Isaac never could draw a bicycle from memory, but most people couldn’t. Sure, they’d remember its two eponymous wheels, and the handlebars and seat came next, but so many forgot…
Horror
We Buried Our Gays
You are not a ghost, I know, because I can touch you. I pull leaves and branches out of your curly hair as you pull my hips closer to you,…
Too Many Fish
The idea, absurd as it might be, was a simple one. The fish tank in Chris’s bedroom was no ordinary fish tank. The tank itself, basking in the soft…
Voodoo
When he found it, we said let it alone,call the police. But he tampered with it,took money out before a squad car arrived.Baffled, the officers grew annoyed,made accusations of hoax,…
We Drink to Life
My work demands the completion of many unpleasant tasks, but the most unpleasant are these quarterly visits to my grandfather. As the one who’d gotten him committed to the institution,…
Borscht Belt Bodhisattva
1. The Black Hole of Comedy I made my way down the dank, filthy stairs, into the darkness where jokes go after they’ve died. I descended into Ha-Ha Hell, like…
The Face Eater
War stories? Now, a man like me is full of them, and some that can’t be told until I’ve had a pint. You’ve stood me three and so I’ll tell the best o’ them. Not that you’d be able to write it down and publish it. Some things are not ‘fit for print,’ you know.
Austin Gilmore: Flash Fiction
PHOTO KIOSK My parents will retire soon, their eyes too fuzzy, their hands too shaky to fill prescriptions, and this crusty old pharmacy will be my cross to bear. And…
A Quiet Cup of Tea
She smelled her first. Heavy musk perfume, sweat, stale lavender and smoke. Florence ordered her nose to remain unwrinkled and glanced around the dim tea room, balancing her tray. The…
Three Flash Fictions
People are Strange This is the end for my dad, but he’s died before, so maybe I’m wrong. I know it’s a cliché, but deathbed regret is a real thing.…