Stories tagged flash-fiction

The Investigator

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The investigator starts by accumulating facts, as many facts as he can. He sifts through them with meticulous precision, leaving no leaf unturned, no page unread.

Here She Is

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Indeed, it was quite likely that no one in town had ever played either of these games. The townsfolk were not big fans of word games, though they did enjoy Whist and Canasta.

Treading Water

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I was nine when I saw my first dead body.

At the Farmer's Market in L.A.

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“What’s new, Bill?” “Nothing,” Bill whispered. “Nothing.” The old friend put his palm next to Bill’s tired face, gently, while Bill looked up out of shattered eyes at his old friend. “Sibyl’s still alive,” the old friend said. He shook Bill’s face

Substitute

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He wiped it with a damp cloth. He set it in a glazed clay pot next to the sofa and admired its scrawny handsomeness.

Implications

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"She came at me with a knife. I had to do it."

Table Thoughts

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“You should've let him drown,” she once told me. Doesn’t she see that I did? I’ll let her drown, too.

The complete, unabridged contents of an abandoned diary found in Memphis

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...something the Duke says all the time, talking poems and hammering out the rhythm of the universe with his left foot like he does, nervous, like he must be when he’s in between whatever he had yesterday and whatever he’s going to get tomorrow.

In the Blood

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“Bound to happen,” Marny said. “The way he went on; no doubt he'd end up like this.” Few folks sitting around in a one room shack. Walls were weather stained slats; the door, the only opening. Their fans flapping the air in their…

Father's Day

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“What the hell, bitch?” The words rolled out of my aching jaw. I twisted my legs around, kicking Lila out of the bed. She screamed, crashing to the floor. All I heard was barking. I threw a pillow at her.

Hydrogen Sulfide (Blind)

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Never again would I walk the wrong way, nor would I ever see another “Do Not Enter” sign.

Oaxaca Dreamland

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She thinks she trusts this man; she wants to trust him. His face reminds her of a man who once took care of her on an airplane when she was a kid traveling by herself.

Clockwork

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At any moment, she'll come outside to pick up the day’s newspaper. He can see it resting beneath the blooming crape myrtle, its plastic wrapper glistening with dew.

The Dirt

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The coffin-sized pit in his basement wasn’t freshly dug.

And Father Makes Three

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His father whistles The Torreador's Song in the kitchen; Mirko smells bacon.