#flash fiction online

[rldraws]

Flash Fiction: Cake

As birds sing and the spring afternoon carries on as it should, two old women stare across the patio table at one another, each waiting for the other to make a move. This cake with its pink icing and strawberry decoration should change Meredith’s life. It should eliminate her biggest problem, but Sally, the wench, won’t take a bite. The sparkling white wine that Sally provided for this snack of…

[authortoberecognized]

                    WRITER’S FORUM  FLASH FICTION

                        WEBSITES HELPFUL TO WRITERS This is a series of posts which, I think, will be beneficial to writers. But first, I would like to include my usual warning about using websites. Whenever you check a website you are, in my opinion and I talk from experience, being put on a list for sale. So, expect the possibility of being bombarded by ads from companies you, perhaps, have…

[adriabailton]

Home Isn’t

by Kelly Sandoval

via Flash Fiction Online

[gothamite-rambler]

Nyssa: Enjoy this while you can... because it's the... deepest you'll ever be in a woman.

Nyssa fell forward as Jason pulled the sword away.

Jason: Yeah, well you're dying so... damn it!

Jason stormed away past Bruce and Talia who had watched the two fight.

Bruce: I'll talk to him, you deal with the flat earther.

Talia: I'm going to wait for her to bleed out. After she screwed me over mentally a year ago I want to savor this before throwing her in the pit.

Bruce: She's your sister and you usually keep to your promises. Works for me.

Bruce went after Jason while Talia dragged her sister to the pit slowly while holding one of the legs.

[whereserpentswalk]

Seduction by the Unseelie Faeries

Enter not this world, for these are goblin lands, these are demon lands, where evil spirits stalk such mortal souls. Grey lands of algorithms and mocking spirits, cold and dark places not built for or by human hands, quite lands forever loud, that make you watch forever for things you do not want to see.

Hey! Girl! What’s a pretty thing like you doing with your AdBlock on? =)

[Turn off AdBlock] or [Exit Website]

Hey! Girl! I wouldn’t want someone as lovely as you seeing that type of content. =)

[Ok] or [Try another search]

Strange demons walk these walls, and crying evil spirits call. One eyed Camera people stare, and trap the world in unseeming glare.

To watch you eat, to watch you sleep, to watch the blood beneath your skin. They watch the world with great black eyes, until you’ll always see them there, until you’ll never feel unseen.

Hey! Girl! What are you doing in a place like this, you should come back to my app. =)

[Go to app] or [Download]                                 

Hey! Girl! You wouldn’t mind signing in for a guy like me. =)

[Sign in] or [I don’t have an account]

The great march of imps proceeds, laughing mouths and crying eyes concede. Plastic bodies built not to offend, to show their great selling signs to unwanted eyes.

To jump before your eyes, to scream your ears, to make all unwanted mischief seen. Sing the world their mindless hymns, with smiling jaws and laughing eyes, until your finally worn down, until they finally win.

Hey! Girl! You wouldn’t mind giving me your number. =)

[Sync Contacts]

Hey! Girl! Look at this ad!

Dark eyes loom over a landscape of minimalist UI. The king of wicked things comes to see his lifestruck kingdom raw. Lord of censor and content filter, lord of poison lawn and dead mall, lord of endless content and hungry eyes, lord of evil spirit and wandering demon, lord of advertisement and spyware.

His face is plastic, his eyes are touchscreen, his veins are coper wires. New humans are always in his fell realm, the wild hunt not tried.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

24 Hours

I have 24 hours left to live. I’m not sure how to tell him.

Fifteen years is a long time to be someone’s only friend. He never needed anyone else, not really—not when I was there to fill the silence, to keep the loneliness from settling in like dust on an untouched shelf. We built a life in quiet companionship, in the language of routine: the morning stretch, the half-burnt toast I wasn’t supposed to have, the way his hand always found my head when words failed him.

But now I have to leave, and he doesn’t know how to be alone. I could try to tell him. Sit by his feet and press into him the way I do when storms roll in. Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll let me stay just a little longer, one more walk, one more slow afternoon with the sun warming my back. But time is a leash I can’t outrun, and tomorrow, I won’t be here to catch him when he stumbles.

I just hope he knows I would’ve stayed forever if I could. He doesn’t understand at first. I see it in the way he absentmindedly scratches behind my ear, the way his fingers slow but don’t stop, like muscle memory hasn’t caught up to grief. He’s never had to consider a world where I am not in it. Not when I was always there—waiting by the door, curled up on the couch that he swore wasn’t mine, walking beside him even when he forgot to call my name.

Then it hits. His hand stills. His breath catches. His body folds in on itself, and I feel it before I see it, the way his shoulders shake, the way his fingers curl into my fur like if he holds on tightly enough, time might reconsider. I press closer, anchoring him, the way I always have. But it’s different now. He knows this is the last time.

“I—” His voice breaks, like he’s forgotten how to speak. Or maybe there’s just nothing to say.

I nudge him, once, just to remind him I’m here. That I’m not gone yet. That he doesn’t have to carry this alone, not today.

“I don’t know what to do.” His arms wrap around me, tighter than ever before.

I don’t either. But I stay. That’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do. The night passes in quiet understanding. He doesn’t let go, not really. Even when sleep takes him in uneven gasps, his hand stays curled in my fur, like some part of him believes that as long as he’s touching me, I can’t leave. Morning comes slow. The kind of dawn that doesn’t rush, as if the sun itself knows that time should stretch just a little longer today. He stirs before the light fully reaches the room, eyes swollen, face drawn with something heavier than exhaustion.

I lift my head—barely—but it’s enough. He knows. He doesn’t ask me to stay. He wouldn’t. He’s selfless in the ways that matter, in the ways that kept me fed and warm and loved, not in this. Instead, he just says,

“Thank you.”

And that was enough. I press my nose against his palm one last time. I take in the weight of him, the scent of him, the quiet, steady hum of his presence. If I could tell him anything, I would tell him this: he will be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not a few months from now—but eventually. I was his only friend, but he was mine, too. And I know what I left him with was enough to keep him going.

The sun rises. My eyes close.

And for the first time…

I let go.

[corinne-eaglebridge-sso]

Flowers curling from your lungs

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Word count: 242

Warning: spoilers for the Saving Anne quests.

Read on AO3

The graveyard at Doyle’s Abbey had, admittedly, never been dull in colour. The wardens kept the candles eternally lit, and many visitors left offerings for the dead. Some of its inhabitants had asked for trees to be planted on their graves, and they bloomed after a harsh winter, only to bear fruits of the dead later in the seasons.

So no, it was not uncommon for flowers and blossoms to show up in the graveyard, with its tradition of not covering the graves with any rock outside the headstone.

It was, however, unusual for a grave to bloom so quickly. Most took at least a few years, unless relatives made sure to plant bulbs, but the grave of one Elizabeth Sunbeam had exploded in flowers of all colours almost as soon as the first whispers of spring appeared.

The snowbells were first, of course, as snowbells often are. Soon, other flowers had also grown in an unnaturally fast fashion that the wardens had decided not to acknowledge. Daisies, daffodils, sunflowers…

The strangest, perhaps, was how seemingly overnight the headstone had been overtaken by tangling vines and roses. Roses, like those the mourners had placed on her grave earlier that year.

The many flowers attracted more butterflies to the graveyard, and visitors started to marvel at them soon after. They flew far and wide, but always returned to the grave eventually.

Elizabeth may have died that winter. But in the spring, she bloomed.

[essektheylyss]

I AM aware that I've failed to post a spec fic short the past three days but I am here to announce that I finally finished Parable of the Sower and I am demanding that everyone who hasn't read it but would've been inclined to read a short story instead go find it from the library or bookstore and read it asap.

[francescaswords]

A Measure of Time | A Bezzina’s Emporium of Magical Artefacts and Antiquities Short Story by Francesca Astraea

You absolutely do not need to have started reading or have read Rotting Trees to enjoy this. You don’t have to have read any Bezzina’s stories at all. It is quite short, because I wrote it for a zine submission but decided not to edit it after the zine said no. Enjoy!   On a New Year’s Day so damp he could have been walking through a wet flannel, Ernest Bezzina opened his magical antiques shop.…

[kachapa]

INSPIRATION LOVE STORY

This story is going to improve your mind set the best love story 👇https://youtu.be/YwYQdqInPls?si=mVvqXjBa315os7Km

[rldraws]

Flash Fiction: Cathedral

Only the most faithful worship in the dark. There are no elders in this cathedral, none in the sanctuary, Jonathan notices.  Only the most faithful worship in silence, no prayers spoken. No candles lit. There is only the dark and their devotion to it.  Sometimes, he hears when they’re taken. It’s a ruffle of the robe that recedes toward the high ceiling, a lightening of the energy in the…

[foxmulderautism]

writing inspo when the point of inspo is so intricately specific is weird because its like you want to write something like that but also Not like that because then that would just be writing That story. like los angeles by ling ma is so inspirational to me but "i live with my 100 ex boyfriends" is such a not universal experience so i just have this abstract inspo that's like i want to write something with the same energy as living with 100 ex boyfriends but also not the same energy because the energy of living with 100 ex boyfriends would just be a story about living with 100 ex boyfriends. take a shot every time i said

[authortoberecognized]

WRITER’S FORUM  FLASH FICTION

                        WEBSITES HELPFUL TO WRITERS   This is a series of posts which, I think, will be beneficial to writers. But first, I would like to include my usual warning about using websites. Whenever you check a website you are, in my opinion and I talk from experience, being put on a list for sale. So, expect the possibility of being bombarded by ads from companies you, perhaps,…

[whereserpentswalk]

Unseelie Court

There are evil spirits that live inside of internet ads. They're horrible little things. Small and weak by the standards of demons, even by the standards of most humans, but they're sadistic, and they're many in number. They have empty plastic eyes, and white square teeth that can chop flesh like knives. Sometimes they'll just take a nip out of your soul, sometimes they'll haunt someone so much they can get them to do whatever they want. They'll yell in your ears when they can, yell in your soul, they want to make you feel no joy nor sorrow, they want you to just feel something blank, something empty and obedient. When there aren't many of them they're too weak to even notice, its why their offline counterparts have so little power, but when they're everywhere they can overcome far stronger souls.

The spyware has evil spirits too, their cousins who are spirits of security cameras are much the same. Voyeuristic demons, with single black cyclops eyes that never blink and never cry, and sinister smiles, their bodies long and spindley and hunched on rooftops. They love to look, look at private things, look at secret things. They love when they can spy a love letter, better yet a picture of someone naked, the most personal things taste the beast to their dark eyes. They love to watch humans, especially when humans are doing things they only do alone. But even more than that they love when humans feel they are being watched, they love when even the lone fear the panopticon's gaze.

There are larger demons too that this new world has made to exist. Just as the forests, and rivers, and deserts have their nature spirits, and the cities and towns have their guardian spirits, there are places with evil spirits, places with no nature yet nothing built for humans. There are great worm spirits who gaurd the highways, their ethereal bodies stretching for miles, ready to rip humans and animals who dare walk in their land of cars to shreds. Dying malls have their spirits of greed, things that hate forests and cities alike, things with white tile bodies and electric light eyes, gluttons who want to eat and eat and will never be satisfied if they don't eat more, they want humans inside of their castles, and they don't want them to ever rest, to ever create. Even the empty streeted suburbs have spirits, spirits of the lawns and golf courses that poison the earth, things that fear outsiders, things that don't want human souls out past 8:00, spirits of boredom, spirits of waiting, spirits that love the thought of a town without a single family owned store.

They infest our world now, and they have not always. But just as there are evil spirits, there are good ones too. The artists have spirits, the city streets have spirits, what nature still remains has spirits, the protests and the riots have spirits. Perhaps they will win, perhaps the demons will, it matters now who humanity fights for, and which spirits we let grow strong.

[neonpajamas]

I'm leading a generative writing workshop from June 14 to June 16 all about microfiction & micropoetry & all things micro! It's totally flexible to meet your needs. No video component, just an online message board / portal where you can go through the prompts at your leisure, submit when you like, & comment on other submitted stories/poems. I'll be giving feedback to every piece & providing prompts along the way. Hope you can join us! Attaching the image if you don't feel like clicking.