Stories tagged flash-fiction

Who Will Play Monica?

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It is absurd to think that a cockroach will wake up one day as a human. And it is certainly surreal to imagine that a fat pigeon in Paris, New York, or Rome, say, or even Prague, will one day take up a pen and begin writing poetry, or wave the wand of phi

She Frog

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She had a face like a frog: wide mouth, prominent eyes – and when she touched him, her fingers felt clammy on his skin.

I Am Really Bad at Titles

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The hair on my arms have greyed, or so that's how it looks to me. It's been 12 years since we last spoke. I think I haven't aged too well. I bought a rocking chair.

Fish

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He calls me his favorite fish.

Playtime

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Her head was free from restraint...

His Name Was Tokarsky, But He Looked Like Bob Dylan

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Tokarsky and I got chased off an El train by a couple of mean-looking black dudes who looked like they were going to crush us. I let go a spritz of tear gas that I had on me in the train and we ran as it came to a stop at the Morris Street stop. They chas

Three Letter Word for Grief

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He wants me to squawk words at him in the middle of the night.

Picking Teeth in the Confessional Booth

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How this feels is, I am just a task in God's daily planner. I'm wedged in between Ages of Reason, Bronze, Iron, Dark Ages, Rennaisance, Age of Aquarius, Electronic Age, Enlightenment, and other history-defining jargon.

Margaret, Pleased

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Grace looks at her cell phone. It had been about a week since her Aunt Margaret fell, slipping gracefully down the stairs and pulling her shoulder out as she grabbed the banister, her hand caught in the holiday streamers spiraling down the railing. Every

Don’t Cross the Bridge Before You Get To the River

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I think we could be twins, our hands hitching us together like paper dolls, our parkas making blobby round balloon shapes as outlines for our bodies. I imagine each of us holding onto someone else, and the line continuing on from there until we have a cha

The letter.

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I am useless. A freak. Different. They all hate me now. All except you, of course. You will never leave me. Never. I'd kill them all if I could. Every single one. But twenty-four, that's a lot even for me. I'm so sick of the cliques; the special groups and hastily strung…

Vanity Among Pigeons

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About four in the afternoon a pigeon began admiring itself in the shiny panel of a car door until another pigeon came along and it quit acting foolish.

Extracts

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I nicked this from a 12-year-old famine victim living under a bridge in Disneyland.

Forty Years On.

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Salted words, cursing and spitting, through the hipster joints and green leaf cafés.

Lifetime Movie

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She draws hearts over the bad parts.