Memento

By Sarah Scott
The day Lucinda turned nine, her father appeared at the back door. She hadn’t seen him in two years.

Pecking Order

By Jayne Martin
Our food, untouched and cold, sat forbidden until he had finished his. Tears only brought his fist slamming against the table, upending our dishes, twisting our stomachs into painful knots.

A Blanket Decision

By Elizabeth Zahn
At the Twisted Stitchers meeting, I held up my first, nearly finished, crocheted baby blanket. They oohed and ahhed. “But look,” I said, “There’s a mistake 40 rows back. Should I frog it?”

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to...

By Susan Hatters Friedman
My deep purple vase sat proudly on the dining room table of our tiny home. Black sand from Te Henga was the temper I had worked into the clay.

Closing Time

By Patricia Q. Bidar
Fiona banks her ride in front of Mel’s Hot & Cold Heroes. Her Oldsmobile Cutlass is like a battered lemon shark.

Photo Story: 8. And I H...

By Yunya Yang
1. Long ago, we drove in the woods. 2. It was night. My mother was at the wheel, the headlights conjuring shape-shifting wraiths drifting in the darkness.

Talking Flash with Nanc...

Nancy Stohlman is drawn to the performative in life and fiction, which means her words don't seem to live just on the page. They tend to always be looking for a stage.

Flash Exercise: Cut It ...

Writers aren’t always sure what is and isn’t necessary in their work, especially since they’ve lovingly crafted every word. Each story will ultimately tell you what it needs, but a great exercise to make that clearer is to cut your story in half.

Chloe

By Eric Wilson
Hi, it’s Arlene Radford down the street. Sorry to be phoning you so late at night, but it’s about our cat, Chloe.

The Path to the Dark Si...

By Tonja Matney Reynolds
Sarah’s eight-year-old son is freaking out. His one perfect origami Yoda is missing.

Photo Story: Wait

By Yash Seyedbagheri
Wait your turn, signs proclaim. Wait for Chinese food. Wait to pick up cocktails from the bar, your only Friday night friends now.

Lipstick

By Sarah Freligh
We learned to paint our mouths kissable, but were taught not to. By the parish priest, by our mothers, by Seventeen magazine.