Monday, September 16, 2013

Flash Me Archives


Dinner Date    By OFW editor: Carlos J Cortes    Publish Date: September 11, 2013

I need to shave my legs. Sonya ran a hand over her left shin. Will tonight be the night?
Ernie wasn’t a prize catch, that was for sure, but he looked a nice boy, fresh, untainted yet by cityscapes. What had he said? “There’s harmony in your feet.” Harmony? Sonya wiggled her toes and sighed.
The afternoon was young and balmy; overwhelming melancholy suggesting a treat, a little indulgence. Yes, she thought, indulgence it is.
She stood on bare feet, sauntered to her bedroom’s dresser and rescued a zipper pouch with peony prints. On her way to the kitchen, she picked up a large square plastic basin from the laundry cupboard and placed it in the sink under the hot water faucet. Back in the living room, Sonia dropped the pouch on a low table to the ever-changing echo of running water....more

The Assignment    By OFW editor: Katrina Monroe    Publish Date: September 04, 2013

The worst part of the jump is the unyielding tightness, like being squeezed through a sausage casing.

I was twenty when I was chosen. Stolen. I jogged past that phone booth every morning for a year before I’d heard it ring for the first time. Curiosity enticed me to pick up the receiver. A flash of sharp white light, and I was being crushed in an invisible fist. When it stopped, I was in a blank room with blank-faced beings. They spoke to me with no lips and looked dead at me with no eyes.

Now I hear voices that tell me to do things....more

PIE    By OFW editor: Carlos J Cortes    Publish Date: August 28, 2013

From Oruro, the woman occupying the opposite seat in the train compartment had rubbed the fog from the window, brought her nose to the glass and checked her watch at least six times in less than thirty minutes.
Jorge kept his eyes low on the book, a much-used and dog-eared collection of native folktales. Perhaps the time of day or the downpour had weighed on the bookseller’s mind; after checking the tag—a pencil squiggle on the last page—he’d priced it at a paltry figure....more

The Case of the Defective Detective    By OFW editor: Renée Miller    Publish Date: August 21, 2013

By Maril Swan
“The saturnine detective sat moodily by the fireplace, while pouring a dipper of cocaine into his Meerschaum pipe.”
“Dr. Watsiname! If you must write that drivel, at least do it silently.” The saturnine detective took a deep drag from his pipe and stared moodily into the fire. At length, he picked up his violin, scraping a tune reminiscent of fingernails scratching on a blackboard. Hard thumping on the wall made the detective smile. It was all the applause he needed to continue his performance....more

Forget-me-not    By OFW editor: Renée Miller    Publish Date: August 14, 2013

By Veronica Sicoe

When they're fresh, the cuts don't look how they're supposed to. They're moist, and the flesh around them is tender. I like them better the next day, when the scabs have covered the gashes and drawn jagged lines across my forearm. I like them much better when they itch. Then I feel justified to scratch them open.

I take another sip of coffee, then place the cup in the middle of the round mat, the deep-blue one with those tiny petals cut into the rim. I feel like deep-blue this morning. I stop a drop of coffee that oozes down the side of my cup, and lick my finger....more

Martin    By OFW editor: Carlos J Cortes    Publish Date: August 07, 2013

Martin came into Patrick’s life as a sick joke two days before he’d broken off a year-long relationship with his girlfriend Susan, this time permanently. There was no use, really. They had nothing in common and a widening gulf in habits, outlook, and character, had reduced their lives to a nightmare of rebukes and silences. Not comfortable silences, mind you—like the ones shared with a soul friend—but the terse spells when sharp looks ricochet off walls like shrapnel....more

Tequila Blues    By OFW editor: Renée Miller    Publish Date: July 31, 2013

He got up from the carpet and brushed himself off. Bits of chips and other whatnots clung to his legs.
“Damn it,” he searched the floor for his pants. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted like ass. Tequila and him were no longer friends.
The room reeked of booze and smoke. His fellow partiers crashed wherever they could find a scrap of dirty green carpeting. More than a few had also lost various articles of clothing.
Man, what happened last night? Last he recalled Jenny dragged him from the bar so he could accompany her to a “work party”. He didn’t realize accountants were such a rowdy bunch....more