Stories tagged flash-fiction

From Gestapo To Gegogo

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One day Hitler smoked pot and things went haywire. They changed the name above the door at headquarters from Gestapo to Gegogo, and things went haywire. Did I already say things went haywire? Well, things really went haywire. It changed the course of hist

A Man Who Loved to Polka

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There once was a man who loved to dance the polka. He wasn't Polish, but he loved to dance the polka. His name was Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith loved the polka so…

Rags To Riches To Rags: 1

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I went to Prague recently to visit my family’s castle, which is called Krivoklat. I’m not even going to attempt to explain to you how to pronounce that. It’s outside Prague, about an hour to the west. They say that inside the veins of every

No Confetti Wedding

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When he drank the saliva dried up and the white crust built up about his lips as each swallow made a sad summer.

Vegas Elvis

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I followed the curve of the etched Koi, its filigree scales arcing across a taut midriff toward the indent of her pierced navel, where a collection of water lilies drifted on the surface of her skin.

You Are Now Leaving Czech Soil

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He leans forward across the cafe table, holding both of her hands, and tries to kiss her on the lips, but she pulls back, making him beg for it. Then she kisses the top of his downturned head. Beg for it he will, and she knows it. Now he

Invented Memories of Fatherhood: 1

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It isn’t until I fling the whiskey onto the fire that you roar at me in the manner I recall from childhood.

Indolence and Pork Rinds

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thirty-five feet up an agitated man is suffering

Invented Memories of Fatherhood: 4

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The only part of him in me could be the teeth: crooked, stained, off-kilter like abandoned gravestones.

Souvenir

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Hours later, when I was on the phone trying to explain in broken Greek that I didn't have the money to pay damages, I started to retrace my steps from that souvenir shop I reduced to dust.

Tarot

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If you want to know who I am, read these Faerie cards upside down.

The Man Who Smelled Funny

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There once was a man who smelled funny. He didn’t smell bad, he smelled funny.

Lost at Sea

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Now can see—the coldest fish invigorated by the warmth of his submerged soul. Use those words sparingly.

Invented Memories of my Father: 7

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A surgeon in theater, he laid out his instruments: bodkins, hackle guards and pliers, hair stackers, and fly vise.

Rags to Riches to Rags: 3

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“How did you come by a name like Vladimir?” I asked the toilet guard. “Sounds Russian.” “My mother’s Russian. You got something against Russian?” “No kidding?” “Real KGB,” he said. “She was in it when they arrest my father. On