Tag Archives: flash fiction

Bloom’s Women

by Francine Witte

Bloom isn’t much.  Near 60, and like a bag of saggy potatoes. On top of that he smells.  Like urine mixed with tobacco. But there are women, a number of them now, who find his odd smell sexy. Animal pheromones it says to their lonely vaginas. Continue reading

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The Drive

by Ciera Horton McElroy

They do not leave by night. It is Mother’s Day, bright and warm for the Dakotas—rolling clouds and a lollipop-yellow sun. They leave in plain sight. Rose’s knitting bundle is hidden in Andy’s briefcase, her toiletries stowed in Marta’s purse. Her thick waffle robe is stuffed with pill bottles, Bible, pearls. They help her to the car in slow, mincing steps. They say things like, “We’re taking you to the falls, Ma,” or “Isn’t it such a nice day for a drive?” Continue reading

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Tsk Tsk Tristesse

by Jesse Rowell

Above the Hamakua Coast where trade winds pushed palm fronds and bamboo leaves, where culverts spilled water from mauka showers and the smell of something dead, two pet roosters crowed.

The silver rooster, known to breeders as a Silver Laced Wyandotte, sported feathers the color of ivory and lead, brown filigree and an emerald-black tail. The ivory feathers of his hackles matched his ivory shanks and toes. He stood beside his companion, a Rhode Island Red with striped plumage. Hackles arched, they called out to the dawn together. They called out until morning cast over the coast.

Together, their movements coordinated, the pair strutted side by side and chased pigeons. As the dominant species of landfowl they could not tolerate other birds in their territory, a well-groomed lawn below a lanai that extended to a fenced off gulch. Handsome, lives spent in servitude to no one, they lived as pretty objects to look at on their owner’s lawn as the sun moved behind eucalyptus trees.

The silver rooster, the elder statesman of the lawn, led the red rooster and the red rooster followed. The bond between the two rooster breeds, like that of a benevolent dictator and his subject,  showed an uneven companionship, but a companionship nonetheless that blurred their feral nature with their domestication. Silver’s noblesse oblige and red’s mirrored movements, the type of kinship animals of higher intelligence displayed. Friendship forged from years surviving as the non-native species brought to this strange land. Their color splashed against a riot of green, huddled together against slashing rain.

When pigeons watched them from the safety of a fence the roosters flattened their backs and charged at imaginary foes, and they wiped their beaks across blades of grass satisfied that they had accomplished something. Hidden violence above their heads moved in and out of view with the smudges of red in the weeping bottlebrush trees.

It started with a guttural sound deep in their throats. They faced each other, silver and red. Hackles raised. Wings flapped over a perceived slight. Instinct and aggression pushed them. They had no choice as the complaint that had provoked them was forgotten and they focused only on dominating the other.

Tattered strips of dry banana leaves scraped like crepe paper in the wind. Cat’s claw brambles, the weight of their yellow flowers and thorns, smothered ‘ohi‘a lehua trees. Under an ornamental hibiscus hedge, red flowers in bloom, deep in the dark rested the body of the red rooster. Its striped flank didn’t move. The silver rooster pecked at its body and left when it didn’t rise. On subsequent days he returned to visit the body and tsk tsk at the state of his companion, tsk tsk at his own isolation, the smell of rot rising in the humidity.

 

Jesse Rowell is a University of Hawai‘i at Manoa graduate, writer and tech consultant living in Honoka‘a. He is published in National Public Radio, Impulse Journal, Cirque Journal, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, and Ab Terra Books.

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Stealing the Ocean

by Maureen Sherbondy

The woman missed the ocean desperately, so she took a drive to view the waves and sand at her favorite North Carolina beach. In a bag, she packed a day’s worth of collected shells, one dead starfish, and a shark’s tooth. The tooth was so sharp that it cut her finger as she set it inside the bag. She also filled a plastic container with sand and a glass vial with salty water. Continue reading

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Interface

by Tom Gammarino

No one knew exactly why or how she died, but millions witnessed it in real time. Even though she didn’t breathe air, most agreed that she gasped at the end like a drowning victim. Queries of “Siri, what happened?” and “Siri, are you okay?” joined the hundred thousand others hanging in digital limbo. Continue reading

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