There’s a spider in the bathroom, I tell him. It’s six feet tall, I say. I wake him up and tell him to save me. I pee a few times a night and can’t imagine slipping into the cold bathroom alone, facing this spider head-on. It’s frigid here in Siberia. Outside, nothing can live for
The kinds of things he says about his wife. The way he describes her smile. “Actually, you know who she reminds me of the most?” ”Nope, who,” I say. “She reminds me of Margaret Thatcher, the Meryl Streep version,” he says. He laughs. I laugh. We laugh and sometimes I cry. He holds me and
1. He reads labels. Even perfume labels. Rides the double-decker buses so he can watch from above. I poke at the halo around his shorts with my wayward finger. “You have strange ideas, Mary-of-the mushroom-teas,” he says, mussing up my hair, not noticing the finger, like, at all. 2. His eyes dilate when he
I’m ashamed to say I’d never heard of Nancy Stohlman up until a few weeks ago, you see I’m quite new to flash fiction, so I’m playing catch-up all the time, discovering new and brilliant voices daily. But a few weeks ago I had the chance to attend the Flash Fiction Festival in Bristol and
Flash Fiction Competition 2019 We are pleased to announce the arrival of our second Flash Fiction Competition which is due to open for entries on 8th July 2019. We would like to encourage all authors with a passion for flash to enter (even those on low or no income – see details below – we
