Flash Fiction

As posted on Janet Reid's blog - March 24, 2015


I stood at the back of the mob hiding my face. They yelled, “Burn her! Burn her!”
“For what?” the mayor asked, looking over at the bald woman. “Her crime is no worse than all of yours! She sang, you listened.”

They exiled Smith seven years ago. We use to call her Spears. Any link to her name has been long severed. Maybe she’s dead, I don’t know, nobody knows. What’s it matter? The world is better off without my mom’s music.




As posted on Janet Reid's blog - May 29, 2015


With the swipe of his finger, the sheriff sends three Plott Hound drones into the endless maze of city ghetto, past rusted fences and tireless weeds.

“You really think they’ll find her?”
“They’re the new ones. Military grade,” the sheriff says, patting his handheld monitor. “They’ll find your wife.”
Five minutes later I glance skyward for the sign. There, the heart-shaped balloon floats out of the eight-story jungle.
“The Dare’s complete.”
The sheriff cocks his head, checks his gun. “What’d you—” Alarms pulse from his monitor.
“Your dogs are dead, sheriff.”
“An Activist!”
And before his eyes, I’m gone.
 
I received this special recognition in the Writing Contest Results:
A great start for a novel
Michael J. Craft 4:44pm




As posted on Janet Reid's blog - July 17, 2015


The coffee shop buzzed with delight and so did Brenda. She tipped her cup back, but stopped mid-sip. “Oh no. The Rolex Watch Club.”
“Hey, Brenda.”
“Ladies.” Brenda returned to her laptop.
“That girl’s skinny as paper,” they whispered. “Flimsy, too.” They chuckled. “A two-cup woman.”
That’s it! Brenda marched to the counter. The flamboyant barista waited. “Dark roast.” Brenda turned toward the gaggle with her chin up. “My third cup today.”
Any more than two cups and Brenda’s heart might explode—doctor’s orders. She swallowed the risk, the totality of her life, and curtsied.
R.I.P. Brenda.
 
I received this special recognition in the Writing Contest Results:
Special recogniton for a great turn of phrase:“That girl’s skinny as paper,” Michael J. Craft 8:22am
 

 


 

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