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Very short, largely self-contained fiction.


The leaves of the tree wouldn’t have moved if they hadn’t been programmed to, but the light breeze caught them, enameled brass so thin they barely weighed more than a real leaf, and they rustled, glass-like against each other. Nearby the river rushed in whispering, rasping gouts, tiny quartz beads thrust into cataracts by jeweled … Continue reading »

Categories: Clockwork, Flash, Writing | Leave a comment

Clockwork Argument

Jorge sat down at the breakfast table. He was feeling good; he had slept through the whole night, and woken to gentle rays of morning sun curling their fingers around the window curtains. A bird sang in the distance, and even though it had been programmed to sing this song, he found the rising ditty … Continue reading »

Categories: Clockwork, Fiction, Flash | Tags: | Leave a comment

A Few Good Chincillas

It isn’t all fluffy bunnies and puppy dogs in the animal control biz. Well, there are a lot of fluffy bunnies and bathtubs full of puppy dogs, but there’s a darker side, too, and not dark like some nice shade to get out of the sun before you catch a raging case of melanoma, but … Continue reading »

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I awakened to the artificial voice from the grille overhead saying, “Next stop Ashtabula. Connections to the Great Withern Line and the Ember River.” The light outside was orange and the sun was the color of raw beef as the train pulled into the station. Continue reading »

Categories: Fiction, Flash, Locale exercise, Writing | Leave a comment

Pity Me: The Rough Guide

         No one knows anything about Pity Me because anthropologists refuse to study it.  I mean, who wants to spend three years studying a bunch of whiners?  At grad schools across the country, Pity Me ranks even lower in popularity than its neighboring regions of Nobody Likes Me or Everybody Hates Me.  Budding … Continue reading »

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Flin Flon

The closest thing to the airstrip was the bar. It was named Bar. This far from civilization it was better not to pretend to own anything. Hercules knew Jordan, the owner, but he went in anyway. Continue reading »

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It’s been said that civilization is founded upon its causalities; that progress marches on – over a bridge of corpses. Civilized humanity was bred for obedience, but every breeding project has its rejects. Ismailia is the place where they all end up. It works like this: when a boy is to become a man and … Continue reading »

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Bad Kissingen

Bad Kissingen originated as a small German seaside resort town on the North Sea, where a tiny geothermal vent pressed up through the narrow crust, producing hot springs with a far higher than typical sulfur content. Hence the name–in the marginal dialect of Lower Middle Flendish, “kissen” means “to break wind.” (It is a little … Continue reading »

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Just a little glue. It beads along the fracture and I carefully daub off the excess with a swab, still paying no mind to the yammering of my boy. He’ll probably blubber and crunch up his fists because I won’t listen. The devil could learn about wickedness from that boy. From spite I don’t look … Continue reading »

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His Baryonic Life

He lay on the couch–a very tiny couch, so microscopic it took a cyclotron the size of an Ikea to resolve it–and told me his story. Here’s my story, Prof, he said. He was very still, though not quite motionless, but barely more than the quantum zero point motion. I was born in violence, Prof, … Continue reading »

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