Two Extreme Flash Fiction Stories


Story Number 1:


Rounding the corner I very nearly lost my footing and could almost swear I felt it’s hot breath at my back, spurring me on. I ran for all I was worth, feeling as though my lungs would burst, the sulphurous air permeating my blood faster and faster with every painful lung full.

The street was a minefield of putrid meat and the cast off debris of miserable lives wasted in this hell hole that I had come to unbidden and clueless, only to find myself pursued by a nameless horror of unspeakable ugliness gnashing it’s misshapen mouth of hideous fangs dripping with acid saliva, it’s savage howls torturing my ears.

In vain I searched for a door or something to hide behind every time I had put enough distance between myself and my pursuer, only to see it appear again forcing me to take flight once more, my legs screaming in protest.

I looked up at the sky as I ran and then looked down and away from the blood red swirls of smoke that formed themselves into grotesque scenes of vile depravity too horrible to contemplate. On I ran, never daring to wonder how I had come to this desperate predicament or how it would end.

Suddenly a lamppost appeared in my path and as I swerved to avoid it I tripped on an unseen object and went facedown in the vile muck on the sidewalk. I heard the beast chortle with glee and closed my eyes against its inevitable approach.

I sat bolt upright in bed, cold sweat permeating my nightwear. As I lay back down and tried to go back to sleep I made a mental note that anchovy pizza and late night reruns of Twilight Zone were probably a bad idea.

Story Number 2:

A Brief Detour On The Learning Curve

The ear is interesting. There’s no denying that. Ears like that aren’t something you see all the time. But it’s the hair that keeps drawing the eye back time and again. Growing from just above the bottom of the lobe. One impossibly long, majestic hair curling downward and away from the lobe like some renegade freak-flag shouting its defiance at an indifferent world.

A hair with flair. A hair radiant in its cock-sure, devil-may-care, look-at-me-dammit glory. A hair for the ages. A hair to be reckoned with. Try as I might I can’t take my eyes off of it. It wafts with simple elegance in the light breeze coming through the open window. It dances and sways with carefree abandon, weaving a spell that holds me in it’s grip.

I have a vague sense of something demanding my attention with an urgency that grows by the moment. Shaking my head at last to break the spell words coalesce in my torpid brain, which has been lulled into this daydream by the humidity and hot sunlight streaming through the window.

“One more time. Adam Tomlinson, you’ve been staring at me for the last five minutes, I take it you find this lecture fascinating. I assume that means you’ve done the homework and can answer the question. Will you please tell the class and me the significance of Hamlet’s soliloquy?”

“Um…it’s about the small things we hardly ever notice that can be just so fascinating if we take the time to stop and appreciate them. The majesty of the less ordinary and the way it can lift us out our troubles and help us decide that life is worth living after all.”

“Why, Mr. Tomlinson, that’s a very original take on it. Very well done.”


2 responses to “Two Extreme Flash Fiction Stories

  1. That second one is really good, actually. It might be better if you gave us an indication of what soliloquy you’re referring to. Not too much, just a hint.

  2. When I was but a callow youth “Hamlet’s solioquy” always referred to Act 3, Scene 1, otherwise known as the “to be or not to be” soliloquy.

    To wit:

    To be, or not to be–that is the question:
    Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
    And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep–
    No more–and by a sleep to say we end
    The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation
    Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep–
    To sleep–perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub,
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
    Must give us pause…

    We had it drilled into us way back then. I understand standards have fallen considerably since then. More’s the pity. Anyway, Hamlet is contemplating suicide and I did refer to this fact in Mr. Tomlinson’s response to the question, which was the punchline of the story.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s