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…
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…
It’s summer and everybody knows that’s the best time for an adventure. We have to have an adventure because we are In Everyone’s Hair and There Are Too Many Damn Kids In This Damn House and It’s A Lovely…
Jackie gets onto the elevator from twelve. She says hi to Barbara from sixteen, already on board. Sixteen is the penthouse but no one calls it that anymore, that’s elitist, although the Art Deco button panel still shows PH. …
“In books you don’t usually get to know what the protagonists eat for each meal,” Sienna Liu’s narrator in Food Porn observes. “And because everything happens off-stage, whether those have been hot hearty meals or flimsy flippant meals is…
Room 1 Which is pink or maybe sugar-white, and a cot and little fists stick out of a blanket and peachy cheeks and my mum bent over. The room is always quiet and milky and her little nails scratch…
Mitchie’s mechanical pencil shatters into a hundred billion trillion pieces. “Dewanda, behave!” the teacher screams at me. She don’t know us or our names or remember that Dewanda goes to a new school now. So we don’t call her…
I told my mom I loved her at a gas station in Minnesota but I’m not sure she heard. The cashier must’ve been stocking drinks or something so it felt like it was just me and her in there.…
My first job was at a farmstand with a twenty-five-foot papier-mâché witch named Winnie towering over the parking lot. Eyes like a lizard’s with vaginal slit pupils and a boulder of a nose. She enchanted people. Drivers would pull…
Indiana, in our cold one-car garage, motes of dust falling sideways, the sunlight diffused by the snow covering the ground outside, and we watched Apá working the punching bag, his untaped fists flashing with each swing. Behind my brother…
Aboveground I was twelve years old when I last saw Blanca Esperanto. She lived at the end of the road. Their house was a brown, dry affair of rustling wood and dark leaves. She loved sitting on the ledge…
In “House of Cicadas,” the parallelisms between light and shadow, above and below, childhood and adulthood are all positioned to reflect each other, much like the way two mirrors directly facing one another will forever reflect the same image in two different directions. In this story about nostalgia, childhood friends Jun-jun and Blanca are separated when Blanca’s home is swallowed by the earth, only to reappear years later after the death of her mother. Their neighborhood is a callback to the hot, dry Philippine summers of my childhood: the dusty streets, the sepia-tinted houses, the games played between children. The cicada, a nocturnal creature that summons summer, doubles as a protector and a harbinger throughout the story. Even the way language moves in the story, with the first section written in the past tense and the second section written in the present tense, is meant to evoke how childhood exists in a distant, inaccessible past while the present is always malleable, moving, yet linked to memories and past promises. In a way, the tools used for writing flash fiction are similar to the tools used for writing poetry: metaphor does a lot of heavy lifting in terms of double meaning and narrative movement; repetition and recursion of words and images emphasize the ideas and themes of the story; words slip and slide between the real and the unreal, forcing the reader to wonder if the events of the story are really happening or if they are all in the imagination of the children. Whatever the case may be, the story hovers on the precipice of possibility, waiting to see what happens if/when Jun-jun and Blanca meet again.
GABRIELA LEE teaches creative writing and children’s literature at the Department of English & Comparative Literature at the University of the Philippines. Her prose has been published in the Philippines, the United States, Canada, and Norway, most recently in the anthology Unquiet Spirits: Essays by Asian Women in Horror, edited by Lee Murray and Angela Yuriko Smith. She has received a National Children’s Book Award citation in the Philippines for her children’s book, Cely’s Crocodile: The Story and Art of Araceli Limcaco Dans. Her latest short story collection, A Playlist for the End of the World, was published by the University of the Philippines Press in 2022. She is currently pursuing a PhD in the English Department at the University of Pittsburgh. Learn more about her work on Instagram @sundialgirl.