Flash Fiction
Death without Dying
By Shina Akagawa
If reincarnation existed, my father would want to be born again as a rock.
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Endorsement Deal
By Matthew Dexter
He’s one hit away from dying, one concussion away from irreversible brain damage. The doctor says this about his crack addiction; the head coach says this about his ability to stay in the pocket with that rock a second too late.
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A Blank Page
By Paul Finnigan
A blank page had always struck him as a maudlin prospect. Made him anxious. A blank page, he guessed, was like a baby with the birth wiped off and the first screams just dying down. He remembered that white emptiness staring morosely at him, and his mother, cigarette in hand, standing above him, prodding him to study, to fill pad after pad with inky proofs. Inky proofs of movement.
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The Fisherman
By Ryan Hardgrove
The sky was dark and pressing. Tiny flecks of light held on the ceiling. My skin felt stitched to the asphalt. I peeled myself up to a sitting position, wiped the sleep from my eyes and gazed into a deserted parking lot.
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The Wrong Door
By Vivien Jones
The restaurant was trendy and ill-lit. Laura stumbled towards the Ladies. She’d left her glasses on the table and her napkin was tucked into the belt of her little black dress. The passage was even dimmer than the restaurant. She came to a door and pushed through.
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A Boat Trip
By Edward McWhinney
From the vantage point of a boat, the land, where so recently we walked, took on a lighter shade of daylight. It was an exquisite day for a trip out to Roche’s Point, Jordi’s word not mine. I cracked the tops from two bottles of beer and handed one to my guest. It was a lovely day for a trip.
Inquest
By Jeffrey Miller
He was the one who found Gary slumped over on the front seat of the Olds in the garage on that frigid January morning. Not thinking what he was doing, he remembered turning off the ignition at some point, either before or after he administered CPR, again, not thinking clearly.
The Drowning Man
By Kenny Mooney
Black and hollow, an echo in memory ebbing through my mind like a sluggish tide, caught in the brown-blue wake of slowly rolling years. It’s easy to drift when you’ve nothing left.
Rock a Bye
By Valerie O’Riordan
I said I’d get the fucking fags meself. Useless cunt, Theo, nose in a hanky. The hearse was stopped at the lights anyway and the driver was reading the Mirror; I strutted past in me tight black skirt and gave him the finger on the way back, Silk Cut between me lips, thumb to the lighter.
Dread
By Dawn West
When I was a little girl I was terrified of climbing stairs in the dark. I would run like hell to the top, listening to the blood jump in my veins. Sitting on these steps with you, I feel the same. You’re drinking a beer, like you don’t care about campus security, and I’m chewing on my bottom lip, trying not to smoke a cigarette.
