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?

Oct 172014
 

by Kerry White

I drove on a cool autumn afternoon down an empty two-lane road enjoying the aging cornfields and farm houses of rural Illinois.

In the middle of the road lay a child’s lone shoe, standing upright, heel to the right and toe to the left. The leather slip-on seemed in good shape. I know this because I slowed down to look at it closely, my window rolled all the way down. The road here was surrounded by farm fields, devoid of human life except for me … and a child’s solitary shoe.

I began to wonder what combination of serendipity or malice might have ended in such a forlorn figure on the grey and black asphalt. Was it a kidnapping, a signal to others I’m here, help me … flung out the widow after a furious struggle? Or perhaps a car was loaded to the extreme with treasured possessions traveling to a new home and hit a rut, the shoe catapulted into the air to land askew on the yellow dotted line. Continue reading »

Oct 102014
 

by Eileen Herbert-Goodall

As a student of science, I’ve never really been a believer, but I hedge my bets and talk to God anyway, figuring prayer can’t hurt. I’m a desperate man, held hostage by my inability to turn back time.
I watch Kate’s breathing, transfixed. Somewhere nearby, a clock counts the seconds. Surveying my insides, I search for the habitual ache, and discover I have become numb.

A light bears down on me, closing in at tremendous speed. I wrench the wheel to one side, then the other, as panic grips my throat. There’s an explosion of sound: metal grinds and squeals, glass shatters, and my bones reverberate with the shock of an impact I can’t quite comprehend. Someone screams and the car tumbles, rolls, twirls. Kate, I think. Jesus, Kate. I try to catch sight of her, but my vision is swamped by a swirl of jolting, bewildering movement. Continue reading »

Sep 292014
 

We have been reading Oblong – an online literary journal much like FewerThan500 — for some time now and enjoying the writing we find there. Originally started in London, Oblong also publishes a print journal of flash fiction of less than 1,000 words.

The most recent piece is a uniquely packaged collection called “Novellas.” If you like flash fiction for the bizarre, this one will surely tickle your fancy.

If the emotion of art is more your style, check out “Finger Painter” as well.

Sep 282014
 

by Ritta M. Basu

It wouldn’t be hard to spend every dime she had at a corner bar, April thought as she sat sipping rum and coke, listening to the barmaid talk about how scared teachers in her district were about losing their jobs.

Jesse tended the tiny bar every other weekend to help pay for the master’s program she hoped would increase her salary as a special education teacher. She was a cute young thing with short black hair and a cute enough figure to attract the eyes of the men gathered around watching basketball and talking history and politics. Continue reading »

Sep 242014
 

by Susan Usher

Religious wars make enemies of brothers. We were married just one year before my husband was killed in battle by his brother. We were so in love and planning to start a family.  I was beyond grief and schemed retribution.  I had a reputation of chastity and purity and loyalty to my husband to maintain which weakened my opportunity for revenge.

But pay the price I must and to hell with the consequences.  I consider myself to be kind and patient, intelligent and articulate. I also have a very determined streak as my father discovered when I wanted to learn to read as a child.  He refused but I insisted and became aware of the politics happening around me.  As a Bedouin woman, I was confident I would be able to use my learnings to bring my brother-in-law to his day of reckoning. My tent was my castle. Continue reading »