Flash Fiction

stories in 100 words or less

Short attention span not required

I started writing flash fiction a few years ago for a contest on Literary Agent Janet Reid's blog. The following stories have all appeared there. Both Trueface and Bittersweet were winning entries.

UPDATE: New stories added! scroll to the end.

Better out than in

Tina horked up another pearl and set it on the tablecloth beside her mimosa.

In a week she'd have enough for a necklace.

She spooned more caviar onto her waffle and whined,

"I wanted the diamonds."

"You're welcome to 'em." Todd clutched his gut.

They never should've pissed off that leprechaun. His insides were killing him.

"Any sign of 'em?"

He groaned, grabbed the Sports Illustrated, and rushed from the room.

"Hey!" Her shrill voice followed. "You forgot the seive!"

Gifted

The family sat in stony silence.

Timothy Fortesque chose a box from the mountain of gifts and read the label.

For: Timmy

"May I open it now?"

No one objected. He tore off the paper.

"Little surgeon set! Awesome!"

He fingered the scalpel--so realistic. Now he could do the job properly.

"Thanks for this, uncle Gus!"

Cadaver smiles all around.

Who's next?

Not Gertrude. Old fiend might pass for forty, but she smelled of atrophy, lumbago, and formaldehyde.

Yesterday, Father complained Tim hadn't gotten his brain along with his looks.

He had it now.

Herbie

Herbie gamboled through the garden, leaping lilacs, gobbling gladiolas.

"Keep it away from my tomatoes!"

Susie recalled the day she brought him home, eager as a puppy in his little cage. This never would have happened if they'd let her have a dog.

"I'm so sorry."

She hacked him down, swiped her tears, and lit the bonfire.

Next full moon he was back.

She danced for joy.

This time she'd train him.

With some new boundaries and a good grooming he was ready for competition.

"Is that a French poodle?"

Great form. Nice bark. Look at those paws!

First place: Topiary

Trueface

Phone rings

I select smileface.

"How are you celebrating?" her grinface asks.

I hitch up smileface.

"Watching my screen, same as everyone."

"Not Moreen, she's going in person!"

I attempt jealousface.

"Lucky! She could get on TV!"

Dog, oblivious, sprawls and snores.

I nudge him awake, jealousface finally achieved.

"Nanna's making popcorn," says yumface.

My stomach plots dissent.

Onscreen, music begins.

I paste on amusedface and scan the slavering crowd.

Voiceover condemns the accused.

Trapdoor drops.

I LOL like everyone and rush to like, but my cryface gives me away.

Surprise

Leona spied the shoes beside the door.

The shower was running. Fingers to lips, she pointed--sofa, La-Z-boy, curtains, credenza.

His family hid.

Cousin Oscar, his new boss, whispered, "Birthday AND a promotion? Glad I gave him the afternoon off."

She forced a smile and whispered, "Me too," and stashed him behind the door. She hung the banner--U ROCK!--and let loose the balloons.

The shower cut off.

Was she making a mistake? No. A lioness had pride.

Footsteps

Hushed giggles

"SURPRISE!"

Her husband yelped.

The intern screamed and clutched her towel.

Leona smiled with demented serenity and whispered,

"Fool me twice."

Bittersweet

Sister opens the door. I hop out.

"Can't you sleep in a bed like a normal kid?"

"It's cozy in there."

I get Skittles on my Captain Crunch.

"Tell me again, how'd we defeat her?"

"I defeated her. You...didn't do anything."

"And then we ran?"

"Yes."

"As fast as we could?"

"Wasn't far. Maybe a mile."

We have some music and we bake cupcakes.

I can't eat cookies anymore.

Late at night I go back.

The house is mostly gone now 'cuz mice and foxes and stuff.

The old coal oven is cold.

I didn't always have gumdrop eyes.

Holdout

“A plague of squirrels!”

the Neighbors joke.

Busy rodents tuck nuts in once-smooth lawns

where grass won’t grow.

–too shady–

It’s a mystery.

The sun always glares at Bellwood Estates.

Ironic Name

Beyond the fence

The holdout waits.

The only tree for miles.

On foggy nights the phantom forest looms.

In showcase houses,

neighbors tighten their blindfolds

and prepare for fall.

Rake leaves, blown in from who-knows-where.

Pull sheets over pools that don’t hold water.

Patch cracked foundations yet again.

Siding’s moldy–

scrub with Clorox.

Come spring,

the nuts will sprout.

Beyond the fence,

Fangor is regrouping.

The Bride

The corpse is sunken and doughy, but the bride has experience with these matters.

Five minutes on high zaps it back to life. A nip here, a tuck there, fill the core with jam and it looks like something she could sell.

She lights a candle, and, humming the birthday song, big-haired Bertha carries the resuscitated confection down three flights of stairs to the secret underground laboratory where she re-connects the adaxial electrodes on the other corpse to the array of lithium-ion D-cells and flips the switch.

“Wake up, darling, I baked a cake.”

Luralee Kiesel