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Sixth in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
The teeth hung on a length of twine nearly as yellow as they were. Joe patted his shirt, reassuring himself of their presence. He pulled the edges of his old sleeping bag up to his neck and prayed that the rain would hold off until morning. Cars rumbled over the viaduct. -
Fifth in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
He loved it: the black soil under the nails, the gentle prickle of exertion on his skin. Roger straightened up and looked over his work. Dampened sunlight danced across the wide leaves of a tropical shrub he bought a couple months before. -
Fourth in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
Clarice woke to a leg cramp in the middle of the night. Smack in the middle of her left calf. By the time she realized what she was doing she was clutching the space where her left calf used to be. Phantom pains. -
Third in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
The lines of the photo were blurred from moisture. Anders moved his thumb over the picture as if he could bring them back into focus. -
Second in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
His first memory of conflict. Pavement grit driving itself into his cheek, Bart Hogarth’s sweaty palm providing the pressure from above. The strange calm that came over him while the humiliation took place, led him somewhere far away from that chilly autumn playground in early Michigan spring. Somewhere blue and calm and warm. -
First in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!
—SW
Owen Gibbon was getting out and getting out alive.
He couldn’t believe it.
Eight hundred something thousand dollars stashed in cryptocurrency, two guys bleeding out in that shitty East New York motel room, and him taxiing down the runway about to leave it all behind for a life of blender drinks and European backpackers with loose morals. Just him and Gaston, finally free. -
There are a lot of happy people in the United States right now. Writers of dystopian fantasy, builders and designers of underground bunkers, canned food salesmen, the Kleenex™ brand, carpenters specializing in flammable crosses.
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"This is too perfect," Ellie said while scanning the clean lines of the tiny vacation apartment they'd rented in Osaka. "It's like being in a bento box." She slipped her shoes off in the depression at the doorway and shuffled out of the way so that Gordon could step inside and see for himself.
Gordon shook his head. "We'd absolutely destroy a place like this in, what?"
Ellie finished the thought. "Fifteen seconds? Three minutes?" They both missed the cue to share a laugh.
"Don't touch anything."
Gordon nodded. -
As a liberal residing in a wealthy coastal city, it struck me that while I may find a Trump presidency horrifying, in all likelihood it won't affect me materially. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have wished Trump on anybody, even those who voted for him. It got me thinking, though—what will I do now that he's President?
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My first memory was of whorls of dust circling a soundless explosion in the darkness; falling toward that fire as other primal motes coalesced into my siblings. A long while later, I realized that I was circling closer and closer to an inevitable end, when the particles that had so improbably found one another to form my body would be disintegrated. I sped through the void, a meteor suffering from the twin curses of consciousness and longevity. My orbit was not stable. It wobbled ever so slightly on its ellipse, and would one day plunge me into another orbiting body.
In the last moments as I neared oblivion the dense silence was broken: I heard a voice; and another, and one after that.
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