Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: Puppets

3 December 2019


By Stephanie Kee


For the body: a twig, perhaps, or a sheet of paper.

A head smart enough to never question. To be obedient. To know ancient poetry and not know better.

Nose pinched for that high bridge. Smile painted on and sealed with varnish.

And don’t forget the strings—impossibly short, impossible to cut. She’ll need the guidance; she can’t stand on her own.

There. Look how perfect. Our 娃娃, our puppet, our well-behaved daughter.


By Mark Yin


You stand there in the doorway while I lie in bed bundled up like a pierrot doll, and you whisper into the darkness of my room without stepping inside. You whisper dreams into my head as I drift off, and when I wake up I can’t tell if they’re mine or yours.

Burn Down

By Thirangie Jayatilake


Only your parents can find you someone good, they say. 

It’s not a treasure hunt, it’s like a walk down the aisle in a grocery store. Pick up a product. 

Because women, they say, have an expiration date. Your biological clock is tick, tick ticking. 


I dare you. Throw me in the microwave. Set the timer.

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