Archive for short fiction

Bombing the LSAT (Flash 55)

Posted in Flash Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , on October 10, 2010 by dustus

Ziggy Floyd remains paranoid. Black Sabbath shaking floorboards; apartment walls blasted by song. Quartering half-life of “Ambien Moments.” Nothing working. Had to pace—sleepless with test anxiety, jittery, fighting wee-hour hangover nausea.

….Tap-tap-tap—pencil taps…. Quit your side conversations you’re supposed to be proctoring!

Unprepared for breakdown, the rest of his life, Ziggy recalls bombing the LSAT.

Thanking Stars (Flash 55)

Posted in Flash Fiction, One Stop Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2010 by dustus

Lily held a leftover summer sparkler before her face. Together, enclasped hands sway strolling lakeside. Life renewed. She touched the thumbnail band aide signaling turns from concussion.

Could barely remember myself—only her—powdery sweet mixing with conditioned hair, scratched skin. Enlightened in arms, my solitary thought after hours’ oblivion stood thanking stars we made it alive.
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The above Flash 55 was for written for my friend G-Man.


Thanks, G. Enjoy your trip!
One Stop Poetry

The Chairs (Flash 105)

Posted in Flash Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 20, 2010 by dustus

A clear IV connects painkiller, grandma’s last rites, and Sunday morning. Fidgeting in pink admittance gown, you could tell she hates her wheelchair—getting used to it John supposed. She was always so free in love and expletives…

His first word was “shit” looking on from a high chair—Grandma mashed peas yelling.

“Maya, come here.” Her demand facing death; grandson’s sad life had been revealed to a stranger.

Approaching light brown-haired nurse smiles as if they shared history.

“This is my grandson; the detective I told you about.”

“Grandma,” he chuckles pointing at her suspiciously.

Maya sits in a metal cafeteria chair between estranged lives.

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Not Sure (Flash Fiction 55)

Posted in Flash Fiction with tags , , , , , , on August 23, 2010 by dustus

Parallel footprints track the smooth, sungolden morning sand.

“God, when’s the last time I saw you?”

“Probably when I graduated college. You and Aunt Beatrice flew to Chicago and gave me that Austrian beer stein.”

“Well… What are you going to do? It’s been two years…”

“Don’t know… Not sure if I ever will again.”

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Surreally Now (Flash Fiction 55)

Posted in Flash Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on August 19, 2010 by dustus

Beneath bevel-edged glass, without bordering frames, walls of colorful abstracts pool surreally now. Don’t know what to make of it? Life, poor gaunt man spent priceless moments when study walls talked back; mocking yellow streaks between paintings.

Perspiring lead molecules, maddening thoughts joyful— what’s left of creation before illusions radiate nerves virally like cancerous growth.

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*Dustus Friday post on One Shot Poetry set for midnight EST tonight!