path of the dead

Path of the Dead

The path of a ghost is etched into the earth, hammered and chiseled by heeled boots, flat leather soles, and the barest of feet. I follow the prints up and over the rise. There is a man standing by the car, smartly dressed in

shadows anonymous

Shadows Anonymous

It happened at night, the separation. The wet snap and the gradual split and Lester’s body became thoughts and wind as he drifted out the window of the man’s loft. Lester woke miles away, alone and dark and long in the rising light of the

beware of dog

Beware of Dog

I tell myself that…   they won’t know I didn’t find the character that pulled the entire story together until the end, because of course there had to be a Franciscan nun showing up at his door wait…not a nun, a black dragon that blows confetti out

Late Night TV

Late Night TV

That old TV never did work, but that didn’t stop grandad from sitting out by the garage to stare at the thing for hours. It was my job to keep his glass of lemonade filled up while he was out there. He would hush me

neighborhood hangout

Neighborhood Hangout

He was gone long enough that the sting should’ve eased. But it hadn’t. She saw him everywhere like he’d touched everything and branded it his before leaving. It started a few weeks back, her moving out pieces of furniture from the house. Carrying lamps

Alien Ride Along

Alien Ride Along

You don’t need to believe in urban legends or myths, to make them true. Take the multiple UFO sightings in New Mexico. You’ve heard about them, maybe even seen them for yourself—the glowing disks or triangles of light.   Speculations of alien spies have been around for

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the things we think we know about others, life, death, and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Guardian of Time

Some say the Guardians of Time created this door to drive men insane. But that’s a bunch of malarkey. This is a rumor spread by those who obsess about the past or the future, who want to alter an outcome in either way. They search

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the things we think we know about others, life, death, and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Throne of Judgement

You might think it strange, me sitting here, waiting for the sun to set, to watch the stars pop out one by one after I’ve just done what I’ve done. From up here, I see the house burn, flames like long tongues licking the sky.   If

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the things we think we know about others, life, death, and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Wishmaker

I sucked out the last of the slush from the bottom of my Freezie as I faced the genie. I couldn’t find his lamp, so I rubbed the gritty block wall just over his eyes—rubbing until my hands turned raw. I didn’t trust him, not

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the things we think we know about others, life, death, and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

Stray Animal

me: Did you feed him?   him: I didn’t. You told me never to do that, so I didn’t.   me: How did he get here?   him: I don’t know. Maybe he followed me home last night.   me: He’s old and rusty and his hind end sags. He needs a doctor.

Postcard-sized flash fiction about the things we think we know about others, life, dragons, and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

The Lazarus Syndrome

“You’ve had a most unusual experience, would you tell us about it?” asks the talk show host.   “I heard about the Pearly Gates all my life. I had certain expectations, perhaps like most of you,” I look out at the studio audience, not for dramatic effect

Level 5

Level 5

I was parked on the 3rd level but I kept climbing, breathing my way to the 5th. The door was a grimier version of what I remember. You’re parking spot is taken by a Range Rover. Black. Spotless.   Somehow, I think you’d hate that it wasn’t

cafe

Sockless and Happy

I’m writing your name on a bar napkin, the edges sopping from beer glass sweat. I missed work three days in a row––keep calling in sick but I’m not sure what’s wrong. Maybe gravity just stopped holding me down.   This morning I passed the coffee shop,

metal shed

One Way to Nowhere

Mrs. Marcy, the neighbor from upstairs, said she saw you the other night, shivering behind the Greyhound Bus Station. I went to look for myself. There was an old man warming his hands over a burning garbage can. I asked if he’d seen a brown

Postcard

Treasure Hunt

I think I came here once before. There was two or maybe five of us following lipstick clues written on recipe cards. I’d found one duck taped to the bottom of the bench, the lipstick smeared and ripped off along with the tape.   We laughed, tossed

House on wheels

Just think, you can pull it behind. Oh, you don't have a vehicle. You have a bike. A motor bike? Oh. BMX. OK. Well, it does have a sturdy shell and the blinds mostly work. There's even room for entertaining. You don't entertain? Well then

lone shopping cart

Survival

They left it there. As if it hadn't held all they owned––the scrounged up, the stolen and the bartered. There was a time when it was full, heaped with what they thought of as survival gear. The first day out, on the road outside the

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