Category: Finalist for Ernest Hemingway Flash Fiction Prize

“I’m Blue”

Caracas, Venezuela They fly around the city making their cawing sounds, behaving like nothing is crumbling. The city is crumbling. I have...

“When the Boys Went”

I ask Meri to pass me the binoculars. “Just one more minute,” she says. I see the clouds starting to blow in and know my chance will...

“Guilt and Matter”

The man cries then vomits. It starts with a foamy leak down his T-shirt, followed by a stream of color and guts. He is embarrassed. This is...

“Gail”

I’m always woken up by the sun baking my legs inside my duvet. We don’t have curtains in our bedroom, me and Alan, because Alan gets...

“Others”

Images before the crash—the gravelly craters of the dirt road under headlights, like the moon’s ghastly laughter, or a bedroom...

“The Last Story I Cared About”

My first story, I was six, was about my cat, the cat I had until it contracted feline leukemia. Its breath at the end smelled of rancid...

“Dead Man Dressing”

I’m wearing a dead man’s clothes, and I feel fine. I spend fifteen minutes or more each day knotting his tie. Just so. Snug against my...

“Dig a Sheet-Rag a Hole”

Training with dead men sucks. Lewis lost his right arm in a factory and can’t do a pushup, while Carlos won’t stop vomiting up his last...

“Branding Day”

The skin sizzled and spat, grains of flesh melting beneath the hot iron. The cow roared and bellowed, throwing its hind quarters upwards...

“Tat”

“It looks like cancer,” Mildred said over the scratchy cell phone. “She’s covered with it. Incorrigible! What is...

“The Funny Thing About a Cambodian Prison”

Oh, the funny thing about a Cambodian prison, he says, is that if you have money, you can live better on the inside than you can on the...