Stories tagged flash

The Spider and the Corpse, Or, The Corpse and the Spider

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The corpse lay silently in his open casket. Dressed in the finest silken suit. Italian. Rubber skin pulled over his bones. Arms folded in eternal prayer.

Phantom Sister

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We wonder if this is how we tangled in our mother's womb: hands to feet to heart.

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.

The Suicide Lie

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I’m a suicide prevention counselor for teens. Most of the time I answer phones and tell kids not to kill themselves over their boyfriends and girlfriends and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, etc. I’m not even sure what the number is—1-800-DONT-DIE or something li

He Will Magnet You

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You have done this dance to death in disco goldfish platform heels with strands of candy around your neck.

Armor

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She remembered the feeling of weightlessness, of being lifted against gravity, the soft whoosh of tulle...

Scene From a Cappuccino Bar

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Ahoy! There’s the little nipper now... The high seas is no place for a youngster, or even an artiste like yourself.

Gunplay

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It was when the party hit a lull and a woman wearing too much rouge was going on about her parakeets that Tom decided to set down his bourbon glass and pull out his gun.

Leader of Men

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"Look," he said. "Look at the knife. See how I hold it?"

Suicide Draft

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So, dear world, whose dearness I have never truly known, I bid you adieu.

Juggernauts

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They are always there. Stoic and steady.

Without Forgiveness

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Click-clack, click-clack. The cadence of the tracks below push George back and forth between what happened and what is to come.

From Below

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I can hear the echoes clearly. They are distinct and crisp, almost as though they're all on exact trajectories to me from their final bounce, without any interference. Each sound, while unintelligible, seems to fit perfectly and expectantly into my ears

The Crossing

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His left hand is still clutching the blue Bic lighter in his pocket, rubbing it slowly but firmly. Anticipation is building, filling Theodore up like a combustible gas inside of a too-small container.