Flash Fiction

I didn’t graduate from homeschooling, but eventually it trailed off—a never-finished thesis paper on climate change, a B in calculus at a community college.

When she isn’t careful, Nadia’s feet unhinge from the ground.

Before the war, you’ll name your boys after presidents: Theodore, William, Franklin.

It doesn’t take much to sit all alone at a counter, but try it when your gal at home just handed you the relationship check and you end up walking all night, end up at one of those big-windowed diners where anyone passing by can look in, only no one does, and it’s two a.m.

Nobody recognized the reaper without his black-hooded cloak.