Flash Fiction

A tree branch falls. Nobody notices. The wind lifts and drops five dead leaves onto the sidewalk just outside God’s own, moss-covered house.

Luna was glum; Luna was furious; Luna was hungry. Her human had forgotten to serve her her afternoon bowl of Meow Munch...

Nouha loved flowers—she picked them wherever she found them: by the vast grove of olive trees where her brothers worked, along the city streets under the shadow of skyscrapers...

For Sale: American flag...

So, I guess I’m dead….I’m sorry for your loss—is that weird for me to say to you all? I hope not, because I truly am sorry—for so many things really; too many things.