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small winter town

Ms. Eve

I don’t know about you, but for me, January seems like it should be part of the year before. It feels like a buffer month, one where you pull the blankets up, make a cocoon and stare into the fire, daydreaming about all the things you should be doing. It’s a time to catch your breath and ease into February.   I’m not the only one who feels this way. Eve, last name Newyear, is having a heck of a time getting on with things.   Somewhere, in the...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about life, death and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

The Untold Version

What you don’t know is how Goldilocks got to the bear’s house in the first place. She was running, from her father’s silence and to her mother’s ghost––a shimmering figure who wore the face of her mother but had longer hair, slimmer hips, and black button eyes, but it was her alright.   It was the ghost that beckoned Goldilocks from her room, down the stairs, and into the forest. She tried to keep up but couldn’t. Her small feet were bare and hurting as she stepped...

Chariot of the Dead. Taking you to the other side.

Chariot of the Dead

They call it the Chariot. And if you’re wondering, it didn’t always look this––patinaed. Back in the day, I kept it spit-polished to a heavenly shine. The sleek body was black as a bottomless hole. And the chrome, it shone with the brilliance of a dying star. ...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about life, old age and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

In the Day…

In the day, he wore a robin’s egg, blue suit. He spiffed up and shined up and rolled smooth as a movie star down a red carpet. Street lights blinked a slow sexy rhythm for him, a green for three blocks tops, then red. A drawn out red so they could get a good long look at his chrome hubcaps.   For a time, he had whitewalls, but like white after Labor Day, they had their time then were ditched as bad fashion. He remembers those sweaty...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about love, a trusty car and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Forever, Until it Isn’t

The day smelled of cut flowers and suntan lotion. The finned ’85 Chevy cut a fine line down the gravel road. Cans of Bud Light bounced off the ground and took flight once we got to the main road....

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of life, dragon slayers and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Freda the Dragon Slayer

Freda the Dragon Slayer pushed a screwdriver into the ignition. Her arthritic hand shook and ached as she twisted the handle. The old farm truck sputtered but started. Every day the same thing, Franko the truck would moan and complain but he always came alive.   The morning was crisp and dark. The distant mountains were the purple of a ripe plumb. Freda the Dragon Slayer sat in the blowing heat, rubbed her knobby fingers and talked to Franko, “Aren’t we a lovely bunch of coconuts? Old...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of life and the beginning of all things and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Ollie and Racheal

Ollie had found the truck on the side of the freeway. The ‘For Sale’ sign handwritten in the window. Five hundred or best offer, it said in bright blue marker. He called and made their best offer which wasn’t much.   Racheal had groaned and rubbed her large belly when she saw it. “How are we gonna fit a car seat in that?” But two days later, when her pains came on too fast to make it to the hospital, she had given birth to their baby...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of life and the end of all things and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

D for Dixie

Dixie drank moonshine from a mason jar and watched the sky crack open from her front porch. The Radioman had warned them all the end of the world was coming. He warned and warned while people rushed and ran to who knows where.   And while they ran in circles, Dixie pulled out what was left of her homemade hooch, dragged her recliner to the edge of her deck and watched stars spill out like glitter on her world. They sparkled and flared and fell like...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of life and dreams and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

plugged in

It was a hungry month. I ate the house empty, even the salad that turned to green soup. The ‘Apocalypse Pantry’ was all but empty but for the cases of water. I haven't left the apartment since it all started. But at some point, I opened the window. Rain came in that night, and I let it, gave a fresher smell to my unwashed stink.   I moved the kitchen table in front of our white wall, stared at the nothingness of it while loading beans and...

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of monsters and their creators and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

The Crawler from Under the Bed

The Crawler stinks dark purple. The color of a nasty bruise. I see the haze of violet before the smell hits my nose, before my cartoon monster hisses from behind three rows of needle teeth. He’s not the first monster to come to life from the pages of my sketch pad.   There’s a wet slurp and dragging claws on wood. My teeth ache from the scraping sound. I keep drawing, faster, and messier towards the monster’s death.   Alligator claws curl over the edge of the...