:: Flash Fiction archive ( 2000-2005, click for articles pre-2006)

The Final Sentence published 14/10/2011

julietjacquesSat in the hospital bed, I examined the flesh wound below my right shoulder. Passing out had saved me. Rather than shooting me again, believing me dead, Austin Rayner tried to flee: tripping over my body, with typical gracelessness, had cost him vital seconds. Seeing people coming up the stairs, he took the lift. There were two elderly ladies inside, who asked him about the blood on his shirt. He raised his gun, but too late: as soon as he reached the ground floor, he was arrested. A neighbour had heard him destroy my computer and called the police.

By Juliet Jacques.

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A Sleep published 26/09/2011

asleepAw, no women no flesh through talk and walk in looming fancy, all the dogs are gnaw and howlers and moonish prancy, so gripe and groan and rid asunder the leprechaun who mumble us under, and when is goggle and when is ogle and when is boggle, is when stars dip so cacti curl and cats cattle, the railing and the lamppost rattle, and we walk and talk and darkness dreams enough said enough, and we cut up rough and bluff our way to sleep, asleep.

By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.

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The Wisdom of Solomon published 18/08/2011

wisdomofsolomonSolomon King lay on the hem of the ocean, the sea tickling his toes. He watched his father with his giant flask of popcorn, his wife with her billowing cornetto hair, and his children, Posy, Mabel, Greta and Sidney paddling in the shallows and he wondered to himself how he got here and where he was going. The moon turned and the waves pulled back to reveal a little man in a pink wetsuit burrowing into the sand. ‘He must have been here all the time’, thought Solomon. ‘I need to ask him what he wants.’

By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.

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Hinterland Superfecta published 08/08/2011

alexcruse I’m positive the winner will be a progeny of the Southwest. A glistening blood machine, her tendons, taut with adrenaline, shudder underneath the blow of the riding crop. I internally wince each time. An ambulance paces her, elevating death from the status of mere romantic metaphor.

After the race her muscles seem to twitch with electrified agony.

She’s just a casualty of our conflation of man’s talent with beast’s; she experiences all the terror of failure and performs all the labor of the sport, carrying an abusive dwarf and getting only a pun for a name.

By Alex Cruse.

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Night Swimming published 14/07/2011

nightswimmingEach summer’s night Beatrice and Marie Von Sudenfed arrived for a skinny dip (though Beatrice would keep her pants on) under the lustrous silky moon. They skipped amongst the pond flowers on the bank that led into the water. The air swooned with perfumed flowers and the light warm scent of the young women’s skin. Suddenly a puff of pheromone escaped the lively, watery earth like pollen from a flower sac and rose and swirled and blossomed into the form of a proboscis-quiffed teddy-boy-flower.

By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.

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Sea published 05/07/2011

kimchinquee Lime in my glass, in my summer sweater, I examine the masonry, feeling slobber on my knuckle. The stones are green and blue and purple, like I was once, when I woke to the alarm of a hammer. There is nothing on my hand but the leftover of my bath salts, one of the many scents I get for Christmas from my mother. I picture hands coming, the shake of the wrist, my husband’s face once kind, with cloudy eyes and hints of eucalyptus. He’d never met my father, but with that same fierce look, they could have been one.

By Kim Chinquee.

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Evidence published 18/06/2011

tiffholland Finally, I decide fuck it. If I forgot the Neurontin, my ear will start ringing. I’ll take some Valium. I’ll feel a little sleepy, but the ear will quiet. I can’t take an extra blood thinner, that would be dangerous, but I can take an Advil, which would be just enough to raise my four dose to five if I took the pills, and therefore not be dangerous, and would give me some blood thinning if I’ve forgotten entirely. Forgetting the allergy pill is no big deal, I can always use my nasal spray. The antidepressant is a problem. I feel depressed if I miss it, but my new ADHD pill seems to counteract that.

By Tiff Holland.

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industrial machinery published 02/06/2011

seanbrijbasi“Your skin is very dark and pale,” you say.

I move closer. You had a girlfriend you were seeing and she made you very happy. The breeze is light and the leaves crinkle under our behavior. How did she sleep? I touch your hair. Yesterday I slept on my side and thought about legumes I planted in a hidden plot near the train station. Two little legumes grew but I was anxious and plucked them before they were ripe. I spy them under my coat when no one is looking.

“I don’t like the sun,” you say.

There’s no texture in the grass here. It’s too smooth. Almost like paper that’s colored green. And the sky is the same. The sun looks like the face of a child that a child has drawn but I don’t stare because of photosynthesis. There are paintings of cannibals in the museum. Strange women with postures of gold and Persephone tincture ranging down on servings of humanity.

By Sean Brijbasi.

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Trumpet Forsyth published 05/05/2011

trumpetforsyth2Each midnight, Trumpet Forsyth leans out of his sixth floor bedroom window and blows out his horn. The first notes are avant-garde and complicated, angry, like his Guernica is inhabited by limbless limbo dancers and drowning hands. The next series of notes are big-nosed-Sonny-Rollins-sax, then tall and meditative, and after that a little fruitless like a man growing wings to turn into a penguin that will never fly.

By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.

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Park People published 22/04/2011

kimberlynicholsI knew I was one of them the day “Hey, Patty Patty!” turned into “Hey, Party Patty!”

I started watching the park people my junior year of high school. The park separated my school and the public library with its sprawling lawns, leisure center pool and colorful, plastic playgrounds with turtles that sprouted waterfalls. I would walk through it everyday instead of attending sixth period, to pore through the Dewey Decimel stacks on my own terms. One day the main park person asked me my name and the rest of them started screaming “Hey Patty Patty” for a while everyday. I would smile shyly while continuing on to my haven of books and silence.

I always figured “why bother” with my education. No one else gave a hoot.

By Kimberly Nichols.

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