Results for tag: Flash Fiction
35 results found

October 8, 2021

She remembers the rituals she had imbued with her own significance: how her ex used to bring her a single flower after every exam, and how she’d watch it wilt on her desk as she studied for the next.

August 27, 2021

When she opened her door the lived-in smell burst out like gases from a can: fish sauce and charred meat, mildew and a stronger concentration of the musk he had noticed when he got close enough to her body.

July 16, 2021

I feel satisfied, triumphant, knowing I have loved the original donut well, though maybe it was only its glaze that I recognized.

June 4, 2021

I never understood the concept of wearing an outfit only once, by which I mean I’ve never thought about my own wedding.

May 7, 2021

That sweet aroma—one so acquainted with Jabril—was hanging brightly like a piece of the moon within this incantation.

March 26, 2021

Your mother always told you stories as she oiled your hair: of her youth, legends and fables, immigration, your father’s business ventures.

March 12, 2021

Like if we shared any of the same interests I could tell him how I recently learned that Kubrick in his younger days used to wander around New York City and play chess in parks

February 26, 2021

“Scared, Starlight?” my big brother said smiling at me as we’d strapped our harnesses into place. “Don’t be.”

February 12, 2021

It is 10:40 a.m., I stare up at the ceiling, a collection of imprints. I am trying to count how many animals I can see sheeted above my head in all four corners.

January 15, 2021

One day the woman wakes up and she can’t say exactly what it is that’s changed, only that she knows it all has.

December 18, 2020

They thought me the oddity, though they were the ones depriving themselves of air. I watched them with the same curiosity that they watched me. How? And why?

November 20, 2020

In the shelter of our happiness, his shell shone brighter and brighter until one day, it split open and crumbled into dust to reveal a baby, golden skinned and blinking up at me.

November 6, 2020

Sometimes she grew so nervous that she had to sit in her room for hours until her hands stopped trembling. She wondered if her daughters ever thought about her.

October 9, 2020

She should moisturize more often, drink at least three liters of hot water with lemon each day, and wear silicon sheet masks to bed to hide the stigmata of a woman who was everything.

September 25, 2020

And though I knew it was someone’s son, I unburied the rooster in the dark and kick-started a fire and roasted it on a spit, my fingers lamping with grease.

September 11, 2020

The sunflowers fall, right along with their mason jar, in the middle of the night. Their heads too gloriously full of early July. How they seem to know everything, except the virus.

August 28, 2020

He collected the past in amber, often describing war memorials as beautiful. He called himself a gardener.

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