Flash fiction submissions are pouring into the Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette and I have another one for you today.
Hello hello hello, my brother and sister bloggers and writers and Flash Fiction Fanatics. It’s the Old Soldier with another issue of the most dynamic flash fiction magazine on the internet.
I’m always looking to showcase new flash fiction writing talent. If you would like to see your work in the PFFG, just read and follow the guidelines and submit a story. I love working with writers and will work with you to get your story into the magazine. Hopefully, your experience with the PFFG will also help you get published in other publications, too. The Contest/Submissions tab is at the top of the page.
Now for our feature presentation.
********************
Foxes
They came at night, while he was sleeping. He woke to their cries, just beyond the light leaking from the clock face by the bedroom window. It read 2:23. He thought the sound was a child, screaming, maybe one of the neighbors. He rose to search the house, but the noise was coming from outside. He went over to the window and peered out, but saw nothing, only heard the screaming which abruptly stopped.
At work, he forgot about the noise amidst the bustle and boredom of the day. On his drive back home, he thought of the movie he would watch on TV, the dinner he would eat, the book he’d read in bed. He pushed his work from his mind and settled into the happiness of pure escape, until the screams started, again, around 2:30 a.m., shocking him awake. This time, he found a flashlight and shone it out the window, revealing the sharp face of a red fox. It howled again, screeching like an infant being devoured, and ran off. Two other forms followed it.
The next day, he researched foxes. All around him, people typed in cubicles. The noise of it, the garish colors, made his head hurt, which was strange; he’d been working in offices like this most of his adult life. He tried to read the screen, but the sharp pain in his forehead made it difficult. That afternoon, he tried to watch a movie, but couldn’t concentrate. He napped instead and ate a light dinner. Still, when they woke him that night, it was a surprise. He went to the window again and watched their hazy forms move through the darkness. Three of them. What he’d read made it seem odd that three of them would stick together. Maybe it was a family—maybe a mother and two cubs. He wondered if they lived nearby, but couldn’t imagine where. The interstate was a couple blocks away. All around, it seemed as though there were nothing but streets and buildings. Still, maybe there was some outpost of nature not far away; what did he know. He hadn’t really paid attention to much outside of his apartment in quite a while.
The next afternoon, he napped again, and this time, he slept lightly. Every branch scraping against the roof woke him. He dozed; time passed like a skipping record, and he sat bolt upright several times only to concentrate on the sound of nothing. The next morning, his alarm woke him and he stumbled out into his day, all the while, wondering why they hadn’t returned.
The next night, he woke again around 2:30. There was no sound. It was perfectly quiet except for the noise of traffic, which he suddenly disliked. He wished it was quiet, so he could hear. He wished he knew more about them. He lay listening for a long while, the image of the whitish face, the red fur, rising in his mind.
The End
Bio: CL Bledsoe is the author of two poetry collections, _____(Want/Need) and Anthem. A short story collection, Naming the Animals, was just published by Mary Celeste Press. His story, “Leaving the Garden,” was selected as a Notable Story of 2008 for Story South’s Million Writer’s Award.
********************
Don’t miss a single issue of the Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette. Have it delivered right to your inbox. The free email subscription tab is at the top of the page. Take a moment and take out your subscription right now.
Filed under: Guest Writers | Tagged: bloggers, CL Bledsoe, contest, dynamic flash fiction magazine, email subscription, Foxes, free, guidelines, inbox, Internet, new flash fiction, PFFG, Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette, publications, submissions, working, Writers, writing talent | 3 Comments »
New Flash Fiction by Phil Richardson
It is my great pleasure to introduce to the readers of the Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette a short story from a new guest writer.
Hello hello hello, my brother and sister bloggers and writers. Welcome to a new edition of the most dynamic flash fiction magazine on the internet. Look at all the great links, flash fiction stories, articles and commentaries that the PFFG offers it’s readership.
And if you are a flash fiction writer, I want to publish you. Just click on the Contest/Submissions tab at the top of the page, read and follow the guidelines and I will work with you to get your story into PFFG.
And I will continue to work with you to improve your writing skills so that not only will you have a better chance to see your work in the PFFG, but that you will also have a better chance of seeing your work in other publications, too. You can’t beat that with a stick.
Now for our feature presentation.
********************
Seatmates
I sat in the narrow seat of the commercial jet and tried to ignore the man sitting next to me. This was difficult as his body bulged over the armrest forcing me to keep my elbows pulled against my chest so I would not touch him.
The stale smell of cigarette smoke seemed to hang about him like a cloud on a mountain, and sweat dripped from his face in streams. I had already endured three hours of his presence and we still had hours of flight time left before we reached New York.
“I don’t like to fly,” he muttered.
I didn’t reply, hoping he would get the hint.
“I’m not just scared,” he continued. “I don’t like to fly.”
“Well, it’s the only way we can get to Europe these days.”
“I’d take a ship if they moved faster. Planes are fast, but they frighten me.
Thinking I might shut him up, I replied, “You should be scared. This kind of plane crashes all the time. I’m an engineer and I know this model is the worst.”
A drop of sweat fell from his bulbous nose.
“You know this?” he asked.
“They’re keeping it quiet,” I said getting into the story. “I wouldn’t be on this flight, but my mother-in-law broke her leg and it was the only flight I could get. To tell the truth, I’m really scared.”
He tried to turn in my direction, but was wedged tightly in his seat. “I don’t like this at all,” he wheezed. “God, I wish I had a cigarette.”
”We probably shouldn’t be talking about crashes, but a pilot friend of mine told me it was important to listen for a certain sound–most of the crashes happen after the crew hears something resembling a door slamming.”
“A door slamming? I think I heard something like that a little while ago,” he said tugging at his shirt collar.
Of course you did, stupid! We’re sitting close to the restroom.
“You heard it?” I said. “That’s really bad! I’m worried. I just hope we can land before anything happens.”
“What could happen? You know about these things, what could happen?” His breath came in gasps and he clutched the armrest with a bare-knuckle grip.
“The wings might fall off. It’s happened before. We land in a few hours, though–maybe we’ll be all right.”
He didn’t reply–he was struggling to reach the button to call the flight attendant. His face turned bright red as he tried to undo his seat belt and the wheezing got louder. Maybe I had gone too far.
“Can I help you?” I said.
He made a gurgling noise and slumped over in the seat–his body threatening to break the seat belt that constrained him.
This didn’t look good. I punched my call button and a flight attendant scurried down the aisle to our seats.
“I think he’s fainted,” I said.
She reached over and touched him, but he didn’t respond. I was beginning to notice a fetid odor.
She felt his pulse and then hurried back to the front of the plane.
I knew I smelled an odor.
She returned with the chief flight attendant who felt the man’s pulse and shook her head. “He’s dead,” she whispered to her co-worker. “We can’t let the other passengers find out. We’re five hours from any airport.
“Can’t you move him someplace,” I said. “I can’t sit next to a smelly dead man for an hour.”
“Sir,” the chief flight attendant said, “Keep your voice down. We don’t want a panic.”
“I am panicking,” I said. “Can you cover him or something? Can’t you move me to another seat?
“There are no other seats and we don’t have any blankets left and, besides, you can’t get out.”
She was right. There was no way I was going to crawl over the dead body sitting next to me.
The plane lurched slightly and his body shifted so his head fell onto my shoulder. I tried to shove him back, but I couldn’t move him.
“Sir,” the flight attendant said softly. “If you can just keep quiet and cooperate all this can be fixed when we land. Meanwhile, would you like a complimentary drink or peanuts?”
The End
Bio: Phil Richardson lives and writes in Athens, Ohio. Two of his stories have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Fiction. His work has appeared in print journals, in on-line magazines, and in eighteen anthologies.
********************
Don’t miss a single issue of the Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette. Have each issue delivered to your inbox. The free email subscription tab is at the top of the page. Take out your free subscription right now.
Rate this:
Filed under: Guest Writers | Tagged: anthologies, articles, Athens Ohio, bloggers, cigarette smoke, Commentaries, commercial jst, contest, dynamic flash fiction, flash fiction stories, flash fiction writer, free email subscription, great links, guest writer, guidelines, Internet, magazine, new edition, new flash fiction, New York, PFFG, Phil Richardson, Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette, print journals, publications, publish you, Pushcart Prize, readership, Seatmates, submissions, Writers, writing skills | 2 Comments »