Posts Tagged ‘Flash Fiction’

Flash Fiction: Rite of Atonement

Show Notes

Reading and music by W. Ralph Walters


Rite of Atonement

by Melinda Selmys

She would not be able to fly, of course, but he had run the simulations carefully, had seized his achievement in the animated projections of the contact-lens computer screen that nestled against his natural eye. She would be chased to the cliff’s edge just like all the others, but when she arrived she would not tumble graceless to the stones. She would spread wide those gossamer-green constructs of his genius and for a few precious moments that wind would fill them and she would glide until the weight of her body broke the fragile bones of the living apparatus that held her aloft. Then she would fall like a wounded bird, like Icarus as he plunged, spinning, downwards from the sun. In a tangle of broken wings, she would carry all of the terrors and tortures that he had perpetrated against her down to be drowned in the depths of the sea.

Flash Fiction: Hunan Fare

Show Notes

Musical production by Toby Chappell — now available for your podcast soundtracking needs. Ask him while he’s feeling generous.


Hunan Fare

by John Hayes

Each night I have the same dream. I am sitting on a white donkey and a noose fashioned from strong Asian hemp is tightened around my throat by six laughing women. The smile fades from the tallest woman and she leaps onto a hickory tree and scampers along a stout limb. Carla’s sister tosses the rope to the tall woman who knots it about the limb. I lean forward and shield the donkey’s eyes. A cowgirl removes a derringer lodged between her breasts. She places the weapon against the donkey’s head and shoots. The donkey falls and my body swings in the thin night air of the third moon of the fifth planet from Being, the blazing star.

Flash Fiction: Questions

Show Notes

Music mixed by Navicon Torture Technologies from recordings available from ANNIHILVS:
1. “Instrument Landing System” by Propergol, from the GPWS CD
2. “Rent Boy” by IRM, from the CD, The Cult of the Young Men
3. Gutterballads Vol II, track VI by Wilt, from the Gutterballads Vol II CD-R


Questions

by Edward Webb

“Name’s Claude,” he says. “You’re new.”

I nod again, still looking out into the empty street near the alley. It’s bad enough that I’ve lost everything in my life – my job, my home, my family. But now a chilling realization splashes over me: I am going to be trapped in this alleyway, melting snow soaking into my shoes, listening to a disfigured man with breath as stale as his conversation, forever. This isn’t just another November night. It’s a pit of hell that I’m trapped in, a punishment for my unknown crimes against the universe.

“Sometimes the innocent are put in jail, and the guilty go free.”

Surprised by the comment, I turn back to him. “What?”

Claude’s face twists into a grin, his scar stretched into a new, more hideous shape. “That’s what I like about new guys. They ask questions.”

Flash Fiction: Brimstone Orange


Brimstone Orange

by Livia Llewellyn

Midnight found her kneeling in grass, thick clumps of dirt all around. One by one she peeled and plucked segments of orange from its skin, then passed them between her legs. In the secret crevices of the tree, she gently tucked away the red-stained pulp. After, Cyan cradled the slender trunk, her fingers buried in its roots.

“Bear something for me,” she pleaded in her sleep. “Bear me.”

Flash Fiction: The Tomb

Show Notes

I would like to dedicate this love poem to Alice. Happy anniversary, sweetheart!
– Ben


The Tomb

by Annie Abbondante

To see the insides of you, they will have to pull you apart. The doctor is really nothing more than a soft-fingered explorer who knows his way around the black lumps and brown chunks of the human anatomy; he knows which juices squish out from where and why. He doesn’t know what a gift it is to hold your purple heart in his latex hands.

Flash Fiction: From Famine to Feast

Show Notes

Happy Thanksgiving, and bon appetit!


From Famine to Feast

by Stephanie Campisi

The boy’s face was a thick, fluid rendering of blowflies. They crusted his eyes like false lashes, and crawled around his chapped, broken lips, their shimmering wings vibrating against their fat black bodies. The boy’s stomach was distended; he looked like a spoon, with the bulging, swooping curve of his gut leading into his rail-thin upper body. His ribs protruded; it were as though he had swallowed a birdcage that was pushing out from within.

Flash Fiction: Devote Your Life to Beauty


Devote Your Life to Beauty

by Loreen Heneghan

We are not a cult. Don’t allow any outsider to confuse you. We are a holy order. You’ll never be asked to give up your family or friends; not for our benefit. We only want you to stay pure. If they try to draw you into some distorted place, don’t listen. Your world is a thing of beauty.

Truth is not beauty. Only Beauty is real. How could it be otherwise?

Flash Fiction: Waiting Up for Father

Show Notes

music by Instant Ambient (a side project of The Secret Life)


Waiting Up for Father

by Greg van Eekhout

Jars line shelves like delicacies in a shop.

Hands clutch brown water.

Eyes and ears and tongues bob lazily in their containers.

Testicles lie shriveled against cold glass.

I have seen these things many times in many ways.