I point my cameraphone at the boy who is chasing a pair of robins across the park with his newly minted stagger-walk. The robins, unconcerned, barely rouse themselves to fly a few yards away…
Auteur by Lynne Nugent
Category: Flash
An archive of all of the flash creative nonfiction / flash CNF we’ve published over the years. Our flash category is specifically for pieces up to 800 words.
Ice Breaker by Lisa Laughlin
None of us should be alive right now, you know. This is how the story begins. It is my father who tells me this story…
Nogales by Amanda J. Crawford
Don’t think about germs as you grip the gray carousel gate into Mexico. Consider why you didn’t bring hand sanitizer. Consider whether considering makes you racist.
Shame Shame by Nicole Breit
Raindrops pelt your umbrella like pebbles. It’s October, late afternoon, a charcoal sky. We’re standing an inch apart; you’re shivering.
Hair of the Dog by Kelly Shire
When David Lee Roth drops his voice low to growl about the road and the heat and reaching between his legs to ease the seat back, I listen hard, so hard I’m there, speeding on a two-lane desert highway at dusk when the air goes silky and I see myself, steering with my knees, one…
Valentine’s Day by Andy Harper
…I was eleven years old, and six of those eleven years had been spent hopelessly in love with Audrey Kerr, the “little red-haired girl” of Clark County R-1
Inheritance by Allison Coffelt
When I drive back into the Missouri humidity after a few weeks away from home, I roll down my window and inhale. For a moment, I’d almost forgotten what we mean here when we say “hot.”
Second Breakfast by Kay Marie Porterfield
He smiles at the small white bag in my hand. I place it on his lap, and he clutches the top while I wheel him down the hallway to the empty nursing home cafeteria.
Here But Not Here by Jennifer S. Brown
We sit in the harbor and I stare out, regretting my departure before I’ve even left. Haifa spreads out in front of me, teasing me. I think of him, the boy I left behind…
Genotype by Sarah M. Wells
When I walk into the Hitch’n Post for a gallon of milk, the cashier behind the counter calls out, “You must be a Fugman… you Roger’s daughter?”
