example of flash fiction

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A Young Turkish Catastrophe in Two Scenes

The Minister for Fine Arts (to whose Department had been lately added the new sub-section of Electoral Engineering) paid a business visit to the Grand Vizier. According to Eastern etiquette they discoursed for a while on indifferent subjects. The minister only checked himself in time from making a passing reference to the Marathon Race, remembering that the Vizier had a Persian grandmother and might consider any allusion to Marathon as somewhat tactless. Presently the Minister broached the subject of his interview.

“Under the new Constitution are women to have votes?” he asked suddenly.

“To have votes? Women?” exclaimed the Vizier in some astonishment. “My dear Pasha, the New Departure has a flavor of the absurd as it is; don’t let’s try and make it altogether ridiculous. Women have no souls and no intelligence; why on earth should they have votes?”

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The Birthday

Dad was carrying a tray of grilled hot dogs across the fresh-cut grass when his knees stiffened and black smoke spewed from his nose. His shoulders lurched forward and his chin swung down and clanged against his chest as more and more black smoke billowed from his open mouth. There was a loud bang and a child’s scream as Dad crashed to the ground face-down, elbows pointed to the sky, his body still locked in the position of a man carrying a tray of hot dogs.

Mom herded the screaming kids into the kitchen and called my Uncle Steve who was there within ten minutes. In the meantime she pushed red candles into my cake and led a cheery chorus of “Happy Birthday” over the bangs that sounded from the backyard.

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Beholder

The girl behind the counter is a waif with mottled cheeks, swaddled in a blue barista’s apron. Her nametag, scratched half-bare, tells me only that she is a trainee. She offers me a timid smile, thin sparkle-glossed lips closed tight. She wears augmentation lenses, red plastic frames that glitter, a cheap pair that clash with her yellow blouse and leave her looking like a deflated circus tent. Through them, she squints at me, perhaps seeking common ground, but more likely gauging the level of customer service I’ll expect.

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