The Hole
Two soldiers, one American and one German, fall into the same shell crater in the Ardennes when the temperature hits minus thirty-two. The cold doesn’t care which side they’re on, and neither can survive the night alone.
Flash fiction — very short stories that land a complete punch in a few hundred words.
Two soldiers, one American and one German, fall into the same shell crater in the Ardennes when the temperature hits minus thirty-two. The cold doesn’t care which side they’re on, and neither can survive the night alone.
A corporal who hangs his lantern on a dead man’s hand protruding from the trench wall has stopped flinching at any of it: the rats, the men packed into the mud, the comrade who took three days to die where he fell. A WWI horror story about what the trenches turn a man into.
A late-night Pittsburgh radio host has built an eleven-year career interviewing the dead on air, while everyone argues over whether he’s a fraud. It’s real, and one night the line opens for the one voice he’s spent his whole career avoiding.
The first six humans who will never return from the Moon land on a gray plain with no return vehicle on the manifest. The geologist is sent down the ladder first, and what she says when her boot touches the surface isn’t the line she rehearsed.
On the most beautiful morning he can remember, a young fisherman sees three great vessels with white wings that were not there the night before, and little boats putting out from them toward his shore. He watches the strangers come and wonders whether they will be friends, or warriors, or something worse.
The asteroid was visible through the grocery store’s front windows, a smear of orange light growing larger by the minute,
The violin was finished on a Friday in November, and Heinrich Baumann knew immediately that he’d made a mistake. Not
It said “Maya” on the first night, and Maya thought she was dreaming. She was seven. The house was new,
Emile Soreau drew maps of places that no longer existed, and people kept showing up at his shop asking for
Most dogs forget. That’s the gift of being a dog. Every morning is new. Every walk is the first walk.