Flash Fiction: Hotel Room Nightmares

Outside the room, the world starless, empty and cold. Inside the room, the man paced, back and forth—with little idea of what was happening outside. These two facts, as I have presented them, are all you need to understand. Continue reading

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Flash Fiction: Foam Sword

One could not overstate the significance of the foam sword. Perhaps, in the entire history of the room, and the house’s various occupants through the years, the foam sword was the most important thing to ever grace those four walls. For one, it tied the room together nicely; for another, it made several religions with its very presence. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: The Light Underneath The Door

In the dark of his room, he sits and sees the light that comes out from underneath a door. Not a light is on in his room, not even the usually on computer screen. His head hurts, throbs even, and the darkness is the only thing that makes the pain even slow, even lessen a little. But, he also lives alone, and that light does not make sense. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Uncertainty In The Workplace

The higher-ups of the company did not deem it necessary to interview the beings who quit out of the job. But, when it came to Jerald Punch, Employee of the Month six months running, they had to know why he would leave the game so young.

“Is it the pay?” asked the first, his eyeglasses covering the deep embers that should be human eyes. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Forgot

Westin did not recognize where he was. The walls of silver, and the floor of deep magenta, and the uniform screens of solid yellow dotting the walls, all did not match any familiar location.

And, adding to the issue, sitting up proved to be quarrelsome. His feet would not function, and it was only with some serious effort across his stomach, and a flailing, pushing motion of his hands, that he did rise and sit. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Do You Really Need Sleep?

“You do know I do need to sleep, right?” he asked, peering up at her. With her hair forming a halo around her face, Gertrude looked like some mixture of angel and a trickster god—her countenance round and full of mischief.

“Oh, I don’t know—sleep might not matter all that much, actually. Did you ever try not sleeping?” Continue reading

Flash Fiction: The Tasteless Meal

Jess examined the bowl of white something or other and looked up at her friend.

“So, what do you think of it?” Heather asked.

“I mean…” Jess said and then bit her lower lip. “It is by far the most unique piece of food I have ever had.” Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Clown Thoughts

Fern was convinced that a clown was standing at the foot of his bed when he fell asleep each night. “This was not rational” his parents would tell him. His doctors, doctors for both his brain and his body, all said the cause was something deeply wrong with him. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Hey, Honey, Have A Look At This

Austin’s voice came so clear from the basement it made Sam look up from her magazine spread over the kitchen counter and take a step toward the sound. Her pink bathrobe swished around her ankles.

“Yeah, what is it, honey?”

“Come down, I just found something…something cool.” Continue reading

Flash Fiction: That’ll Be Fifty Cents

Cents went in the machine. Out popped a jar of nutrient-rich slime, and the next customer came up to claim his meals for the next week. The slime tasted…fine, sat in the stomach fine, and would keep you alive.

It was also the only thing to eat—the only thing anyone ate. And thus, ash on John’s mouth. John hated the stuff with a burning passion beyond what a person his age should be capable of feeling. His mother had spoon fed it to him in the usual airplane style as a toddler, and even then, it felt like a kamikaze attack on his soul. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Was She There?

The ceiling spins, and the fan stays so damn still. My stomach is a churning, burning, mass of something or other that is not bile but tastes a heck of a lot like it. My legs do not go the right way, not the way they should be—the muscles relaxed to the point I’m unsure I can stand. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Unintended Consequences Are For Suckers

In the attic sat a mysterious typewriter. In the attic stood a boy and a girl. All young—except the typewriter. The typewriter was old, as typewriters tend to be.

“So, that’s the one your grandmother talked about?” the boy said, and walked toward it, ducking underneath some webs.

“Yeah—but don’t touch it!” She reached out to stop him but her fingers missed by inches. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Crime Scene (Part 3 of 3)

(And, here it is, the conclusion to the three part story. If you haven’t read them, here’s part 1 and part 2.)

“So… if you’re done faking…?” was all I managed to say, as a cough hit my lungs.

“Yep,” she answered. “Two came in, we picked you. Once you breathed us…ha. Done for good.” Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Crime Scene (Part 2 of 3)

If you haven’t read it, here’s a link to part 1.

For everyone else, let’s continue, shall we?


That caught me off guard, and she nodded like I’d answered, told her whatever it was she wanted forgiveness for was okay. But, after a second, I just repeated my question: “So, what was it then?”

She answered without a pause. “It’s a biomechanical species of swarm insect. Though it acts as a single unit. Has a short lifespan, so every time its population grows low it latches onto one host and invades, repurposing organic material to make more and more of themselves until it can burst out without an issue.” Continue reading