June 15, 2012
I’m listening for her chain-jingle on the wrong side of our fence. Moving through the dry bamboo reeds we use as swords, the trees running branch tips through my hair. I consider the ticks, droplets bobbing on the leaves, bouncing in the summer dank . I call for her but I only hear the birds, and cricket squeak, and my brother shouting her name through cupped hands. Offering treats. “Bone!” He sounds serious.
Someone’d left the gate open—a crack—and she’s gone. Like that.
(it was my brother)
The woods behind my house feel like the biggest backyard—like there’s maybe a fence to keep her in, but it’s somewhere on the other side of the world.
This has been another installment of Madison Woods’ Friday Fictioneers. Check it out.
For more practicallyserious flash fiction, check this story out.
Or, feel free to peruse the practicallyserious fiction library!
June 1, 2012
As many sticks of dynamite as grains of rice in two-pound sack, and helicopters enough to sicken the sky, and a dangling rainstorm of chains. And my wealth.
And that was only the tip!
It hung down from the copter-cloud: the massive cone of smoking snowdirt. All day to get it to the flatlands. Once we have the rest we’ll put it all together like flies nudging toy blocks.
The mountain we once joked about: moved.
When she returns from Singapore she will see I love her.
This story was written as part of 100-word flash fiction Friday. This week I made sure to stick to the 100-word limit.
If you liked this 100-word flash fiction story, maybe go ahead and check this one out too!
May 18, 2012
The rainbow had been a solid thing, bold and bright, shining like glossy candy stripes that hurt your teeth. The birds had swerved round it, the rain rumbled as it rolled down. The Earth swayed safely above the black.
They were in the clearing surrounded by wavering Rambletrees.
“It’s fading,” said Ernest. “Think the bird went through.”
Mi-More pulled a stroodler from his nose flap before it could lay eggs. “It was the handle that held the basket over the bugs.”
Ernest sniffed the wormy air and knew the picnic was about over.
This story was written as part of “Flash Fiction Friday.” Great blog! Check it out and participate!
May 18, 2012
Butcher Fry chased the pig through the dank sewer throat, his cleaver raised above his bald head and knifing through the moldy drips of air.
As the pig’s splashing, snorting body glistened past the sulky beams of light, Fry cursed to himself, thinking pigs were smart and quick.
He kept up while the pig galloped through dark waste water, splashing. Fry breathed a mist of coppery bricks. It dampened the cocaine globs in his mustache.
“But, but,” said the pig, cheeks blubbering, helpless (he’d lost his firearm in the wrestling), “I said just lower your music!”
For more practicallyserious flash fiction, check out this story!