Flash of Fiction

“Guys, wait up! My bag’s caught on something!” My gang of pirates circle back, eyeing my candy bag. Two of my friends grab my arms, and we yank the bag free. But the bag’s not all we got. A real severed finger is stuck to my bag, the hand it belongs to reaching for us.

There are certain things you say because they’ll never happen, like pigs flying or a zombie apocalypse. Well, I take them back. Everything like that I’ve ever said. Every. Single. One. Because I was wrong. Zombies are real, and they want to eat me. In fact, they’re banging on my door right now. Meanwhile, Greg and I are trying to get my bedroom window open. “Come on,” I say, stealing a glance at the door. It’s rattling. The frame looks about ready to give. “It’s stuck,” Greg says. His face is turning purple as he strains to lift the window. I push him aside. “Then we’ll just break it.” I slam the butt of my dad’s hunting rifle into the glass. It shatters on the first try. “Mom and Dad are gonna kill you.” I gape at him. “Seriously? You think they’re gonna care more about the broken window than the zombies busting down the door?” “You have a point,” he mumbles. “Yeah, now go.” I nod toward the window. “Why do I have to go first?” “Because I’ve ...

“See ya tomorrow, girls!” My friends parroted the words back to me as I started down the block toward my car. It wasn’t even ten yards away, but I only made it halfway there. A hand clamped over my mouth, and an arm curled around my waist. The hand muffled my yelp of surprise followed by my screams for help. They were audible, but only just. Behind me, my captor shivered. “Ooh, that’s it, baby. The more scared you are, the sweeter you are.” The hand over my mouth yanked my head so hard to one side, my neck cracked. My captor’s chest pressed against my back as he leaned forward. His nose ran the length of my neck, and he inhaled deeply. My screams intensified as I tried to wriggle away from the creep who had me. He dragged me further back into the darkness, his grip strong as steel. He let go of my waist, but I still couldn’t get away. The hand over my mouth held me in place. My captor ran his free hand over my neck. He stroked it, running his fingers up and...

Someone walks up. A girl who used to be my best friend. She tucks a flower under my hand, tears welling in her eyes. “I should’ve been better to you.” As she steps down, another person takes her place. My ex. The one who cheated on me. “I’ve never regretted what I did more. I sure hope that’s not why we’re here.” He stares down at me, something that might pass as emotion on anyone else furrowing his features. If my hands weren’t so full of flowers, I’d reach up and punch him. But since I’m sort of stuck and he doesn’t have a flower or some trinket to give me, he gives me one last look and ducks out of the room. Behind him, the line seems never-ending. More old friends, estranged family, slightly less estranged family, recent friends, coworkers, old classmates, teachers, a few professors, close family, exes. Everyone is here. Everybody showed up. I’ve never felt more loved before. It’s too bad they couldn’t have made me feel this way before I killed myself.

The floorboards creak under my feet. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves. Off to my right, something crashes to the floor. My head snaps in that direction, and I hear a quiet “whoops.” “Seriously, Michael?” My friend steps into view. He shrugs. “It’s dark in here.” A wry smile curls his lips. “Scared you, didn’t I?” Trying to hide how easily he can scare me, I search the room to my left for signs of life. The furniture is draped with sheets and coated in dust. Nothing moves, not even the branches outside one of the paned windows. Floorboards groan as Michael walks forward. He touches my shoulder, and despite my best efforts, I flinch. “Let’s go upstairs, scaredy-cat.” Swallowing, I follow Michael up the creaky steps. Each one protests under his weight and then mine, and I’m sure one of them will snap before we make it to the top. But they don’t. The stairs are intact when I step onto the second floor. Michael’s already barged into a ...

I gathered her hair in my fingers, pulling her head back. She laughed. A deep, sexy laugh. She’d always liked it rough. As she said something, egging me on, trying to get me to be rougher, I reached for the knife I’d left in the top drawer of the nightstand. I yanked her head back farther. She moaned, and I dragged the knife across her throat, slitting it from ear to ear. She fell forward, clutching her throat in her hands, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. I waited and watched the pool of red grow. When she finally stopped twitching, I stood. “Good riddance.”

Terror. Disgust. I really don’t know. It’s kind of a toss-up when you wake up covered in blood. It’s not my blood either. It’s somebody else’s. But I only know that because I don’t have any cuts. I can’t remember last night at all. Or how I got here. Or where here is. According to the notepad on the nightstand, it’s the Moyers Hotel. So, I’m downtown. Still no idea how I get here. My phone’s on the floor, the screen shattered. It wasn’t like that last night. Before I pick it up, I rinse the blood off my hands. I wash my face off while I’m at it. When I zip my jacket up, you can’t see the massive blood stain on my shirt. I’m good as new. Disgust levels down, I check my phone. I’ve got a million notifications, each text more frightening than the last. Where are you? Are you okay? Are you alive? I ignore them all and check my card charges. The last one was at a bar a few blocks from here. I take everything I know is mine from the room and hea...

When I was young and stupid, I made a deal with the devil. Fast forward fifteen years, and he’s due to collect. But today’s not the day. I look him up and down. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” The devil holds something out. My contract. It bursts into flames. “I need a favor.”

Murder was never part of the plan, but sometimes, things just happen. “Oh, come on, Becca,” Chris whined. “We’re two minutes late. We didn’t have time to copy answers. You haven’t even finished going over it!” Becca shrugged. “Policy is policy. No late work, period. Sorry.” She turned her back on Chris and started scribbling on the white board. Chris and his friends slumped into seats on the last row. Karli put her head down on her desk in defeat, Sam stared blankly down at his perfect homework, and Chris sat back, glaring at Becca. They stayed like that for the rest of class, the trio barely taking in a word Becca said during her review. As the last minute ticked down, Becca muttered a curse. “I forgot to pass out homework again. I’ll hand it out as you leave.” She took up a post by the door as papers ruffled and bags zipped. Chris, Karli, and Sam were the last out. Chris bumped into Becca, hitting her with his shoulder, and ignored her as she yelped, “Hey!” ...

When I get home, there’s a box waiting for me on the front porch. A note’s been taped in place on the bottom. Great Oak Park, our usual place. 8 PM. At 8, I sit in the park. Someone walks up, his hood on. When he pulls it off, I gasp. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“This is my life now. I’ve climbed this hill and now I will die upon it.” “Shut up. We’ve only been hiking for twenty minutes.” I plop down in the grass. My brother crosses his arms. “We haven’t even done the hard part yet.” “All the more reason to stop.” He grabs the back of my pack and yanks me to my feet. “Come on.” I eye the path in front of us. Steep, craggy, far too long. I turn on my heel and head back the way we came. My brother reaches out, grabs the handle on my pack. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to the car to wait for you.” “You said you’d come up to the top with me. You can’t back out now. It’s only a couple miles.” I sighed. “’And miles to go before I sleep.’” “Exactly. Now come on.” He marches down the path, carefully placing his feet so he doesn’t fall. Reluctantly, I follow him. Another thirty minutes passes, and we’ve crept closer to the top of the glorified hill. As I take my next step, the ground beneath me s...

“Help! Can anybody hear me? HELP ME!” A weak thumping sounded from inside the apartment. I pushed the door in, standing back in case the inferno exploded with the oxygen influx. When the crackling stayed steady, I stepped into the apartment. Flames licked up the sides of the wall, and a cross beam had fallen in front of a door, jamming it closed. Over the crackling and popping, I heard the thumping. It was coming from behind the blocked door. “Hey!” I yelled. “Are you in here?” I tapped the door, keeping my hand as far from the fire as I could. “Yes . . . there’s another . . . door,” the voice said, growing weaker. I stepped back, took a deep breath, and zipped up my sweatshirt. Then I raced forward and took a flying leap over the burning cross beam. I landed safely on the other side. The rest of the apartment was up in flames, and there was smoke everywhere. I could barely make out the bedroom doors, one right in front of me and one to my left. The one to my...

The sapphire sparkles on her necklace. I take of a sip of my drink and watch the girl make her rounds, showing off the necklace. She’s the fifth woman to do just that this month. The other four are dead. Some people say the necklace is cursed, the necklace version of the Hope Diamond. But, they say the curse only affects those who wear the necklace, which is good news for me because I’m not going to wear it. I’m here to steal it. I leave my full glass on the bar and head after the girl with the sapphire necklace. She’s talking to a man who thinks he’s more important than he is, a duke or an earl. I saunter up behind her, getting into position. As soon as I’m ready, the lights go out. Women shriek, and I pretend to bump into the girl with the necklace. “Oomph!” I knock her to the ground. “I’m so sorry, miss. Here, let me help you.” I offer her my hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet, more forcefully than necessary. She collides with my chest. “Oh,” she say...

I dropped another box on the table sitting in the driveway. It was the last box of Dad’s old stuff. I didn’t want to get rid of it, but I couldn’t stand to keep the house and there was no way all of this would fit in my apartment. I was keeping two boxes. The rest had to go. I started unpacking the box I’d just brought down. I pulled out several jars of nails, an assortment of tchotchkes, and an old baseball. My fingers felt along the seam, searching for where I’d tried to cut it open when I was six. Dad had caught me going at it with scissors, and he’d just about had a conniption. “Jared! What are you doing?” he’d yelled. “Stop!” When I kept trying to cut into it, he’d snatched the baseball out of my hands. I’d started to cry. “Hey, buddy,” he’d said, his voice softer. He’d sat down next to me and pried the scissors from my tiny fingers. “You can have it back.” It was my turn to snatch the baseball from him. I went for the scissors next. “Ah, ah, ah,” Da...

Someone handed me a lei. I slipped it over my head, and the flower’s perfume floated up to my nose. I inhaled deeply, winding my way to the front of the yard. People were already lining up there, wearing grass skirts and leis and smiling and laughing. Torches lined the back of the stage they stood on, and there were two neat rows on either side of the stage. “Allison!” I turned at the sound of my name, but my feet didn’t stop. They kept their course. When I couldn’t find who’d shouted my name, I turned back to the stage just in time to run into a bus boy. He reeled backwards. I grabbed his arms, but instead of holding him upright, I was dragged down with him. He crashed into one of the corners of the stage. The torch there wobbled. “No, no, no!” I reached for the torch, but it slipped through my fingers. It fell into the one behind it, and that one fell into the torch behind it, and so on until half the stage’s torches had been downed. The grass behind the st...

My tires squeal on the wet asphalt as I take a turn too fast. Rain pelts the windshield, and I ease on the brakes. I can’t see a thing, and I don’t need an accident making me any later than I already am. I check the speedometer. When I look back, something’s in the road. I brake, but the road’s too wet for me to stop. I cringe as the car bumps over something. I pull over, grab an umbrella and a flashlight, and hop out. I approach whatever it is that I ran over. It doesn’t move. As I get closer, I see that it’s wearing a jacket. It has hair. I ran over a person. My stomach twists as I turn the person over. He’s dead, but I didn’t kill him. He was shot. Somebody murdered him.

I flung the lamp at my ex-fiancé as he ducked. The lamp shattered against the wall. “We can talk this out, babe.” I chucked a statue at him. “No, we can’t!” The statue went through the wall and into the next room. My fiancé glanced in the hole. He paled. “There’s a body in here.”

They pulled off the highway, turning onto a dirt road. She stared out the window, her eyes searching for signs of life. He watched just as intently to keep from running anything over. He didn’t want to kill anything. The same couldn’t be said of his companion. When the dirt road ran out, he put the car in park, and they hopped out. He stood in front of the car, looking down the overgrown footpath leading into the woods. She slipped around the back. “What are you doing, babe?” “Just getting a warmer jacket.” She opened the trunk. “It’s cold out here.” But instead of digging through her bag, she set it to the side and grabbed the tire iron. Holding it behind her leg, she joined him in front of the car. “Wanna see where it goes?” She gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “Of course.” He picked his way down the footpath, but she paused, looking over her shoulder. No other cars were coming. They were alone. That same sickly-sweet smile found its way to her lips, and ...

He hadn’t seen her since the day they left high school. It’d been six years. He’d meant to keep in touch, call her from time to time, but he never did. Now he never would. He stepped forward, looking down at her peaceful face, and tucked a single rose under one of her lifeless hands.

I fumbled with my key. My fingers were so cold I couldn’t get the damn thing in the lock. When I did manage to get the door unlocked, my jaw dropped. “What the hell?” The furniture in my foyer was all wrong. A leafy, fake plant sat in the corner where my coat rack used to be. My coat rack was up and gone. A round table took up the center of the small space with another fake plant resting on it. I’d never seen either before in my life. My glass trophy case was nowhere to be found. I backed out the door and off the front porch. The number on my house was right, and I could see the street sign. That was right, too. This was my address. It had been for years. I marched back inside. Leaving the door ajar, I crept further into the apartment. The baseball bat I’d kept behind the door was gone, but the new coat rack was just as good. My grip on the coat rack faltered as I got a load of the living room. A loveseat, couch, and matching armchair had replaced my sectional. An oc...

Clutching my gun, I take a deep breath. I know they’re waiting around the corner. I have one chance, and I’m going to make it count. I lean around the corner, firing into my enemies. They shoot back, and bullets tear through my body. I curse, but it’s okay. I’ll respawn in a few minutes.

The smell of citrus invaded my nose. It wrinkled in disgust under my blindfold. I hated citrus. “What is this place? What do you want from me?” In response, a pair of hands shoved me forward. I stumbled, the smell of citrus becoming overwhelming. My head swam, and I swayed. I opened my mouth to demand answers from my captor. Before I got a word out, the tart flavor of citrus infiltrated my taste buds, and I gagged. The hands grabbed my upper arms, guiding me farther forward. The citrus smell grew stronger, almost overpowering, but there was something underneath it, too. A pungent, rank smell, and something sweet. My brow furrowed as I tried to place the smell. I’d smelled it before, I was sure of it. As I worked it out, the hands reached up and tugged my blindfold off. I swallowed as I took in the room in front of me. A dozen massive vats filled with orange goop lined the wall. No, not goop. Marmalade. Twelve clear, floor-to-ceiling containers filled to the brim with...

“Go get it, Jazz!” I throw a rawhide bone. My dog chases after it, disappearing into the trees. “You’re supposed to bring it back, Jazz! Jasper!” I step forward. Jasper comes tearing back, carrying something too large to be the rawhide bone. He drops it at my feet, and I scream. It’s a human arm.

I always knew I’d die young, but I never thought I’d know which sixty seconds would be my last. A blast rocked the room. One door down, three more to go. They’d have to blow them all. These locks didn’t budge for anything. Except for explosives and the codes, and those codes were damn near impossible to get. I’d spent a year tracking them down, and apparently, I still hadn’t gotten the right ones. The second door blew, and the room rocked, the tables and chairs jumping into the air. I planted my butt in one of those chairs. I had forty-five seconds left, and I wasn’t about to let all my hard work go to waste. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I opened a data transfer link. A message popped up on the screen. Ready for transmission, Empress . My handler, telling me to get on with it. A third bomb went off, and I just about fell out of my chair. The computer skidded across the desk. I slid down to keep typing. Fifteen more seconds, and it was all over for me. I d...

“Do you need help with that, ma’am?” The elderly woman smiles. “Why, yes. Thank you, dear.” “Is this your bus?” “Put it in the middle. It’s the best spot.” He boards the bus, but she doesn’t follow. She hobbles behind a concrete pillar and dials a number. The detonator engages, and her suitcase explodes.

My feet carried me into the hospital, like someone else was controlling them. They marched through the lobby, onto the elevator, down the hall and only faltered when I walked up to the room. Someone was already inside. He rose when he saw me. His eyes glittered in the low light. “I’m gonna go get some coffee.” He slipped by me and disappeared around a corner. My feet moved on their own again and took me to the now empty chair at the bedside. I took in the sight before me, and my heart plummeted through my chest, heavy with guilt. This was my fault. I sat down, taking the patient’s hand in my own. A machine beeped his slow and steady pulse. A tube went down his throat, filling his empty stomach. They’d pumped it to get out a deadly cocktail of drugs and alcohol. A combination he’d put there himself, because of me. “You bastard,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “Why did you do this to yourself? I’m not worth all this.” I took a shaky breath. “If I was, you never...

My wife disappeared on August 28, 1998. The world doesn’t know what happened to her. But I do. Like a good husband, I reported her missing. I answered all their questions. I waited until she was legally pronounced dead before getting rid of her junk. The world thinks I’m a good husband, but I am not. I am not because I know what happened to my wife on August 28, 1998. I’m not sorry. For any of it. My wife was not a good wife, you see. She saw other men and spent more time with them than she did with me. She lied to me constantly, saying they were just friends, but I know they weren’t. I know my wife didn’t deserve my affection and nobody deserved her twisted idea of love. That is why what happened on August 28, 1998 happened. My wife brought it upon herself. I deserved better, and she deserved what she got. But, if you ask me, death might’ve been too kind. I wanted to make it long and slow and painful, but the police find it suspicious when you keep going to the ...