Stories tagged flash-fiction

I'm SO Bored of Being Retarded

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Yeah, so it’s an easy thing. I’m bored but that don’t mean it’s not an easy thing, to be retarded. I say that as to say I’m dumb = I’m retarded. Not to say that I’m lawfully retarded or no thing, because for then I’d just go ahead and just shoot myself de

Margaret & Beak Discuss Jazz for The Last Time

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He lit a slim, brown cigarette and drew on it. "But have you heard the flugelhorn? I mean, have you heard a particularly adept flugelhorn?"

Polishing Fruit

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And your man with the tweed overcoat and trilby? Would you look at the legs on him; Shirley Fucking MacLaine.

Ink Play

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Lying on a high seat in the south study, this is what I see:

The Air Fair Crackling

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These days, she resides in a facility in the north of the city, her once-curly hair now shorn gray on her dappled skull.

Straight Roads & Gentle Swells

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The world is a private one, the container of secrets and shames, of reputations and damage done over years, of stark landscapes and icy skies.

Profession of Faith

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John Prine’s “Bruised Orange” plays in the small cabin as mosquitos swarm about the bare light bulbs attached to the outside walls of the buildings.

Elemental

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It was in the last expulsion/explosion (theories differ) that we became OneWith. Tsunami. Seism. Zud. All matter cast out outcast came back like a gangster on crack. What did it think it was? Who do we think we are? It thinks we think it thinks…

Je Suis Vincent

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I saw Vincent one day, sitting at a café table that was situated right next to the quays of the Seine, with another artist by the name of Bernard. Vincent had his back to me, and he was leaning forward in his usual hyper-excitement, gesturing wildly

Je Suis Bernard

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one of Vincent's ears was all bandaged over because he had attempted to cut off a piece of it, and handed it to her as if it were a gift.

A Patch of Olive Oil

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Afraid of open water, he swims only in the local YMCA pool, where he goggle-eyes the young girls and feels the weight of his fiftieth year pulling him towards the bottom.

Life Sized

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The first time I saw Little Man was on a bright, hot afternoon near the end of November, when the trains had just pulled into the fair grounds and the familiar smell of upturned turf and sun-basked animals returned to Sarasota.

The Blue of Milk

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She said this is our abode and it sounded like a warble and she made a sweeping gesture with her arm and the boy started to cry.

My Resolutions for 2015

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The only resolution I ever kept was when I said I wasn't going to create any more resolutions, and now I'm going to break that one.

A Dollop of Love

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Mary Magdalene might’ve given him a dollop of love for the terrible pain. There, my father remarked was a woman, a barefaced hussy, forgiven her sins by “a better man than I, Gunga Din,” he’d say.