The Daily Post The air is hot, dense, and toxic, I feel my lungs boiling then shriveling. The lace curtains my grandmother made sparkle and flash like fireflies, then disintegrate. A smoldering pillowcase Scorches the bedspread as the flames take over, buckling the door and wrinkling the walls. Everything is screaming.
Category: Flash Fiction
Generation Gap
“This is where we used to play when I was a boy, Amber.” “Play what, Grampa? I didn’t think they had Bubble Witch Saga or Wi-Fi back then.” “Soccer, Amber. We physically played soccer.” ThreeLineTales
Out of Bounds
I was always on your side, taking-up for you— right or wrong. We were a team. Then, I found out about your secret draft choice (Ms. Irrelevant?) Illegal Touching Interference Out of Bounds Now it’s all about Team Susan. Still wanna play ball? The Daily Post
Feeling Sapphire
Birthday candles were the inspiration; adolescent psychosis provided the motivation. “It’s so pretty, Mister,” Freddy explained to the fire fighter after torching the neighbor’s doghouse. (He’d made sure Duke was at the groomer’s, first). “I like the fire,” he continued. “The blue is like Mommy’s [saffer] ring. And the orange is for Halloween and pumpkins.” That was…
At the Garage
The Daily Post “I’m gonna miss ol’ Gus.” “Yep-eroo,” Joey sighed. “Ain’t nobody can bust a tire faster’n him…” “Uh-huh. Change his mind slicker’n snot, too!” “You betcha. Reckon that’s why folks called ’m Quicksilver.” “Hee-hee! First he’s buyin’ the garage; next he’s lookin’ at new houses, then he’s off to Tahiti with th’ cashier.” “He’ll be back.” Gus’s wife…
Dadgum Earl
This week’s writing prompt for the Shapeshifting 13 Challenge is the image below, taken by our very own Tony Lovell. Exactly 26 words “Dadgum, Earl. Watchin’ grass grow’s funner’n this. “Looky—anothern’s crossin! Yee-haw!” “Can we go cow-tippin’ now?” “Bambi-Jo! Ain’t but our first date.” “It’s our last, too.”
Pandora’s Sewing Box
Prior to Wilhelmina Williams’ passing, she’d given her daughter, Pandora, an heirloom sewing-box. She cautioned her never to open it, for according to legend, doing so would unleash a global, butt-ugly fashion trend. Pandora gave a rat’s ass for neither fashion, nor butt-ugliness. Hence, when mom assumed room temperature, Pandora opened the sewing box. Out tumbled a mangled thimble…
Sunshine Sings
I’ve never seen it, but the damp-dirt fragrance; (that musky mystique!) dazzles my blind mind’s eye. Rain’s shimmer—an almost-sound— splash-dancing thirsty lawns. Razored Lightening slicing; silencing Thunder’s echoed moans. Then, Sunshine sings a bow of rain in colors I can hear.
The Door
It wasn’t so bad, considering. There was a sink, a wobbly wooden table, a cot and even a bathroom. The location was perfect: off a seldom-traveled path, hidden by monstrous, gnarled oak trees. Every day, Those People brought her food and water. Sometimes, The Man came alone. She didn’t like what he made her do….
Le Plié!
“Alright, girls,” the ballet teacher clapped her hands. “Now, the Plié!” “One, two…Really, Leslie! Nice young ladies don’t DO THAT!” Leslie rolled her eyes and removed her finger from her left nostril. She wiped it on the pink tulle of her tutu and glanced around the room to see how the other little girls were…
The Book of Samuel
There was pregnant pause fit for an ellipsis at the Plath Institute for the Punctuationally Perplexed. Apostrophes dangled in mid-air—like modifiers—pondering their functions. Were they in for possession, or did their presence suggest a multitude of charges? Commas found themselves scattered, unsure of where to go and how many of them were necessary. Meanwhile, the semi-colons, colons and em-dashes jockeyed for position in the…
