For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
Have you read this before? If so, you’re likely much more familiar with flash fiction than when I first ventured across the genre earlier this year. If not, these six words represent flash fiction, or more specifically, one type of it — a six-word story. I highlight this story because it’s long been associated, erroneously, with Ernest Hemingway, among others. If you’re interested in a bit of literary history, read here for more: https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/hemingway-baby-shoes/).
Back to the question, what is flash fiction?
Although known by many names, such as short shorts, nano tales, micro-stories…
An old apple tree had long been my dear friend. He and I were of similar height in our infancy. He began bearing fruit the year I learned to ride a bike. He caressed me when I dared to climb to the height of his arms. Years later, I returned to him three separate times. First, with my daughter. Next, with my grandson. And then, at length, with my resting bones.
Michael R Kiel Fictions
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There was tremendous oddness about that day, as it was chronicled later. The sky above the town of Brezdo glowed in a surreal and beautiful haze of orange. It was November, late enough in the season for snow. Indeed, the temperatures had been well below freezing, and a few soothsayers had forecasted such a storm. However, the frigid afternoon was instead filled with a lifeless rain, thick and heavy.
Along Malborni Avenue, no person could be seen, though the hour would have typically promised pedestrians and customers in hoards. No one strolled on the boardwalks; no one sat under the…
I had never once in my life won at the game “Rock, Paper, Scissors.” No surprise. Tonight, I lost one last time against my brother.
“Billy, you’re up,” said Mike, curling his mouth so much I wanted to knock his teeth in. “And no use whining little bro. You lost, fair n’ square, and all that useless shit.”
“Yeah, little Billy Willy, get a fuckin’ move on,” said Frank Costello, snickering, cracking his knuckles. “Oooff!”
Frank, a short and skinny Italian, bent over, clutching his stomach. He dry-heaved several seconds. …
A large, eager crowd gathered in the city square outside the parliament building for the expected event. Grey clouds filled the morning sky, lingering long, bringing a blanket of snow. Huddled together for warmth, the onlookers waited for the ritual ceremony to begin.
A couple of dozen armored men stood in a large circle at the base of the bronze memorial statue, a war-horse raised on its hind legs, carrying the city savior, General Tiades. The soldiers had arrived well before dawn, preparing the service. They had not moved since. …