Flash Fiction

This was an incredibly hard selection. Truth be told, I read enough outstanding flashes over the past two weeks to get me through at least one more showcase. But I will refrain myself and save those for next time. For now, read these pieces.

“Amnesia” by Shellie Zacharia is a striking little tale of a woman who wants “him,” presumably her husband, to forget her bad deeds. Chris Powici’s piece, “Push,” is a birthing experience like no other, complete with “God-Shits” and “Christ-fucks.” “Celestial” by Myfanwy Collins is a story of crossings, of chance, of what can happen in the night. I love the eerie undertones in this piece. I’m still singing “Karma Chameleon.” Darby Larson has three shorts in Monkeybicycle, but the one I like best is “The Orange,” a quirky tale of futility. In “The Color of Moths,” Holly Selph writes about a woman who is either “Cherry” or “Vixen” and wants “to burn without every having to touch fire.” Be sure to read the interview with her, too. There is a link at the end of the story. Enjoy! And check back on May 11th for more flash fiction.

Amnesia by Shellie Zacharia
published by elimae

She gathered items and lined them up on the kitchen counter. Items to knock. Conk. Smack. An old metal alarm clock. A can of hearty beef soup. A bottle of Beaujolais. A lantern. A wok. A tea kettle. A tackle box.

She thought about the weight of things. She thought about how a person can slip.

Push by Chris Powici
published by flashquake

Then the screaming returns. Jake you bastard, hurry, it’s coming and I’m screaming hold on you fat cow we’re nearly there. Because we are. And because ever since school I have called her fat cow, as she has called me pig-brain rat-breath mouse-prick…

Celestial by Myfanwy Collins
published by juked

Once she had picked up a piece of paper someone had dropped and handed it to the person, meeting eyes, eyes meeting. And then he went one way and she went another. It might have easily ended differently. She might have gone home with the guy and found out that he liked to keep girls in a cage in his basement. She might still be there, wearing a neon green T-shirt and singing karaoke with him when he came home at night, drunk, breath smelling sour of bathroom blowjobs.

The Orange by Darby Larson
published by Monkeybicyle

Two boys who would grow up to be scientists watched television in their parent’s living room. Their father, a scientist himself, having just returned from work, rolled a gigantic orange into the house. The boys turned the television off and approached it. Its diameter was as tall as their father.

The Color of Moths by Holly Selph
published by Smokelong Quarterly

Outside, on the window, there are moths on the glass. Some of them are still, their wings folded into their bodies. Some of them are fluttering frantically, their bellies tapping the glass. I understand this language, though I cannot speak it. They want to burn without ever having to touch fire.

Filed Under: The Showcase |