Tag: Flash Fiction

Last Postcard

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The last postcard I sent to my mother came back labeled, “Attempted- Not Known.” My fault. I left off all but the G in Georgetown, Texas. No zip code. Maybe it was a premonition that stopped my hand. The date of return was the day she died.

“Love you,” is all I was trying to say. Would she even have heard the aide read the two words? She hadn’t responded to my daily postcards. Maybe the message was lost to her in the haze of last days, not in the post office where someone shrugged, unable to deliver the undeliverable.

King Arthur’s Dog with a Lesson on the Resilience of Culture

Creative Commons: Road bridge over Caban Coch by Nick Mutton

I lived in Wales where Arthur dwelled before England took him for their king. His favorite hunting dog, I was. All that’s left is a print of my paw cast in stone atop a cairn. Maybe you have the strength and courage to climb the craggy peaks of Cam Gafallt. Look but don’t take. The rock finds its way back from those who steal it.

So many things the English took from Wales- stories, language- as if defeat could erase our spirit. My paw print will never disappear from Cam Gafallt, nor will our people’s differences hide behind a common culture. 

Turning Straw Into Crime

http://www.artsycraftsy.com/anderson_prints.html by Anne Anderson (1874- 1930)

The witness took her seat and told the court the terrible truth about the defendant, Mr. Rumplestiltskin. “So, he wouldn’t give me his name. I was desperate. He would save my life for a necklace. The next time, it was a ring. The third time, my first born child. I agreed each time, but when the baby came… I couldn’t give her up.”

“I found Rumplestiltskin online with an image search. There’s hundreds of victims. A baby selling business, he trafficked alchemists. Your honor, Rumplestiltskin is an evil man who preys on others’ misfortune. Make him pay for his crimes.”

A Tale of Intrigue, a Talking Bird and a Lesson for the Sultan

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I, the Talking Bird, saw the story unfold. Innocent children abandoned to die, then saved. Lying sisters who ordered them set afloat like baby Moses. The foolish Sultan who believed the Queen Consort’s scheming sisters and cast her out.

I left the palace for a high mountain where I resided with the Singing Tree and the Golden Water. A dervish warned off visitors. Only the sweet Queen’s daughter was clever enough to bring us home.

Once there, I told the shame-faced Sultan of his injustice to his Queen.

When Scheherazade told the tale to her sultan, did he have regrets?

The Green M&M isn’t Tucker’s First Toon Love

Cosplayers at the 2022 Phoenix Fan Fusion
Wikimedia Commons photo by Gage Skidmore

Two M&Ms walk into a bar. The green one, the sexy lady, is accompanied by a tough blue peanut.

There’s a commentator at the counter with a rabbit on his arm. “Look at them heels.”

Blue Guy sizes him up. “Who you calling a heel?” He gets ready to swing.

“Heels, I like heels.” He’s pointing like crazy at the floor.

“The shoes? Ever tried to walk in them,” Sexy Lady asks.

“You trading them in? I want an exclusive.”

Jessica Rabbit frowns. “Tucker Baby, I’m feeling excluded.”

The commentator says, “Don’t be a Looney Toon, think of the ratings.”

Demon New Year

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“The demon lurks around the corner, under the house, under the bed. If you sleep, little one, she will drive you mad.”

“What’s mad.” The tiny child jingled coins rhythmically in a red envelope. The metallic noise soothed. He wake-dreamed of sweets from the shop where a nice old man scooped cones of syrupy ice. Eyes dropped. But something, maybe wisdom, maybe obedience kept deep dreams away.

Fearsome looking, Sui demon opened the door. Leaves swirled underfoot. She reached; she intended an evil touch.The child and his father stirred. Coins clanked together. Moonlight gave chase and Sui melted away.

When Will We Learn

Creative Commons, Eugenio Hansen, OFC
File:Martin Luther King, Jr .svg


King and Gandhi trudged across the mall in DC. January sleet muddied the streets. Instead of shadows, their spirits cast glowing light over the dark pockets between street lamps.

“You scare me.” An NRA tough pulled out a gun. 

King stopped. “That’s because you don’t know me.”

The tough cocked the gun. “I don’t need to. I’m standing my ground.”

Gandhi said, “Let us talk, son.”

“This does the talking for me.” NRA fired. 

The bullet spun between the three men, caught in a mighty vortex. King said, “Nothing is more powerful than non-violence. Now put the gun away.”

The Magi and the Cake

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Three kings emerged from a swirling storm of sand into 2023. Sand transformed to rain and wind stilled. They parked their camels in front of a cottage to munch sweet grass. 

When a woman opened the door, the smell of Gallete du Rois met them. “You came in costume.” It was like they were old friends.

They crossed the threshold and mingled. A babble of languages greeted them: a glass of wine, a piece of cake, a celebration of their gift to a child king, a toast to peace on earth. The magic of it was that all were welcome.

The Rules Suspended

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She met him in Classics 101. The Saturnalia party, his idea. The cake hers. Ginny dropped a Roman coin in the corner of the cake pan and marked the batter with food color. She would cut the cake herself and give Leo the piece that would name him Lord of Misrule. She hoped he would carry her away… wasn’t she already carried away with him?

That evening, a dozen classmates gathered in the dorm lounge before winter break for the potluck and gift exchange. Leo tasted like wine and spice when he kissed her. Thus are Saturn’s chaos seeds sown.

Pride, Goblins, and Other Monsters

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The Goblin King’s minion had failed. Hershel tricked him and kept the Hanukkah candles burning. 

“The Jew will not win again. No more miraculous nights. Darkness for Donbas.” The goblin exploded into a vortex that sucked up the atmosphere. The synagogue door shattered to splinters. “Behold my power.”

Hershel shook with fear. “I see no one. Light a candle if you’re there.”

The goblin’s pride kept him lighting the candles. He wanted respect.

Hershel led the Goblin King on until the last candle had been lit. Furious, the goblin destroyed the synagogue, but Hershel and the menorah’s light stayed strong.

Inspired by Eric Kimmel’s Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, with hope for a miracle in Ukraine. Kimmel credits a Ukrainian folktale for his inspiration. It’s turtles all the way down.