Five Sentences

An entire story summed up in the last paragraph. Only five sentences.


“Next time a fairy wakes you to go on an adventure into the demon realm, call me,” Adam says playing with the pendant he brought back. Still it glows with the energy of the demon now trapped inside.

“Eliza will love it,” Ralf says. “She wouldn’t have been able to escape without your help. That’s all she cares about.”

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Gone in a Flash

Flash Fiction written in under ten minutes as an exercise. Jack dives into the first person perspective of the last living moments of a kid trying to impress a girl having gone wrong.


This isn’t how it was supposed to go. There is no way to turn back now and it’s all a waste. Hindsight is 20/20. We only realize our mistakes could have easily been avoided had we given them just a little more thought. But there is no turning back now. There’s no way to save the moment.
All of this for a girl. Who would have imagined the lights would be cut off this way? To prove a point. To show off. Faster than a speeding bullet, yet even the Flash knew when to take a breather. When to take an extra second to think.
Now that it’s going this way, I’m not even sure I get what I was trying to accomplish. How could any of this have played out well?
As if time slowed down, nearly to a halt, this moment goes on forever. I see a second by second breakdown of the last plays of the game and…

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Rosemary is a brief comedy telling the story of a director of the same name during an award ceremony.


Frozen in place Rosemary quivers as it dawns on her, the crowds gaze right through her. They've not yet recognized she's there. All her efforts in becoming a successful director gone to waste as no one knows it's the premiere of her film in the first place.

She isn't the most attractive of women. And this happens at each of her premieres. She goes unnoticed. But this time she's had it. Rosemary came ready to end the night with a bang.

"If they don't remember me now, then it doesn't matter," she whispers speaking to herself. A normal occurrence these days. Her delusive mind has gradually collapsed on itself and her obsessive need for this attention drives her motivations. She can't seem to cope with the fact that her films turn out to be each year's box office top seller yet she remains unknown to the world. "It's the first goddamn credit in…

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Under the Bed

Charlie, a young boy, faces his bedtime fears alone for the first time in this Flash Fiction narrative.


It sounds like breathing, Charlie thinks. Scared, he pulls the blanket way over his head. Eyes wide open.

He notes that it’s quiet, too quiet. He’s is freaked out at the fact that he can’t hear the breathing anymore and thus can’t determine if the monster is still under the bed. The terror of what it could even be has him paralyzed.

Screaming for mom or dad is Charlie’s first impulse, but he’s more reasonable than that. If the monster is still in the room it might have not yet noticed Charlie which would change if he was too loud. He stays quiet and devises a plan B instead.

Reaching into memory, Charlie remembers any other time a monster found its way into his closet or under his bed dad destroys them by turning the light on. “That’s what I’ll have to do!” he hypes himself up searching for the courage to accept and accomplish the task at hand. Inactivity isn’t a long term solution.

“Turn the light on!” Charlie yells hopping right out of under the blanket and off the bed. The monsters roars giant and breaks from beneath the bed flipping it somewhere behind Charlie.

Charlie’s sprinting like an Olympic track athlete after gold. The monster hot on his tail closing in. They bob and weave around toys scattered across the floor. It suddenly clear why mom always said “pick your toys up!”

The monster begins to open its mouth when Charlie reaches the light switch. He flicks it on just as the monster reaches him and it vanishes from the universe.

Charlie turns to see an empty room. The universe corrected for the monsters actions and put the bed right back where it needed to be.

“I knew that would work!” Charlie assures himself. He felt like a big boy finally. Fighting the monsters without the help of dad.

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Storm The Troops

Flash Fiction story of a lone soldier.


Collective battle cries, massive as they fall from the sky armed and ready.
Nair drops at hundreds of miles per hour. He watches fellow troops explode into misty clouds and disperse. He swears theirs spirits are visibly rising. “It won’t happen to me… It won’t happen to me,” he says closing his eyes as he nears the ground. Opens his eyes to the realization he’s drifted too far right and lost sight of his squad.

One after the other, millions at a time, troops land. The closer to the bottom the more hopeful Nair is he’ll survive, he won’t be vaporized.

He crashes in the middle of the street and is surrounded by unfamiliar soldiers.

Even down here troops are exploding into ghost like clouds. Nair feels a panic rise in him.

“Save as many as you can! Save as many as you can!” Squad leaders yell through their lung’s capacity.

This snaps Nair back to reality and he sprints into action. If one life is saved before getting vaporized his life was meaningful.

He hops over the giant craters in the grounds leading down to nowhere. Dodges the quicksand-like dirt.

All the loners are dying, but squads don’t seem to be harmed. “The weak are being picked off. I need to make it to the woods before It’s me!” he tells himself.

The heat on his arms begins to build up, but the woods are right ahead. He can make it. Sprint on.

Alongside thousands of other soldiers Nair makes a final reach for the woods but evaporates shy of the grass.

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This Might Become A Story

Swerving to dodge the pillars of ice as they fall. Giant, like street lamps raining down on the city. Like ants we scramble for cover wherever it might show. Tall buildings have to be the safest. The higher floors might shield the lower ones long enough to think, but we all had the same idea. Buildings are full and barricaded to stop more people from squeezing into already packed places.

Looking at the street you’d believe everyone was outside hoping to get hit.

Heaven’s carpet bombing rattles the ground into an earthquake. Cracks form on the street and gradually tears it apart from the inside.
I’m barely dodging this ice nightmare from second to second. Five whole blocks of repeated close calls lead my old mustang crashing through the glass double doors of the local corporate soap company. It’s just empty enough to hit no one as I end what once was a beautiful lobby.

Safe and alive, I’m unhappily welcomed to the building. Behind me, a swarm of people begin to flood in through the gap left…

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Kate's Hobby

Kate lays in the corner, syringe dug deep into the purple bruise she calls her vein. The vacant body is alive but its host is elsewhere. Her gaze travels through the walls off into infinity. Indistinguishable from the dead. She might as well be a zombie.

It wears and clarity arrives. Memories of the accident in which they all died. She once had a husband and children, but that’s in the past.

The syringe makes it all a lie. Nothing exists and neither does she.

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MeToo Roofie Bar

I pray because I love lying to God and as humans we all love free things. On the off chance something happens, I’ll have already been in line for the profit.

Somehow this relates to when I was hanging out at a #MeToo roofie bar the other night and met this chick who’s date had been too boring and thus she joined the movement. Spent the night together. She already forgot who I am.

I told her she needs God in her life when I crossed paths with her in the Supermarket. “You’re a sinner, bitch!”

“So are you!” She says.

“Only God judges me, bitch!” I respond.

Later a pray God saves her because she is broken, but I’m fine so I just ask for a new car and weed money.

Sunday church, Sexy nuns save my soul. One in the confessional and amen.  

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Family of Four

Half way to the bronze doorknob, letter in hand, Hue freezes up paranoid.

“But… What if…?” he doesn’t finish.

Clarisse just happens to open the door a second shy of Hue talking himself out of this.

His eyes are locked on hers. He’s sweating cannon balls. Hue’s horrified, mortified standing there reaching out with a letter he almost managed to never delivering.

Eyes wide. He looks like an idiot and he knows it, but he can’t fix his face or his body and remains frozen in place.

Finally she speaks. “Is… Is that for me?” she asks.

He doesn’t speak, instead, Hue reaches out further with the letter and Clarisse snatches it. The envelope stood no chance against her insatiable need-to-know.

“EEEK!” Clarisse claps and screams. Tightly wrapping her arms around Hue she whispers, “Yes… I’ll marry you!”

And Hue feels his veins become raceways for a relaxing adrenaline rush-hour of endorphins.

Flash forward ten years and they’re still together.  Got a boy of six and a girl of five and moved up North.

That’s the greatest tragedy that’s ever occurred in this little town.

Who thinks something like this would happen in such a quiet safe place?

Guy marries his sister and kidnaps two children before disappearing up North, never to be seen again. That’s pretty fucked up.

They stopped looking on the second day but the promos ran for months.

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The 80s: A Tale of Explosions

A Flash Fiction story using 80s Cliche Tropes:


Cut to a car chase. Black glistening roads, rainclouds for twenty years. It hasn’t stopped once. Brightly lit sky blue neon street signs whiz by as Officer Alex “Rex” Thunder peruses the suspect from street to street dodging traffic.

Both street and sky sidewalks are densely packed with spectators in the latest Illumination Wear. Neon red and green clothing appear as light smudges when racing down the city streets at 450mph.

Screens on most buildings advertise products for sale. The new watch that’ll control your car. Self-warming jacket. But here and there you see the chase displayed on the side of news station buildings. They follow its development from hover cars above the tallest towers.

For five years Rex has followed the clues never expecting it to lead to this person, a close friend. Working alone on the case and fueled only by the hunger for revenge he finally found where this friend hid.

The suspect’s silhouette jumps from the car and darts into a nightclub, “Juicies” displayed in blinding red letters on the business’s face. He disappears behind the crowd of neatly lit people.

The dark cloud lingering over New Neo City forced fashion trends to lean towards bright clothing that lights up to compensate for the everlasting night. Designers frenzied over the possibility and dubbed the city The Dark Fashion Capital. Within ten years the city’s fashion had morphed into an entirely new beast in business and tourism and dragged in criminal...

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Alien Report

Observations Report:

Planet: Sun 3
Density: Moderate
Magnetic Poles: Strong
Molten Core: Active
Tectonic Plates: Many
Seasons: 4
Weather: Variety

Fauna: Lush
Fauna Intellect: Pre-Conscious, 77% to meeting the ‘Intelligent Life’ Bar
Flora: Lush
Atmosphere: Dissipating

These biological creatures seem to coexist with machines of all type.
They’re viciously hostile to other biological life forms but seem nearly symbiotic with...

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Newborn Phobia

...overwhelms her and puts Stacy in a catatonic state of rapid contemplation.

Family wants to meet the newborn and Stacy’s agreed to fly to Arizona to introduce her lovely new daughter to them, but as the date of the flight approached the anxiety built up, the regret for agreeing settled in. Now, she must make a choice.

In Stacy’s mind a film replays the solution for the same problem the last time it came up, ten years ago. She drowned little baby Liz with the excuse that she got into the tub and filled it on her own. The police always sides with the mother...

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After The Breakup

The brillo pad screeches muffled as it moves off the rough dry blood and scrapes against the tub. Stressed hands hurt from squeezing too long. She’s dressed in black plastic over the bedroom rug while I make things presentable.

Logs in the fire in one room. Off stove but turned knobs in another.

Engine preheated. Trunk slammed. Packed bags ride shotgun. Rubber peels off the driveway in a white cloud of smoke foreshadowing the intended black cloud.

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Just Listen

...not even giving me the chance to explain why I am this way. It’s not fair for her to throw this all away because of claims that I’m crazy and have been for days. This makes me seem out of mind and out of place. I’m dismissed as though my words make no sense, its insolence and disrespectful since I think I’ve earned enough points to be listened to.

I just need her to hear me long enough to see my point and believe it. I’m not trying to deceive her, but she keeps trying to leave and I need her here to see the honesty inside...

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And Then It Was Quiet

And Then It Was Quiet

...tears in her eyes tells me it must be beautiful
She only cries when bad things happen to the good people
During romances and horrors
But of course during dramas
When face to face with great art
When a good song is on

Bright cloud yells bang
They won’t let us run
It’s no fun watching the sun be outshined
There is no one left inside
Empty houses

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Time Traveling Writer

He’s watching the keyboard with a truly profound visceral confusion consuming his right eyebrow twisted lower than the left. Frozen in time is all of him but his hands as they type away seemingly gibberish text. They’re communicating a message to the future. Telepathic text traversing time to relay the past. The busy hands write to this reader from a foreign land.

They tell of a writer struggling to find what to write. They beg for information from the future. “If you have the ability to time travel send back what we should be writing right now so we can write it.”

A tear in the space-time continuum blinds the writer and it fade to nothing leaving behind a singular sheet of paper which says “If you have the ability to time travel send back what we should be writing right now so we can write it.”

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Little Asskicker

...of some wannabe thugs
Childhood lack of hugs led them to rise above hard working lives and join the drugs
They decided to get tough
We decided to fuck them up
And now we gonna get jump
But my little bro’s a black belt with anger problems who just got dumped and felt some type of way about it
I tell them they don’t want the sauce
This spaghetti is too much
They’re not ready
They go hard like raw noodles
Snap the crew in too, though
A spinning back kick stirs the dish
They moan and bitch
The cheesy smile on my face as my bro makes his rounds
The sound of their cries...

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...against the restraining forces of gravity cripple. Inhaled gulps of salt are coughed and sneezed at once with half full lungs caught somewhere between an inhale and exhale, cup half empty.

The wobbly discombobulated mirage of the sun sort of shines through, but not really. More like its idea mirages by or superimposes itself over the...

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