For all intents and purposes, let’s set the record clear that I wasn’t intentionally trying to break anyone’s heart.
He said, I can't imagine that. Living somewhere they don't speak my language. I said I couldn't either.
Something about flash fiction and short fiction is just so ripe with experimentation and with breaking boundaries and for kind of completely turning on its head what a story can look like.
A woman on the middle floor of the old Florida condo opens a sliding-glass door...
Our annual Sudden Fiction Contest is now open for 2021. Send us your best and weirdest.
Whenever they drove past in the car on the way to the next town over, all he saw was a bare expanse of crumbling gray stones stretching out like a long-emptied riverbed behind the warped fencing with all its warnings.
I think there’s something about a funeral at midday, in the dead heat of summer. Something cruel and primal about the way the big glass windows of the chapel look out onto the grass lawn, where children at day camp are playing stickball and laughing and calling each other names.
I am 100% silk. Please be careful with me! I catch easily on sharp things like hangnails or jewelry or a leaf blowing in the wind. Even a very harsh word or a mildly harsh word or a word like sure. There is no sure in shirt—it just sounds like it.
Compliment her, ah, unfettered teaching style. Don’t mention the bewildering feeling you had in her class, one of being erased and reconstituted.
It’s the witching hour, and I am the whittled witch: from lack of sleep, from a long, notched day spent with nothing to show for it save skin that’s been touched raw.