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Flash Fiction

I don't adhere to a specific genre. In fact, I try to write across all subjects. I love micro-fiction because it satisfies my craving for writing without the demands of in-depth character and plot development.

brown concrete building under starry night
About Flash Fiction

Flash fiction is also known as "short short stories." They vary in length, usually from 6 to 300 words. Some say flash fiction can be up to 1,000 words.

My stories are 50 words. Exactly. Not 49, not 52. This is largely because I was first introduced to flash fiction (or micro fiction) from a site called fiftywordstories.com.

I probably don't have to say this, but please don't plagiarize any of my works. If you really feel the need to copy it, please just mention where you got it.

Thanks For Reading!
Giving Thanks

The trees were starting to turn aflame with deep reds and vibrant oranges. The air was cool and crisp; the Sun just peeking over the horizon. I stood in the brisk autumn morning, steam from my coffee mingling with the breath from my body, carrying prayers of thanksgiving to Heaven.


The Stranger

Stranded. They had crossed the river but the dam gates had been opened and the river was rising. “Do you need help?” called a stranger from the opposite shore. He led them safely across and back to the road. The friends turned to thank the stranger, but he was gone.

10 Second Meditation

I close my eyes; the world stops. Silence. Darkness. I sit motionless in a room bathed in comforting light. I let go and for a brief moment I’m free. The world crashes around me as the WALK sign flashes to life. I cross the street on my way to work.

Space Travel

He gazed intently at the night sky, as if he could see the distant worlds if he just stared hard enough, long enough. His soul thrilled at the notion of space travel. Scientists had recently discovered a new planet that might harbor life.

They had even named it already: Earth.

The Breakroom

She walked slowly toward the breakroom, apprehensive, anxious; afraid of what she would find. She had been gone for a few weeks. Would they be there? She knew she had taken them for granted and was deeply regretful. She beamed with joy. There they were – paper towels and coffee cups!

The Mists of Time

The fog swirled in thick clouds. She heard a familiar voice. It was fading into the mists. She had to act quickly before it was gone forever.

“What’s the afterlife like?” she called.

A pause.

“Confusing,” came her father’s voice.

Letting go, at a loss yet somehow comforted, she awoke.

No One’s Listening

“It’s a great day to be alive,” I think, as I squeeze the trigger; cold steel pressed against my temple. The shot is deafening, shattering the peaceful afternoon, startling the birds into flight and shocking the frogs into silence. The following silence is equally deafening.

Good thing no one’s listening.