There was a stick in a stream steeped in mud, immobile and old. There was an ordinary flea sitting on it. The stream went under the flea on the stick slowly, and a light breeze made the leaves ruffle on a tree nearby. There was a fish in the stream wagging its tail. The fishContinue reading “The Flea”
Tag Archives: Flash Fiction
The Rich Man’s Troupe
So you wonder how it’s possible to spend the amount of money I manage to spend. You may well wonder. I didn’t learn how to spend like this right away. It took time. One must look beyond the more mundane luxuries, first of all. Unless cars are the joy of your life, you can onlyContinue reading “The Rich Man’s Troupe”
I Suggest
I suggest the image of a man and a woman. The woman has just finished showing the man pictures of dogs, a boyfriend, an old house; and she has put the pictures away and leaned back on the bed to look at the ceiling. The man is sitting on the bed, turned towards her, supportingContinue reading “I Suggest”
The Menu
“Lamb chops! Teardrops of meat hugged by rinds of crispy, salty fat.” “Quiet.” “Watercress tossed in balsamic mustard dressing. Cherry tomatoes, avocado, crumbled feta cheese and candied pecans.” “Oh, lord…” “A spicy Tempranillo…” “Shut up and eat your ramen. This isn’t helping.”
Talking
ANNA: Just keep talking. DAVE: I can’t think of anything else to say. ANNA: Talk about anything. Talk about the house you grew up in. DAVE: Okay … well … we had high ceilings and a black metal fireplace. ANNA: Uh huh. DAVE: My dad put it in himself. It didn’t have a mantle, soContinue reading “Talking”
Goodnight Pond
The tadpoles were in bed and Mike sat on his favorite lily pad looking up at the moon. “Croak.” He enjoyed that time of day. George glided over. He liked to skirt the edge of the pond looking for snails. A tuft of weeds jerked up and down in his beak as he chewed. GeorgeContinue reading “Goodnight Pond”
Stepping Out
Stepping out through the door of his house, which was swollen by the moisture and did not shut properly, casting off his shoes to thrust his feet in the uneven grass, which, dead and alive, was a chorus of mute tones, browns and reds and greens, casting off his sleepiness with a shudder as heContinue reading “Stepping Out”
David Hammond 