Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: The Verdict

The verdict is always the same. Outrage sparks in the gallery. The judge bangs his gavel, calling for order. Bailiffs remove people from the court room. There were sure to be demonstrations and protests in the street. How did it come to this? Is justice really blind? Does the fault lie with the system or the jury? One look around the court room and I have my answer.

 

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Flash Fiction – The Time and the Place

Is this the time? Is this the place? It could be. Is this the right cause? That question is harder to answer. A fight, here and now, meant risking everything. It had to be worth it. The war is more than one battle. Generals understood that. They urge us to keep our powder dry and to pick our moment. Some of those hunkered down next to me heed their words while others throw themselves into the fray. I pick my shots, sniping at targets of opportunity, until the enemy rises from hiding. That’s when everything changes. Lit by torches and emboldened by reckless hate, their standards represent the blood of innocents spilled for their cause. There is no longer any doubt. I rise, along with all the others and charge forward. Fighting against evil is always worth it, no matter the risk.

 

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Flash Fiction: The Wall

The wall towered over me. It had protected me from dangers, real and imagined, but that safety came at a price. I was isolated and alone. As I surveyed my handiwork, I spotted an imperfection. A small crack had appeared. Through it, sound was able to penetrate the weathered stone. Amid the screams of terror, cries of intolerance, and all the things I had fled, there were whispered words of hope. Could I find camaraderie and friendship, free of my self-imposed exile? Was the chance for something more worth the risk of venturing out into the world again? I pick up my tools, still unsure of whether I want to expand or fix the crack in the wall.

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Flash Fiction: Night of the Long Knives

The air reeks of incompetence. Lies are told. Truths are revealed. Battle lines are drawn. Knives are drawn and blood is spilled. Do I sit back and watch or join the fray? As I weigh my options, a hand clamps over my mouth and nose. Something sharp slides between my ribs, a painful reminder that no one is safe when the the sun sets and long knives come out.

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Flash Fiction: The Demon

It was a nightmare from ages past. I thought I had vanquished this demon, yet here it was again. Given strength by the stress of the moment and my weakness, it seemed unbeatable. As my resolve weakened. I thought back to the advice of my sponsor and the stories of those who battled this same foe. I remembered the mistakes made and the price paid. I set the bottle down, unopened.

 

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Flash Fiction: The Tapestry

The tapestry was over two hundred years old. It was more than a simple wall hanging. It was a work of art that brought together those who viewed it. The images embroidered on it depicted the dream our ancestors fought and died for. It wasn’t perfect. The loose threads were easy to ignore until someone pulled on them. The fabric bunched up. More threads came undone. These too were pulled. The damage and imperfections were now clearly visible. The entire tapestry was unraveling. Can it be restored to its former glory? Is it even worth the effort? There’s only one way to find out. I look to my tools and co-workers. Together, we get to work

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Flash Fiction: The Call

There it was again. It was like the sound of distant thunder. Carson glanced at his traveling companions. He didn’t know the men and women sharing the road with him. None of them seemed to hear the sound. Instead of asking them about it, he turned away from them and struck off into the wilderness on his own. With the road lost to him, he let his senses to guide him.

“You hear it, don’t you?”

Carson wasn’t surprised or caught off guard by the question. He caught sight of the old man leaning against the tree before he had spoken.

“Yes. Was that you?”

The stranger shook his head. His weathered skin and wispy snow white beard were at odds with his youthful eyes. They gave the impression that despite all the man had seen, he was still eager to see and do more.

“No. It wasn’t. I heard it too. It’s not the first time. Some are blessed and cursed to hear it more than once in their lifetimes.”

The sound hadn’t stopped. It was louder and more urgent. It took all his willpower to resist its pull. Thankfully, the old man abandoned his resting spot to walk in the direction of the sound.

“I don’t understand,” Carson said. “What is it?”

“Maybe it’s a call to action? Maybe it’s a cry for help? We won’t know which until we get there.”

Carson thought about that. “What about the others I was traveling with? Why couldn’t they hear it?

At that, the old man smiled sadly. “What makes you think they didn’t? Some chose to ignore it. Not everyone has the strength or courage to answer the call.”

As they neared their destination, Carson noticed others converging on the area. He still didn’t know what awaited them or what they would do when they got there. He just knew it was important that they had answered the call.

 

Author’s Note: Carson is the main protagonist for a fantasy story called The Dreamers. Whenever I write a story, I make a lot of notes. Some of those notes evolve into stories of their own that help me flesh out the characters or give a little insight into them. Every once in a while, I post one of these stories. As for The Dreamers, I’m still working on it and a few other stories that I need to publish.

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