull hard on it, which makes me drop my textbook, and so I catch my mother in mid-sentence: “—with your father, come back to the hospital right away.” My stomach tightens.
When I get there, they won’t let me see him. I’m taken to a small room to talk to a doctor. He’s explaining what is happening to my father, and I think I’m following what he is saying. I get that it’s serious. Something called endocarditis affecting his heart. I ask, “When can he come home?” The doctor looks at me with resignation. Clearly I hadn’t heard anything he said.
Continue Reading This StoryBy Gina Troisi
When you are sober and working as a bartender, an eerie light illuminates certain moments of your days, draws instant attention to what used to pass without notice. It’s the opposite of the film you once had between you and the world.
As you shake martinis—the ice clinking against metal—and toss bottle caps into the trash can, you feel unsettled. Every stare and nudge is fresh and potent, customers’ voices high-pitched; the sound of bus boys scraping forks against dishes pierces inside your skull. Every slice of bread you place in a basket like soft, wet clay. Your senses are no longer dulled by a steady, unwavering hum. The vibration of voices that blended into music after sips of tequila, your coffee mug filled with whiskey—the voices are sharper now, grinding against your temples, their edges searing your skin. Now you are up close, staring out at the vastness, and there is nowhere else to go.
Continue Reading This Story