Flash Fiction

Curious – by Sreyus Palliyani

“Mommy! Is that woman talking to herself?” asked a curious Jeff to his busy mother.

Startled by the interruption in her tank top perusal, she tried to ignore him, hoping he would let it go.

But Jeff wouldn’t comply. “Mommy! Why is that woman talking to herself?!”

Annoyed, she replied without shifting her gaze from the tops, “She has an invisible friend. Someone only she can see, she’s probably talking to him.”

Jeff was slightly taken aback. “Well if only she can see her friend, then how do you know it’s a him?”

Sadly, Jeff had pulled the last straw. “Be quiet Jeff! Mommy has to shop. Besides, it’s not a good idea to look at people talking to themselves.”


“But mommy…”

“Jeff! Another word out of you about the woman and you’re grounded for the week!”

Unconvinced, yet left without a choice, Jeff continued to look the other way quietly. (more…)

Half a Spoonful – John Murray Lewis

It was the essence of soup, the paragon, the highest Platonic form. The soup was, in a word, sublime.

It had to be hers.

She was permitted half a spoonful: just enough to measure the flavour, the temperature, the presence or absence of poison. She soaked up that half-spoonful, she lingered on the scent, the seasoning, the warmth in her throat.

“Well, taster?” the queen hissed at last. (more…)

The Coveted General Anzel Smile – By Tantra Bensko

Whenever I see lunar rays coming into my room on new moons, when I hear the catbird bark, and I feel my internal organs curling, jumbling up like chitlins and sweetmeats on a tray handed a dying man in the desert, weakening in the sun before he can reach up to take them, I suspect they are coming for me again, like they did, starting years ago, when I was transferred to command at the new Army base. Little did I know I’d be waking with scrapes on my arms, grass scattered around my pillow, spend my hours trying to understand my secret life. It wasn’t my idea. It was theirs. Whoever they are. (more…)

The Widow’s Diamonds – By Clayton Chandler

June breezed through the door wearing about an acre of sunglasses. They were big aviators that covered her face from her cheekbones to her hairline.

Behold the profile of the fashionably grieving black widow: She’s wearing a black dress cut to accentuate her curves. Plenty of cleavage pouring out. Her platinum hair is pinched back in a bun.

“Hi, Jim.” June said, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief … a black one, of course … as she settled into a chair.

“Hello, June. How can I help you?” I knew June well — much too well for someone in my profession, not that I’d be foolish enough to mention it. June provided steady business, and I didn’t want to rock the boat by asking too many questions.

Bowling accident, she offered anyway. Poor Charles. (more…)

Soul Reflection – by Erik Hofstatter

The ground apartment was baptised by fire. The senile occupant drifted unwittingly into slumber and a solitary candle ignited a protruding piece of wallpaper, creating an inferno. He was dead before he could react. The putrid odour soaked into the apartment’s foundations, ensuring it’s vacancy for years to come. Only one window of the building displayed signs of life.

On the upper floor, inside a modest room a frightened youth begged not to be involved in his uncle’s villainous scheme.

“Please, Uncle, I’m scared! Don’t make me!” young Peter pleaded, his eyes slowly filling up with tears.

“Stop being such a sissy!” Frank hissed and shot his twelve year old nephew a malefic glance.

“But…but I’m scared,” the boy stuttered, bowing his head like a condemned prisoner.

Frank Payne’s heart was heavy with guilt. “Maybe I should reconsider. The boy is innocent,” he thought, but his dark desires prevailed in the end.