Stories tagged flash-fiction

The Wedding Day

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It rained, but only later on. After everyone had gone and Sid and I were cleaning up. The weather was nice. Sari isn't the only one squinting. Everyone is. The photographer had us turn toward the sun. Looking into it. He was a dreadful idjit. --Say ched

Why I Gave Up on Math and Began My Big Fat Writing Career

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I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand But there we we

The First Day of Summer

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It is the first day of summer, a blue-green afternoon, and we sit beneath the English oak, Quercus robur. Everything has at least two names. It is the first day of summer, or the last day of something else.

Give Me a Break

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"Prison Break!" Breaking news announced on CNN.

Perspective

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I'm on my way to my annual mammogram. It's taken two months to get this appointment. I've had pains in my breast. I could be dead by now.

Crocodiles

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It's like a metaphorical void. Guys can't help but try and look down the barrel.

For Rent

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A writer was looking for characters for a new story and decided to rent out a room in his brain, thinking it might attract someone interesting. Given the poor real estate market, there were no takers, and he decided to offer the room for…

The Gold Standard

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Unfortunately poets are not, apparently, worth their weight in gold.

Born Out of This

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There are worse things than being alone. It takes decades to figure that out. And most times it’s too late. And there’s nothing more tragic than being too late.

Tolstoy

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At first, it was tedious, those long Russian names, the convoluted story, but recess after recess he stayed in and became enchanted

in defense of assholes

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No excerpt for you.

Forgiveness

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where teenage mothers sat in the waiting room feeding babies from bottles filled with Coca-Cola and Group 13 was filled with the unluckiest women in the world.

Garam Masala?

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“But you’re a fishmonger.” “What? I can’t be an amateur linguist too? Answer me.” “If a hyphen could speak...” “What would it say?” “Flip me sideways so I can flip you off,” Bogdanovich said, lucky someone had asked about the freshness of the

Beginnings That End

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We had to be very quiet in our hiding place, even though Nathan had a cold.

Prior...More

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He was drinking heavily again and complaining that there was nothing fresh worth writing about.