Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: Close

9 December 2020

Teck-Phui Chua

They stood, scattered across the field, heavy heads bent down touching the ground. Dawn broke and the warmth of the sun’s rays evaporated the dew off them, bringing them back to life. Slowly they stretched up, straightening themselves, facing up towards the sky. Their bright white petals popped open one by one revealing the hidden pollen inside. Their faces turned as the sun moved, their petals spread as wide as the sun’s rays.

Slowly the petals closed, hiding their golden stash. The sun left and the cold overtook the warmth as the daisies slowly bent down towards the ground again. The day came to a close.

Bygone Times by Vanessa Lee

I remember closing my fingers against the night sky, trying to catch stars and cradling them with friends; sweet and true in the way little kids are. We wanted a little wonder of our own. So, we reached out to the skies and listened to unseen stars whispering their hopes; reflections of bygone times. As each day and each year come to a close, I wonder if you ever think of those simpler moments as often as I, when time slipped by syrupy-slow and we forgot to keep an eye on the clock as we grew older and older. 

Doors by Mark Yin

You open your phone 


And you extend your hand as f        a           r as it will go, because here and


It is the medium through which you touch

Taste smell see and hear

You reach and you reach and you reach

And then, when you close your phone


You can’t quite tell if you’ve built 



Or doors. 

Nicole Hegedus 

A hand plunging down my throat, into my stomach. Fingers groping against soft flesh, organs, veins. Searching through acid and bile, it is horribly dark. Warm, but black. Your fingernails are short. I wonder, do you still play the guitar? There is no feeling inside. Nothing to feel. Nothing solid to grasp. Nothing but entropic little pieces enmeshed and bound into fluidity. Chaos and order. The pain is long gone. Some would call it closure. We are perfect opposites. Counterparts. Bound by our disunity.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *