May 30th – By Sean Sundquist
Flash Fiction / December 27, 2009

that saying “April showers, bring May flowers.”   May 12th My life is under control once again. I’m happy. This brand new baby boy is the light of my life. He’s my first, and I wish it could have only happened sooner. His smile allows me to forget past troubles. His face portends a brighter future. His eyes shine from unrestrained optimism. May 22nd The way he giggles fills my soul with hope. My existence has changed. I have purpose. He is purpose. In times of dread I absorb his innocence for courage. He’s what drives me. He’s why I am. October 1st Can anyone admit their fear of death? Is it because of religion that they don’t? Because it terrifies the hell out of me. It terrifies me that it could happen at anytime. It terrifies me that science has no explanation for what may happen to who we are after death. It terrifies me that I will only know once I die. It terrifies me that there could be nothingness… October 4th I have come to the realization that I will never be complete. If I have become complete the world is in peace, there is no longer…

Circles – By T. Paul Buzan
Flash Fiction / December 20, 2009

On some nights in the lambent, moonlit air shadows of tall pines and burial mounds seem to dance and move volitionally all along the mountain. They tumble and chase one another like children or young animals at play. There are stories that tell of those who long ago tended the warning beacons for which this mountain is named now wandering here after death – restless spirits waiting to be reborn. On nights when the shadows tumble and dance the stories could be true. It is late summer. At dawn the sky still breaks against the mountain in waves of pale blue mist. The sun emerges and the waves of mist recede, drawn in to wait again for nightfall when once more they will flow upon the mountain’s face in an azure tide. From the vanishing darkness a rooster’s crow heralds the momentary triumph of a new day. The clattering of my alarm clock shatters the sleep that surrounds me and I surface from a dream. Lying in bed I struggle to guard from marauding consciousness the fading apparition of a girl who is at once both as strange and remote to me as a fairy kingdom and the sum of…

The Gorilla – By Adam Graupe
Flash Fiction / November 22, 2009

It was my first day on the job as a clerk at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and the line stood about twenty people deep. I looked over to a Gorilla who sat at his desk. This Gorilla was at least fifty pounds overweight and wore glasses that constantly slipped down the bridge of his nose. There was one other worker in our branch, a chimp of about 30. I never figured out what the chimp’s job was as he usually sat in a corner next to a printer and never spoke. According to legend, the Gorilla drove several dozen DMV employees to branch transfers, resignations, and early retirements. Like the fool that I was, I thought somehow I could deal with a Gorilla. I called out, “I could use a little help at the front counter.” A brunette six places back in line cleared her throat. The Gorilla said, “I could help you.” I gave an eye test to a teenager and after completing this I looked over and the Gorilla sat at his desk. I said, “I thought you were going to come up.” The Gorilla said, “I said I could help you, I didn’t say I would…

Winds of Change, Inc. – By Omar Gheith
Flash Fiction / November 8, 2009

Yesterday, a young man came by my house and asked if I’d like to participate in a revolution. His organization had been going from door to door in all of the significant neighborhoods, he explained, collecting signatures. He asked me if I was outraged. “I guess I could be happier,” I mused. At this, his face beamed. “I feel your woe, friend, I feel your woe.” He handed me a clipboard, which was attached to a good thick stack of paper. At the top of the stack was a page of signatures, all indistinct and crowded around one another in grey glorious pencil. “It’s been a good day for the cause,” he said with brash modesty. Underneath this page was another just like it, followed by three more. The fourth one after that was about half full. “That’s where you come in, brother.” “I see. And is there anything you’d need me to do for the cause?” It seemed like a reasonable question. “No-” his voice was warm, chipper- “All we need is for you to write your name on that piece of paper. Let your voice be heard!” He pumped a fist into the air, like a character in…

Confident Bastard – By B. Collette Davis
Flash Fiction / November 1, 2009

I introduced my co-worker to a prying website dubbing itself as a public search engine. The virtual nuisance supplies addresses and telephone numbers of almost anyone who is unknowingly in demand. My co-worker began her exploration: a lost class mate, an ex-boyfriend, finally, her father. She delayed her enthusiasm, saving the person she desired most in this world for last. The website humiliated her. It provided the general public with information she had never known about her father. She scribbled his number down on a yellow post-it. Not his name, not Daddy– just the number. “I’m going to call him and curse his ass out” she forewarned. Her tone, however, suggested she was not ready for the broken conversation. She folded the small note, and the post-it sealed itself with the number divided in half. “I’m going to let him have it. My father has been in Ohio all this time. I need to do this,” she declared. I nodded in agreement. “You should look up your dad as well,” she suggested. I looked at the small, crescent crease on the side of her eyes. It illuminated when she was determined. Her mission now appeared to be connecting fathers to…

Sucking In Magic – By Carolyn Belcher
Flash Fiction / October 18, 2009

I walk down the empty street. The house is in darkness. The windows stare back at me as if to say, ‘Go now. Don’t be a ghost, haunting these rooms.’ I am an unloved, unlovely woman who… who… Gina wouldn’t have understood that her words were as good as a punch in the belly, a punch that doubled me over, and left me gasping for breath, for all she had done was suggest that I throw away the earring board, and sell my earrings at a car boot sale. My daughter enjoys having a good turn out; I do not. I’m a gatherer, a hoarder. I like my clutter, and the earrings on the earring board are a part of the bric-a-brac that I have gathered around me; a special part, for they have magic powers, and you can’t sell magic. A glint, a tug, and will I, won’t I, I’m pulled into one of their stories. There, there, silver imps, winking blinking. They know; they know, those personifications of the mischievous, Lincoln imp, petrified on his pillar. I catch the wink-blink and I’m hooked. Gavin, blonde, long haired Gavin materialises and I am as giddy as any sixteen year…

Third Wish – By Matthew C. Plourde
Flash Fiction / October 4, 2009

Jake scratched his chin. “I thought genies granted three wishes?” The dark, impish creature grinned and said, “We do… just not like you think.” “How does it work, then?” Jake asked. “You get one wish, then I get one wish,” the genie said. “And, if you survive my wish, you will get one more.” “If I survive?” “Yes, yes,” the genie said. “As I already said – you will have one year to enjoy your first wish. Then, I’ll return and make my wish in your presence. Just don’t expect to make it through my wish.” “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jake said. “Well, you did,” the genie said. “You have three minutes left to make your wish, or it is forfeit.” “Alright,” Jake sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish…” *** One year later… “I told you I’d return,” the genie said, rows of yellow teeth exposed in a jester’s grin. “Did you enjoy your wish?” “Indeed,” Jake said. “Good, good,” the genie said. “This is my favorite part. Let’s see – how can I most enjoy my next year with you?” Jake glared at the disgusting little creature and said, “Just get it over with.” The genie…

Extreme Synesthesia – By Ali Simpson
Flash Fiction / September 20, 2009

“Sew him up…and we’ll see what happens.” The letters were crunchy and a distinct scent of Fritos wafted from them. Dr. Paul Marshall’s name tag would go great with bean dip, Leroy thought. He smacked his dry lips and squinted against the bright light hanging above the operating table. A dull pain pulsed slowly on the top of his melon, but otherwise, he felt fine. “Can I have my 500 dollars now?” Leroy slurred at the watery figures standing above him. Someone was having a hell of a barbeque nearby. “And some chicken?” One of the figures flapped his arms like an ungainly seagull, fat on scraps from Coney Island. “It worked! We’ve got one, sir. We’ve–” Dr. Marshall shushed him. He put a hand on Leroy’s shoulder as the homeless man struggled to sit up. Leroy grasped Dr. Marshall’s nametag and sniffed. He scratched his stubble and stuck his gray tongue out to taste. The doctor swatted him away and grumbled about the fat one’s exuberance. He motioned to his colleague. Leroy slapped his hand over a sudden sharp pain on his head. He felt fresh stitches. Tastes rolled over his tongue in tangy waves and a thousand smells…

God And The Editorial Board – By Larry Centor
Flash Fiction / September 6, 2009

God, in his wispy self, was relaxing in the chair at the head of the large oval table. Overhead, the ceiling was a limitless clear blue sky. Beneath, the floor was a limitless clear blue sky. The occasion was an extraordinary meeting of God and his Celestial Editorial Board. It was extraordinary because it was perhaps once in a millennium that God actually attended a meeting. Seated around God were the senior members of the CEB, those human and existential beings charged with promulgating the divine proclamations of the editor-in-chief. “Got me an idea,” said the disembodied voice at the head of the table. “Lay it out for us, Boss,” said Shmuel Brassicles. “We’ve been sitting here for, oh hell, what year is this anyway?” “It’s about 1,200 BC, Boss,” replied Yussel Cloxicles, “more or less.” “What zone?” “That’s Hellenic time, Boss,” said Yussel Cloxicles. “You know all those stories we tell each other when we’re partying?” “Yeah, yeah, Boss,” said Ephraim Toadicles. “I’m thinking it’s time – Hellenic time – as it were,” God said, then paused and chuckled. “Get it, Hellenic time? Get it?” “Got it, got it, Boss,” said Ephraim Toadicles. “Good! Good!” said God. A couple…

Hope for Change – By Scott J. Clemons
Flash Fiction / August 23, 2009

“‘I’m pretty confident that things are going to be different.” “How so?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Her eyes squinted, her brow furrowed; she didn’t get it. “You know,” he said, “the leg thing.” “Leg thing?” “Come on. Do I really need to spell it out for you?” “Apparently so.” “Fine, sit down,” he pointed to the chair. “I’m going to need some paper though.” “Paper?” “Yes, paper,” he said. “Flat, white, made out of trees.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a pad of paper and held it up to her. “Recognize it now?” “I know what paper is, smart ass. I just don’t see why you need it.” “It’ll be easier to explain what I mean if I draw it out for you.” “If you say so.” He flipped back the cover of the notebook but stopped suddenly. “Do you have a pen?” he asked. She nodded. She started rummaging through her purse and pulled out a black ink pen. “Consider the facts,” he said. “What is the common trait of every single guy that we’ve elected into office? I’m talking all the way back to George Washington.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “I dunno….