I opened the door to see who’d been knocking and saw just the same few brooms and old jugs of bleach, huddled in the corners of the closet.
Daniel Galef and David Galef have been writing stories in Nanoism for ten years.
My mother died one morning in bed when I was ten. What I want to know, after all these years, is whether my father slept there that night.
David Galef is a work in progress.
I deleted my texts to her, canceled the bouquet I’d ordered, altered my online profile, double‑locked the door, and waited.
David Galef’s latest book is Brevity: A Flash Fiction Handbook (Columbia University Press).
“As I grow older,” he told the young man, “I forget things. Like why I ever got married.”
“Me,” the young man reminded him.
David Galef is just another form of the author.
Once upon a time, Michelle’s creations had no choice but to live happily ever after.
David Galef writes early and often.
They lived uneasily ever after. The evil stepmother had won the custody battle, and the dragon remained at large.
David Galef is the pen name of David Galef.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Cut the crap,” said the wolf. “You know it’s me.”
So Little Red Riding Hood opened the door.
David Galef publishes far too much for his own good.
The night my father died, he was having trouble breathing, terrified. I held his hand and told him I’d return in the morning. Here I am.
David Galef is a shameless eclectic who publishes in seventeen genres.