Nanoism

Fly rubbed its hands impatiently, for it had been given a human voice, but did not want to interrupt the eagerly raised hand.

Aaron Beyer writes from California.

“Yes. Well. Legends.” The lady lifted her crossbow. “It’s Robyn. Wood. And I work alone.”

Des Nnochiri is a freelance writer / screenwriter.

The guru climbs the next mountain to ask questions of his fellow guru. He hates it, but he deducts it as work–related educational expense.

Mark Budman writes flash fiction.

At twenty I married, at thirty I got rich, at forty I got friendly, at fifty I started wearing a wig and my wife stopped calling me a nazi.

Evert Asberg lives and works in Europe.

Private Coleman never talked to his brother after the resurrection. He’d given his last full measure. You don’t give that back.

Sean Vivier likes SF, in case you haven’t noticed.

Sal knew that his heart was shrinking. He could feel it with every beat, every time he attempted a smile, every time he woke up alone.

Aaron Rudolph (@20Limes) writes and kitchen dances in Oklahoma.

The discarded couch cried in the cold while nearby trash cans surreptitiously gossiped about its once clean leather, now dirty and torn.

Mark Rosenblum is a New York native who now lives in Southern California where he misses the taste of real pizza and good deli food.

Afterwards, wrapped coyly in a sheet and concerned that the real reason for her smile showed all too clearly, Lisa gently chided Leonardo.

Nick Johns has retired from a life of crime to breed mongrel flash fictions for release into the wild.

“Tell your wife I said hi,” she said before walking out of the motel room.

Shakarean Hutchinson spends too much time online in Charleston, South Carolina.

Lost in the border crossing was the cold sun, the blood on the plywood, and how the men backed up against the wall. She went inside to cry.

Dan Reiter has already forgotten your name.