Tag Archives: Flash Nonfiction

Short Voicemail on the End of the Season

by Ellery Beck

I am sick of walking on the sidewalk with cicadas as they sing their last songs. I’m back on the way to class, late—was sitting with a raven, she seemed like she couldn’t fly. How could you expect me not to stay? The big leaves, the ones that swallow my hands when I hold them, are starting to fall. Continue reading

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Willpow(d)er

by Hayley Notter

I found a sandwich bag of white powder in Will’s nightstand. Straddling him, sundress on the floor, I wasn’t reaching into his drawer for a condom (we would break up before I had the chance to offer up my virginity). I don’t remember what I was reaching for. Continue reading

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Last Words

by Neil Connelly

Summoned 1100 miles north to witness my mother’s end, I spend the flights fixated on her last words.  In my fiction classes, I mocked the movie scenes where loved ones passed with trite cliches.  I’m proud of you. I’m ready to go. I love you.  Yet now, how I yearned for such hackneyed words. Continue reading

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This Is Your Hand

by Cait West

This is your hand—dried, cracked, bleeding on a January day under a muted sun. At rest on your book, it twitches in sleep, and your glasses have fallen down your nose as you lie stretched out on the floor, too busy to sit on the sofa. You’re too impatient to rest, but your body has taken over anyway in this forced sleep while reading. It’s just like when I was a child, and you would fall asleep while quizzing me on my phonics. You would make up stories in your sleep, and I would crouch down next to your open mouth and wait for the words to whisper out. Continue reading

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Talisman

by Anneli Matheson

The day after my mother’s memorial service I sort through her jewelry box. Like her, it’s colorful and disorganized.  Gold plumerias and pearls rest beside costume brooches perched atop tangled silver chains and errant earring backs.  After her cancer diagnosis my mother rarely wore jewelry, fearing the metals were polluting her body.  As I hold one of her favorite pairs of earrings, the gold filigree drops with the red stones I pretend are rubies, I’m tempted to bifurcate her life into Before and After the Diagnosis. Continue reading

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