Flash Fiction

Everyone was looking at us as though they all knew that Ritu had done the work and I had tried to mooch off her.

We all play a bit of a game when in love, don’t we?

Arman scoffed at the idea of a life beyond death, and Dad pointed out the irony of a ghost denying the afterlife.

Could be half my life, I said, could be all of it. Could be a third, Gabby said.

Right thinks we are a good person. Left does not.

In parks and gardens abundant in plants and flowers, the grass is nothing more than a backdrop. Only at airports, with no masters to serve and no adversaries to overcome, can it reach its fullest glory.

On the day that Pat met Jim Dasterson in the barrier, he had less than a dollar in one pocket and an ounce of gin in the other.

He called. She answered. He was her only sibling. He’d paid to have someone deliver her citrus so that she could avoid scurvy.

“After my father stopped breathing, God bless his memory, I covered his body up in blankets—and kept studying.”