FLASH CREATIVE NONFICTION
Father Figure by Rebecca Tiger
Where is your father? He’s dead, Mommy. She sobs over the piece of frosted layer cake the memory care center has given her as a welcome celebration. She forks bites of chocolate and thick white buttercream into her…
Fight Test by Will McMillan
The flesh on his arms, like an overripe banana, peels as I drag my nails upward. Ribbons of crimson appear—thin, jagged trails up and down his skin. My brother doesn’t just yell—he shrieks. Not my older brother at all…
Frozen Momos by Rachana Pathak
The water spilled over the rim, hissing on the stove, making a mess the way things do when no one is watching. I turned down the flame, wiped the counter, and cleaned what could be cleaned. The bubbles subsided.…
Lessons in Herpetology by Katy Luxem
As a lawyer with plenty of life experience, my mother should have known that lizards were a bad choice. Lizards are pets you cannot even pet. Touching them opens the risk of salmonella or something more sinister. Picking up…
He Drove by Cindy Skaggs
He drove a semi for the carnival, age sixteen, carrying transformers, his the bright yellow of the Zipper; he drove each Sunday to a new destination, driving all night, driving fast, driving on speed, driving on amphetamines, and then…
Solid Liquid Glass by Linh Preston
Two thousand, four hundred, twenty-nine texts. Over the course of 625 days, I exchange 2,429 texts with my boss, Will. For the first 149 days, 88 percent of our texts are work-related. Like the twenty texts between us about…
The Plough and the Stars by Sean Thomas Dougherty
What did I know of being a man, back in another century, as I sat in that bar off Massachusetts Avenue, with the older men talking about the Red Sox, and so-and-so’s wife passed on, the saint she was,…
Parts by Allison Field Bell
I. He tells me my body is deteriorating. Just like that. He says, “Your body is deteriorating.” Part 1 of me says Fuck you. Part 2 of me weeps. II. We’re fighting about sunflowers again. Or maybe the…
Floodlights by Richie Smith
The floodlights we found under my father’s workbench. I didn’t want to cut chemistry for the fourth time in two weeks, but Lee was the boss. Lee was Freddie Mercury, and I was only Brian May playing a tennis…
Still. Life. by Nicole Walker
Max was two. Zoe, seven. I was forty, when the nurse called and told me I needed to come in for a follow-up mammogram and ultrasound. My manners couldn’t catch up with my physical reaction. I started yelling why…