Flash Fiction

Corcovado

My words in comparison felt like roasted mud cracking in the sun.

Gang Gang

I am Buddha, without desire. But if they want to hang, will even the Buddha say no?

I’m Sorry for Your Loss

I busy myself at the buffet table, straightening dishes of soggy pasta salad and toothpick-skewered salami cubes.

Mike

Maybe that’s why Tim invites Mike to his concert off the coast of Spain.

Ask Me Something

"I think I ruined the end of the world," he said.

Rookie of the Year 2: The Golden Leg

He winds up, foot connecting with a tin can, sails it clear out of the park.

Dormitory

I don’t want to blossom.