Category: Short Story
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The English Nude, 1898 by Madison Bowman
The studio is exactly like him – cold. It’s too big to be kept warm. The ceilings are too high. The blankets too thin and the gas stove too expensive. I am always cold here and I think, maybe he is too. But he must like it. He must be…
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In the Presence of Angels by Martin Perlman
Deep within Denver’s pediatric hospital, Henry Sokol sat at the brightly lit Market Place Food Court where he had barely touched the day’s special, a pasta puttanesca. He hadn’t eaten in more than sixteen hours. “Try some soup—tomato bisque, quite good,” said his wife, Arlene. Concern showed in her…
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A Slow and Sudden Catastrophe by Lillie Franks
In her first nightmare, he is a mouse, skittering between the towering trunks of chairs and tables, while his death is a famished cat watching him through cruel, green eyes. She is not there in the dream, or she is so far away that even his wide mouse-ears can’t hear…
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One Last Hill by Marco Etheridge
The man climbed the sedge grass hill, treading a path cut into the hillside by thirty years passage of his boots. He owned the land beneath his boot soles, insomuch as any man can claim ownership of a piece of this earth. His land and his name; Karl Nilsson.He wore…
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When Song Dogs Sing by Jennifer Molidor
She wanted to believe he was different than the man he turned out to be. “A man who puts his hands around your throat is lethal. Even if he lets go. Even if it isn’t a full squeeze. Even if he promises never to do it again,” the speaker…
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Ellsworth Count Carnegie Salmon’s Magical Stories by William Kitcher
As I’d been completely mystified and happily amazed during my recent discussions with my friend Gustav concerning Roberto Suarez (see “The Black Swallowtail Butterfly Is Falling,” Flora Fiction, October 2023), I was looking forward to my next dinner with him. We sat at our usual table at The Radish…
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The New Arrival by Douglas Dawson
They call me Chuckie – at least that’s what I respond to. That name’s served me well since the day I arrived here about a year ago. They had me wrapped in a blanket, and a good thing it was, for it was cold outside. My hair was very short,…
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A White Summer Shall by Abhishek Udaykumar
I remember the time we hid in your bedroom after we set our school uniforms on fire. It was the first day of the summer holidays and our hair blew about our faces in the lukewarm breeze. We had planned to go to a movie, but the others wouldn’t let…
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Rain-Stained Notebook by Ian C. Smith
I believe words wrought, my experiences, including some of woe, of hurt, represent memories more vividly to me than photographs of smiles, or home movies of showing off. I savor this accounting from when I could not imagine the shadow speeding my way that was old age, nor its acceleration,…