A place for short fiction and poetry while your coffee brews or your tea steeps
Cheryl stood outside the heavy glass doors of her local public library, stepping to one side and nodding as the Tween pushed through in a rush, tinny post-Disney pop leaking from a pair of bright pink ear buds. Her forceful exit left the door open wide enough for Cheryl to step through without touching anything.
She didn’t want to leave any fingerprints. Continue reading “Periodical Illiteracy (or How I Learned to Love My Public Library)”
We’d started with a couple buckets of ice blocks, and another couple with dried ice. These’d cool down the backyard while creating thick fog in our North Minneapolis back yard. Full sun, tropical temps; we’d lost a bar bet around nude sunbathing in a semi-public place. Continue reading “Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time”
He waits on the bridge by the lagoon, staring down at the moon, a pale and wavering contrast in dark water. Further down the shore, a splash and pop, followed by crunching, draws his attention. A moose shakes its ears in greeting and turns back to its evening snack. Continue reading “He Waits”
The Gull cries warning, but Gwyneth is late to work in the Manse’s scullery. She’s agreed to pay off Auntie Shallah’s debts from drink and gambling. Shallah had bet her tailfin; she’s now imprisoned by Pastor Johnson. Continue reading “Freedom’s Price”
Heather clicked the radio buttons, desperate for a station that didn’t play classic rock. She snuck a shocked glance at Mom, behind the wheel, as MGMT’s “Little Dark Age” floated from the speakers.
Mom said nothing, minuscule smile quirking her lips. One point, Mom. Continue reading “Love Game”
She hunches over the library table, and rubs planed fingers over an already-slick forehead. Canadian forests are burning in the northwest, and the haze is thick, humidity high from last night’s rains. Her other fingers wander back and forth across a college-ruled composition book, cheap pen jagging with arrhythmia. In search of inspiration, but there is none to be found. Continue reading “Free Association Writers: Saturday Morning Edition”
She’d let the dandelions go unchecked too long. Creeping Charlie was on the march, cannons of blue and green vines poised, ready to trip the unwary.
Nevertheless, she persisted. There were city ordinances and fines to deal with. Continue reading “To the Victor Go…”
Bonnie Bunny was done. She was through trying to compromise, fit in, smooth over, calm waters, appeal to reason, go with the plan. She’d had enough of rolling with the punches, putting on a happy face, counting her blessings, and waiting for tomorrow. Continue reading “Progress”
Lance Greenfield - Night Writer
"Many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are." -J.K. Rowling-
Walk On The Wild Side
Share, Discover & Enjoy
Short, sharp flash fiction
Growing older with silliness, high spirits and a lot of heart.
Inspired to Write
by Hudson Biko
