Category: Flash fiction.

Enough by Angela M Cowan

We’ve been mingling at this benefit for two hours now, and no one has noticed I’ve not said a single word.

No one ever does. They all watch Robert, with his movie-star smile and his bleached teeth and his calm, caring aura that can charm ten grand out of a man’s alligator-leather wallet without so much as a blink. All while I, the very picture of the devoted wife, smile and keep my lips pressed tightly together, doing my duty.

The Man Who Came to Dinner by Eva Silverfine

When he arrived, quite by chance, and assisted Suzy with a roadside emergency, he impressed her as the ultimate good Samaritan: a kindly man, considerate, good-humored, gentle in tone, so ready to be helpful. Yes, he was a bit remarkable in appearance—large in every dimension, every feature. He had untamed curly black hair, bushy eyebrows, and long hairs that escaped his nostrils.

Despite his size he deftly slipped through the cracks that had been left by the dissolution of her marriage, the virtual abandonment of her son and daughter by their father. He quickly became the constant friend—call me if you have any more car trouble; let me pick that up for you, I have to swing by the grocery anyway; allow me to try my hand at fixing that wobbly step.

Why My Pot Pie is on Fire in the Toaster Oven by Victoria Wraight

It’s been a week since the chasm opened, and I’m getting sick of scraping moss off my shampoo bottles.

The crater is as big as my cat Meatball, and smells like sulfur and honey and the perfume my Aunt Janet stopped wearing when Grandma told her she smelled like a floozy. Meatball bats a jingly toy mouse into the chasm, and the pit widens further with a burst of fresh yellow spores that cling to my armchair like fleas. It’ll be gone by nightfall. The spores eat, the moss spreads, and the vines steal.

Open Your Mind by Ramona Gore

Annette was dreaming. She was dreaming of roaring waterfalls, a green landscape, and streams of sunlight warming her skin. Clad only in a simple sundress, Annette tread carefully over mossy ground and protruding roots. She shivered, reaching out for the large dog by her side. He gave her a gentle nudge and Annette continued her journey through the vast forest.

She stopped at the brink, balancing on the rocky edge as the water flowed rapidly before her. The sound of the waterfall was thundering, obscuring all other sounds and leaving her in trepidation. Annette could almost feel the cool breeze, but she knew it was all in her head.

Life: Reviewed by JJ Courtney

Money

This product offered guaranteed happiness and a solution to all of my problems, which I now suspect is nothing more than a marketing ploy. In large quantities it frequently had the opposite effect, and I’d recommend medium serving sizes.  

I also struggled with the order process – it seemed to all revolve around stock – and when adding the item to my basket I had a strange desire to post irritating motivational quotes on Instagram.

Worth All That by Sarah Otts

The most imperfect queer in the world stands in line outside a U-Haul depot, holding an empty mason jar. This is not a clichéd joke about queers and premature cohabitation enabled by rental moving van companies, nor even a study of the mason jar as an object in queer history, emblematic of Sandor Katz’s culinary contributions to the art of fermentation in the wake of his diagnosis with HIV. Rather, this is the story of our protagonist, and only of our protagonist — if they even consent to that title — who mostly wears navy blue button-down shirts and has never made a rash decision (or a sourdough starter) in their life.    

Portalis Infernus by Bridger Cummings

Name’s Logan. I was a truck driver doing a long haul across Nebraska when the first portals opened. Seemingly random across the entire planet, fiery chasms tore rifts across the land, and demons of all sorts flooded out.

I listened to it all unfolding on the radio in my big rig. I kept thinking it must have been some War of the Worlds broadcast. Not an April Fool’s joke, but some convincing tale. But it was the same “story” on every station. I neared Omaha, and there was heavy traffic going the opposite direction I was. The horizon glowed red in the twilight. Omaha was ablaze.