The Office Visit

In his office at the university, Professor Kudrow pounds on the computer keyboard. His research paper needs a rewrite, his ex-wife wants more child support and he feels a migraine coming on. He wants to go home and get drunk.

His grad student, James, appears in the doorway with an older gentleman.

After introductions, James' father confronts the professor.

"My son paid you for a better grade, didn't he? Don't lie to me. I have documents."

The professor froze.

"Your silence is proof enough."

He turns to his son, "My son, a thief and cheat! I'm reporting both of you."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin

On The Floor

Marty was a penny stock trader back in the 80s. A breathtaking collection of liars and cheats, everyone doing blow. Stock exchange officials were bribed. Client accounts were bled. It was something to behold.

His supposedly statelier sales manager was all smiles but for the dead shark eyes. He would say, "If people want yellow ties, sell them goddamn yellow ties."

Once or twice a month, after market hours, Marty would go out and stick up random banks, his rickety scheme to salvage honour.

His profession was put early to the silicon sword. Mercifully, Marty never saw the party end.

From Guest Contributor Kevin Campbell

Kevin writes in Vancouver, Canada.

Giant Ship

I listened to the sound of the waves smack against the giant ship, closed my eyes and pictured my wife’s face. Her radiant smile and long blond hair made my heart pulsate. Soon we’d be together once we docked in New York, and she’d be waiting for me with open arms and our son. I relished the thought.

I dropped the picture when the ship shuddered. I opened the door and panicked people filled the hallway.

“What happened?” I asked out loud.

“Titanic has hit an iceberg,” answered a fidgety man.

I went back into my cabin.

Titanic wouldn’t sink.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Only Beauty Survives

The king delighted in varying which crowns he wore. One day he’d wear a crown of gold; the next, a crown of silver or of iron, or even a crown eccentrically fashioned from barbed wire. When he wore the latter, he was always surprised when blood ran in rivulets into his eyes. The queen, meanwhile, hated anyone who might be thought more beautiful than she was. She frequently sent assassins throughout the land to eliminate all possible rivals. That sound isn’t thunder, people would say, but an assassin rapping on the door of a cottage until his knuckles are raw.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

The Voice

Beginning on his sixteenth birthday, Kevin began to hear a voice in his head. A friendly voice, it offered advice and made recommendations regarding both important and unimportant topics alike. Kevin thought of it as a friend.

As time passed, the voice gradually became more insistent about certain themes. Of particular concern to the voice was what car insurance Steven used. This seemed like an unimportant matter to Steven, who was content to stay on his parents' insurance policy with Allstate. This extremely bothered the voice, and eventually Steven relented.

This 100-word story has been brought to you by Geico.

Forgotten

He doesn't remember me. I used to be someone who was close to him. At least I thought I was close to him. He'd look at me as if I were a friend. He'd look at me as if I were a stranger but what exactly was in those eyes? In those sparkly eyes, was that affection, sympathy, or simply pity?

Seeing him walking down the street were the only happy moments of my life. Doesn't he remember he saved me once and every day since then from all my misery. Well, the truth is I don't remember him either.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

Doomed To Repeat

Alexander’s Eastern campaign had gone well until now. But Bactria was different. He sat astride his beloved horse and studied the valley below. These lands were ruled by tribes and the fighters were unpredictable, as was the weather. Would he be able to rule this land once he had subdued it?

General Gromov looked back across the Afghanistan border and sighed. The last of his Russian troops were safely out. Nine years and thousands of Soviet deaths later, there was no victory.

American General Miller looked down from his Blackhawk and mused: what was that saying about history repeating itself?

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Irony

I’m very excited to announce the winner of our Hubris Flash Fiction Contest, from regular contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher. I hope that winning doesn't go to her head!

Congratulations Lisa! And thank you to everyone who submitted to the contest. It was difficult picking just one.Bill combed his hair, gave a thumbs up to his reflection in the mirror and then left.

He walked with a swagger and passing bystanders cussed him.

“It’s a pandemic, wear a mask, idiot,” yelled an irate man from across the street.

Bill flipped him the finger and continued.

When he arrived at his cousin's barbecue, he was stopped at the back gate.

“You can’t come in here without a mask,” said his cousin, Mark.

“Come on, man, I never get sick.”

Mark slammed the gate in his face.

Bill stood for a moment before walking away and then sneezed.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Untimely Demise Of Adrian Perez

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Joe, doing his best to hide the fear bubbling up from within, kicked dirt from the mound as the next batter sauntered to the plate. This was Adrian Perez, MVP, future Hall-Of-Famer, and the best home run hitter alive.

Ninth inning. Bases loaded. Two outs. Clinging to a one-run lead.

Before Perez entered the batter's box, he did the unthinkable. He pointed towards the outfield, confirming what everyone already knew about the ball's final destination. Joe winced at the shame that was sure to follow.

Nobody was more surprised than Joe Flack when Perez hit a soft grounder to first.

From Guest Contributor Bill Kern

Bare Ruined Choirs

An ex-beauty queen has been found in her bedroom decapitated, limbless, a chainsaw nearby. On the wall, a decorative wooden sign says, “Breathe deeply and calmly.” How do you do that? We need a plan, an intervention, something. In Hiroshima after the bomb, they piled the bodies in the swimming pool at the college and cremated them with scrap wood. Last night when my mother finally managed to fall asleep, she dreamed she was walking through a ruined city in a hospital gown left behind from her cancer surgery, while, in the distance, sirens screamed. Assume the monster is everywhere. From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.