Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction

Pastime by Charisse Flynn

Sunlight broke through Henry’s bedroom window, forcing him awake. Time to start the day—a promise he’d made to his therapist, “please call me Pam”.

No deviations. No exceptions. No gazing at the empty side of the bed or reaching for the fanciful yellow and blue pillows he once thought a nuisance yet held a faint scent of his wife’s lavender perfume.

Henry opened his notebook to the list of daily routines. Tasks, hobbies, and various things that no longer came naturally to him. According to Pam, at the very least, he needed to include items he could complete on his own. Ones that would give him a sense of accomplishment.

He’d created the list in Pam’s presence, and she allowed him as many asides as he wanted. But he thought the exercise akin to a hamster in its wheel, running endlessly without forward movement.

  • Get out of bed (even if I feel like burying myself in the sheets).
  • Complete the New York Times crossword puzzle.
  • Eat breakfast (even if I mistake hunger for nausea).
  • Shower, brush teeth, clothe (even if I have no intention of stepping outside).
  • Work in home office, analyzing spreadsheets (even if numbers run together like watercolors).
  • Walk forty minutes and wave at friendly neighbors (even if I’d rather throw rocks at their pitying expressions). 
  • Eat lunch (see above).
  • Work in home office, reconciling  general ledgers and bank accounts (see above).
  • Eat dinner (see above).
  • Wait until 10:00 pm to climb back into bed (even if I’ve been sleepwalking all damn day long).

Two weeks ago, he’d scratched “breathe” from the list. Pam commended his progress and suggested he think about adding “yoga classes.” She spoke in the way his wife once had. Hushed tones about heavy things—as if to demonstrate how weightless his issues truly were.

He hadn’t told Pam, but he no longer limited himself to one crossword a day. Having downloaded the New York Times archives, he ignored all other items on his list.

Some puzzles proved uncomfortable. Too many clues relating to “The Thin Man,” “Pride and Prejudice,” and “The Rosie Project”—movies and books he and his wife enjoyed together. Pam discouraged him from recalling those memories until he was stronger.

Why couldn’t all the clues be about local sports?

  • As of 2018, how many times have the Seattle Mariner’s played in the World Series? (Never)
  • What is the name of Seattle’s women’s basketball team? (Storm)
  • What is the closest city to Seattle to’ve hosted the Winter Olympics? (Vancouver, BC)

Why not create his own crossword puzzle?  Henry knew which clues to include.

10 Down: Party attire (cocktail dress)

25 Down: Meet at the bar (take separate cars)

37 Down: More than enough (too much)

42 Down: Turn at high speed (careen)

Wife’s Final Words: You’re such a worrier (if it’ll make you feel better, you can follow me home)

Flash Fiction

To Have And To Hold by Charisse Flynn

Vegas smelled of desperation—citrus, sweat, cigarettes. Joan, driving from Nevada back to Oregon, where she worked as a cashier at a car dealership, thought she smelled like Vegas.

She’d forgotten how endless the desert could seem. She remembered walking home alone from Beckley Elementary in sandstorms that pinpricked her cheeks and gave her hives. And the dump where she’d found her missing cat, dead—its empty sockets accusatory in her failure to protect him.

Joan’s first love, Brad, had taken two months to accept her friend request on Facebook. She’d memorized his photos and studied his posts. He was a tax accountant, watched Game of Thrones and enjoyed golfing. His quail-haired wife tagged him in pictures of a bug-eyed child named Brad Jr.—to cover her affair with a cicada, no doubt.

Brad “liked” Joan’s comments about Vegas and suggested she look him up if she found herself back in town. When she’d arrived the next day, she messaged him to meet at the Perpetual Church of the Forever Disappointed or something like that. He never showed.

What did Joan care? She didn’t need him. She didn’t.

Road signs warned of donkeys and cattle and people on horses. She decided if she could avoid the horses, she’d ram the people. She flipped on the radio. It looped, searching for stations but finding only white noise.

Her first-grade marriage to Brad wasn’t binding, she knew. His sister performed the ceremony on the four-square court by the swings. There were witnesses. A Twinkie wedding cake. She and Brad had honeymooned at the creek, tadpole fishing and stomping the water to scatter the frogs. They’d giggled until they’d cried.

When he’d kissed her, his pink-bow lips and blue eyes were open the whole time.