>

Exploring the art of prose

Menu

CRAFT Flash Fiction Contest

The CRAFT Flash Fiction Contest for unpublished flash fiction up to 1,000 words is open to entries every September and October and awarded the following March. Three winners are selected by a guest judge, with $3,000 and publication awarded. Four pieces are selected by CRAFT editors in the editors' choice round.

Judges:

2019: Benjamin Percy
2020: Leesa Cross-Smith

Everything Is Haram and So Are You; or, What to Do with a Birthday Card by Arshia Simkin

April 30, 2021

  In high school, you know a girl who disappears months before graduation. One day, she stops coming to school, and you never see her again. Usually, you avoid the other Muslim kids—the ones who dance to bhangra music during…

Read More

It Will Be All of These Things by Ruth LeFaive

April 23, 2021

  Nine of us cram into Brad O’Neill’s dad’s Buick, a girl to each lap, and Gulp’s snugging my middle before all the doors crash shut. I look back to see his tanned cheekbones; it’s really him, Gulp North, under…

Read More

In the Winter by Puloma Ghosh

April 16, 2021

  I become quite pretty in the winter, in the dim afternoons with sheet metal skies. I line my lips with brown, burgundy, wine and whiskey stains. I crave bright fruits as though they’ll substitute the daylight—sunset persimmons, sunrise grapefruit,…

Read More

Let’s Say, Triptych by Steven Sherrill

April 9, 2021

  Let’s say you follow her home. The barefoot girl on the corner of Union, where Nut Creek gnaws at the back steps of a church and the struggling crisis center. She cuts her own hair, with garden clippers. Let’s…

Read More

We’re All Just Trying to Keep Our Shit Together at the DMV by L Mari Harris

April 8, 2021

  The woman sitting in front of me loudly whispers in her crying baby’s ear, “Sobby Robby, stop it. Shut up, Sobby Robby.” There’s a glob of hard dirt stuck below her right ear. Or maybe it’s a birthmark. Her…

Read More

Adapted from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary’s Definitions of “Rock” by Audrey Bauman

April 7, 2021

  rock  verb \ ˈräk  \ rocked; rocking; rocks transitive verb   1        : to move back and forth in or as if in a cradle Every ten years the Arkansas catfish woman emerges from her riverbed and rocks to-and-fro, lets…

Read More

un/synced by Lisa Bass

April 6, 2021

  Week of April 4, 2020 I swallowed most of a fly today at Spring Creek Park. It swept past my lips, then lodged itself into the back of my throat, launching a series of gagging coughs. A family of…

Read More

Epilogue by Carol M. Quinn

April 24, 2020

  They staggered, stunned, into the fall, she and Teddy making giant vats of pasta and vegetarian burrito dinners to feed twenty-five, inviting home everyone they knew to eat, to drink, to stay over, please, we have a futon and…

Read More

Girls’ Weekend by Steven Simoncic

April 17, 2020

  A hunk of butter hits the fry pan. Then two pieces of bologna. Sparks of grease jump and sizzle. My dad’s hands—massive, oil-stained, almost old—slash tiny gashes into the bubbles of perfectly pink meat. White bread and yellow mustard…

Read More

How to Return Your Child to School by Hillary Smith

April 10, 2020

  He’ll want the Moana one with zippers like cresting waves and straps that glisten blue plastic glitz. He’ll cry that Michelle Naylor’s mom let her buy that one in purple. You’ve only met Michelle Naylor’s mom once, at family…

Read More

What They Didn’t Teach Us by Luke Whisnant

April 3, 2020

  They taught us how to kill with assault weapons, bayonets, bare hands. They taught us the lay of the land, how to navigate by rivers and stars, how to use cover to outflank enemy operatives, how to make a…

Read More

Old Girl by Virginia Reeves

April 2, 2020

  The last time I picked Hallie up at the airport, she was wearing a ratty beige shift that would’ve been a nightshirt if not for the decorative navy rickrack at the neck. Instead of hello, she said, “You hate…

Read More

Coyote the Younger by Stephen Aubrey

April 1, 2020

  In all those moments after he’d lit the fuse but before the rocket-powered roller skates propelled him across the yellow desert at sublimely sub-sonic speeds, in all those moments what came most vividly to Coyote the Younger were the…

Read More

Inheritance by Madeline Anthes

March 31, 2020

  Everyone expected me to take my mother’s eyes. I had a right to take what I wanted, and her eyes were legendary. She’d taken them from her mother, and her mother had taken them from her mother. They were…

Read More