Jan 022015
 

by Chad Greene

A sea monster’s moan rumbles the otherwise still mist that shrouds Fisherman’s Wharf – the forlorn foghorn of the former federal penitentiary on Alcatraz Island. It’s inside the brightly lit building before us, though, that an amorphous, immortal monster has been locked away for longer than any sentence ever served on Alcatraz.

Basically a blob born when outlaw lactobacilli and yeast strains – mutated to thrive in the fog of San Francisco – impregnated dough in a bakery more than 150 years ago, it is fed flour and water by a trained team morning after morning. Continue reading »

Dec 092014
 

by Eileen Herbert-Goodall

You’ve been stuck in the car for hours, watching trees rush past, wishing you were back home. Sunlight pours through the windscreen; the sound of tyres chasing down bitumen rises through the seat.

Your mother’s found out where he is, the old man who disappeared years ago, and she’s determined to visit him. What’s the point? The way you see it, if he were even remotely interested, he would’ve kept in touch, or at least called on your birthday. But he never did. It’s clear the old man isn’t interested in either of you.

Nothing about this situation makes sense. Continue reading »

Dec 052014
 

The editors over at Flash!Friday, a fellow WordPress site also dedicated to the genre of Flash Fiction, are happily celebrating the site’s third anniversary today! The editors of Flash!Friday have dedicated themselves over the past three years to ramping up the excitement about flash fiction and have published some great stories.

We invite readers of FewerThan50O to join in the celebration of short.fast.fiction by reading Flash!Fiction editor Rebekah Postupak’s story of fewer than 500 words, Red.

The editors of FewerThan500 also welcome readers to celebrate your own creative spirit, by submitting your own Flash Fiction story of fewer than 500 words to stories@fewerthan500.com.

Nov 132014
 

The cresting wave tattoo was a replica of an image from his favorite porn star. He said it reminded him of the feel of water on his skin during rainstorms.  We stood in front of the Chagall stained glass for a long time, and I thought, in the reflection of the blue glass, I could see his fluid nature.  When the wave crashed, I apologized for not being able to ride the surf.


Erica Knight is a student and artist living in Chicago, IL.  She writes about the intersection of art and love.

Nov 072014
 

by Kevin Moriarity

Empty. I had never seen it empty. For 30 years it had contained more or less the same furniture, paintings and knick knacks. Dad said he wouldn’t replace anything until that damn dog died. The mongrel lived 19 years and after my parents put him down they didn’t care anymore.

We had a firm come in and do an estate sale last week; none of us wanted to watch our family home picked apart by garage-sale vultures. The closing was today;we chose not to attend, letting the attorneys earn their money. Continue reading »

Nov 012014
 

One of the many unique things about the flash fiction genre is the stories can often leave us scratching our heads wondering exactly what it is the writer is trying to convey. publishes a number of those types of stories on its website.

We recently read on the site and found it to be a perfect piece of head scratching fiction.

Care to venture a guess about what’s going on in this story?