Fringe

Alan Humason
He sometimes buys flowers for his wife, the mixed batch at Safeway. He speaks mostly in declarative sentences. His car lacks navigation but has Bose.

The Toad

By Grant Faulkner
Flattened by a car, its arms spread out, a little like Jesus. The sun had baked it as crisp as a potato chip. “Poor toad,” Maria said. “Didn’t know how to cross the road.”

Photo Story: The Meteorologists

Laying on the hood of her old Volvo, we scanned the sky, looking for the meteor shower the weatherman had promised—“he must know, he’s a meteorologist”—our conversation continually broken by exclamations of “there’s one."

The Toast

By Heather Bourbeau
The clinking of glasses as she clears tables will be what she remembers most clearly.

War Never Ends

By Gail Hosking
Night after night I scoop up fish in the shower. I carry them to safety and they swim out of my grown-up hands.

Nice

By Susanne Stich
She’s a nice woman with frail bones. She still cuts her own grass, and the other day I saw her trying to do a cartwheel on the freshly cut lawn.

February 12

By Erinn Pascal
It is Halloween. I am a princess and my son Danny is a ghost. I carry his orange pumpkin bucket around and wear a tiara on my head.

Old Men

By Jeff Friedman
In the middle of the afternoon, old men lose their gravity, floating off sidewalks. Some bump their heads against tree trunks.

Distant Retrograde Orbit

By Judith Lloyd
She loves the way January smells. A crease in clean linen, the metal cap from a flask of vanilla extract.

Coffee Bean

By Oren Peleg
Pretty Asian girl asks if she can sit across from me. Yes. Her bangs almost cover her eyes. She steals glances.

Tara Masih: Flash as One Deep Truth

Tara Masih was attracted to writing flash as a high school student because it allowed her to get to the "heart of a scene."

Ella: Then

By Tara Masih
Ella likes things tiny. Tiny toy dishes, tiny dolls. She even wants her dad to be tiny. Like the Incredible Shrinking Man she saw on the Telly.