Tag Archives: flash fiction

Flight of the Starlings

I remember our first clandestine meeting. Our forbidden love bloomed under the unabashed red and yellow gulmohar. You thought I was coy, but who can look the sun in the… Read more »

Salt n’ Pepper

This piece was first published on The Weekly Knob – a publication on Medium. I wanted to write something light and breezy in response to their prompt – Salt Shaker…. Read more »

Sorry, Mr. Frost

“Behold, the road less traveled!” Ben pointed to a fork in the trail with a dramatic swish of his hand. Wide and well trodden, the trail on the left was… Read more »

Behind him, the Monterey shore was turning into a distant speck. He stared out into the vast blue ahead. Cold gusts of briny wind slapped his cheeks. He wished he was someplace warm. He could go inside and sit with the others in the galley, but that would mean sitting with Cora.

Spark

Robots had squashed human rebellion by making an example of Crazy Gage. Whip marks on Gage’s back were the stuff of legend. The ‘crazy’ got added to his name after his stint in the underground cells.

Space Mountain

Tiny droplets of vapor collected inside the oxygen mask every time he exhaled. A thin layer of crust had formed on his eyelashes, like cobwebs in an abandoned house. Clear fluid dripped from an IV line in slow, almost hypnotic droplets. The room was quiet except for the staccato beeping of the heart monitor and the whooshing, Darth Vader-ish noise of the ventilator.

Before You Order that Pizza…

I loaded the last spoon into the dishwasher when I heard her coming down the steps. “At last, the tiny dictator sleeps!” she beamed with her hands in the air like a victorious… Read more »

The Moon Bazaar

As she neared the bazaar, the brightness almost fooled her into happy thoughts. She could smell the warm notes of cardamom and incense mixed with the acrid stench of moonshine from the bordello.

Lines and Laddoos

A stacked lunch box as tall as the mound of files is waiting, both jostling for his attention. I say a little prayer for the person whose paperwork is in the file at the very bottom. The lunch box always gets precedence over the files.

Inside a Writer’s Mind

There’s an anger, a restlessness about you. You’re carrying scars from your childhood, perhaps. I see you in pigtails laying flowers on your mother’s grave on a winter morning. You’re wondering to yourself why Dad is crying and where Mom went. Or did your dad leave you when you were a child? Mom cried every time you asked her when dad would be back and you didn’t know why.