flash fic·tion

noun

1. Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages).

July 25, 2022 > Working Man

          It was 4:30 am. Another day, another dollar, thought the man as he started home after a long night’s work. He always marveled at how dark it was at this hour. It always made him think of something he’d heard on tv…

“It’s always darkest before dawn.”

He guessed it was true. He preferred the night shift because of the pay differential. He had a growing family and needed the money. He looked around; he’d already been mugged twice, and today he was particularly tired and not up for a fight. Since the factory was in an industrial area, there weren’t any houses around, no one to come if he yelled for help, as he’d done twice before.

          He didn’t have a car like some of his co-workers, so he had to wait for the bus. He zipped up his jacket, put his lunch bag on the ground, and started to lean on the bus stop pole while closing his eyes.

Like a shadow when a plane flies overhead, darkness surrounded him. Someone had thrown a jacket over his head while someone else tore at his pockets. He felt anger well up in him, the anger of having been mugged twice, the anger of having had to tell his wife that she would have to wait another week for that new pair of slippers, the anger of having had to ask his brother-in-law for a loan to buy groceries.

          Taking a scene from the old Bruce Lee movies he liked to collect, he bent at the waist while simultaneously jerking his shoulder forward, throwing the person who held the jacket over his head to the ground. The guy who’d been ripping at his pockets was also knocked to the ground when the guy the man had flipped knocked into him. The man let out a howl that came from the bowels of his soul. It scared the muggers; they ran.

          He started to run after them, then stopped. He thought of his wife at home, having her ‘feelings’; she was one of those people who had ‘feelings’. She would know, so he went back to the bus stop, got his lunch bag from where it had been kicked, and leaned on the pole to wait for the bus.

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July 2, 2022 > El Train

She stood on the platform of the el train, cold wind hitting her face, waiting. After the rainstorm, the day remained gray and, in its grayness, she felt she could see everything more acutely, feel every thing. She noticed each individual brick on the building across from the platform, felt she could count the pigeons flying in formation.

She perceived an undercurrent to the cold wind; she felt warmth entwined in the blowing breeze. She recognized all the seasons were always with us. Winter here? Summer in Australia. She felt time flying by, herself getting older, and suddenly understood…if I passed today, who’d care? That first minute of realization after my passing, all would revert to normalcy, like a momentary breeze on a hot summer day, here then gone, missed for a second, then…forgotten.

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June 23, 2022 > I wrote this story while still in college; enjoy.

The Ride

Train.  Big Guy leans.  I move.  Man stands, I sit.  Train’s stuck. Lights dim, readers moan.  Big Guy leans, again.  Girl’s scared? I observe.  Big Guy signals Thin Guy.  Thin moves to pole.  Train starts moving.  Thin’s hand on his crotch, unzipping.  Imagining?  Big’s arm around Girl, holding in place.  Thin faces, lifts skirt, takes? 

Lights brighten, dim, strobe.  Train’s moving, people jostling.  Thin’s coming, Big’s holding, Girl’s mouth open, silent scream?  I stare.  Thin zips.  Big lets go.  Skirt’s down.  Lights on.  Train’s in.  Doors open.  Big, Thin, Girl walk off.  She turns to me, says, “Next time, you can play, too.”