A Parent's Nightmare

Her parents are concerned that her boyfriend is two dimensional. Living entirely in one plane would limit his prospects. If the relationship became serious, they could predict he would become their ward, unable to hold a job in three dimensions. They could see the two of them moving into her bedroom, taking up domestic residence under their roof. She would argue they likely could support themselves on her waitressing income, he needing little in his flat world. But then: children. The simple geometry must be astounding. And the – then - grandparents would be always explaining to those not at the wedding.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

For the prompt Frontier

On And On And On

On the fifth anniversary of his father’s heroic death in a far-off jungle, a nine-year-old boy pleads and screams as he’s dragged into a tool shed by his drunken stepfather.

On the twenty-fifth anniversary, the boy, reeking of cheap whisky and cigarettes, staggers into his daughter’s bedroom while the young girl cowers against the wall.

On the fifty-eighth anniversary, that girl collapses into her lightless closet, and as her fury-laced glares and impaling shouts become anguished sobs, her teenage daughter sits alone in the bathroom and once again glides the thin, comforting edge of a razor blade across her thigh.

From Guest Contributor J. Paul Ross

Heroes

The fire blew the windows into the street, and pedestrians ran from the area. I entered the house with my fellow firefighters, and the intense heat hit me like a weight. In the distance I could hear someone yelling for help.

“You check downstairs, I’m going upstairs, I hear someone.”

I followed the screams to the bedroom and kicked the door in. Smoke filled the room, but I could see the woman struggling for air. I lifted the tiny woman and took her down the stairs outside to the waiting EMTs.

I went back inside, and we extinguished the fire.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Revenge

When I think of the nights we spent together snuggling and planning the future, it makes my stomach ache. How could he have an affair with my sister who I adored. I remember when I walked into the bedroom, Sarah screeched, and Jeff’s mouth dropped. I nearly trampled his cat Muffin fleeing the room. I could hear their footsteps following me down the stairs and calling my name, but I rushed out the door and into my car peeling down the street. I blasted the radio to distract the images of their naked bodies entwined.

Now, I plot my revenge.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Open Up Your Heart

The door slammed shut so forcefully, Winston felt the reverberations from his bedroom.

It was better this way. Sarah would never be happy. She wanted someone to match her emotions at both ends. He just wasn't built that way. "Don't get too high or too low." That was his motto.

There were probably another 20 minutes before daylight would start creaking through the blinds, but there was no point trying to fall back asleep. So he went to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

Winston wished the fight had started after breakfast. He missed Sarah's pancakes already.

Downstairs

“Otto, I heard something.”

“What?...What time is it?”

It was 2 AM. They were in their second-floor bedroom.

“I think I heard something downstairs...Could you make sure there isn't someone breaking in?”

“We have an alarm, Claudette.”

“You've heard of disabling them, haven't you?”

Of course, he'd heard of that.

Only moonbeams filtered into their small bedroom.

“Anyway, Frodo's down there, Claudette.”

Frodo was a Labrador retriever.

“Yeah...But you know him, and he's probably playing dead.”

She listened intently for any sounds.

“It all depends on Frodo and you, Otto...Hey, Otto.”

But Otto was playing dead.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Deep Shag

"Barry, is your homework finished?"

Barry started awake. His mom's muffled shout sounded a million miles away. His bedroom lay in total darkness.

He felt for his phone, but immediately encountered large woolly tendrils draped all around him. The only sensible explanation for the complete lack of light and the suffocating fabric was he'd been sleepwalking again and was nestled away in his closet.

Panic set in as he thrashed about searching for the door. He felt like he was drowning in an endless kelp forest.

It would be hours before he realized he'd been completely swallowed by his carpet.

Go Slow

With her seat tilted back, she could only see the tree tops as they sped past. She squeezed his hand tightly, letting him know without words that she loved him, but also she hated it when he drove too fast. They could communicate a lot without words.

He eased off the pedal.

The car felt heavy, stuffed to the fenders with every possession she had in the world. Remembering her bedroom, empty except for the naked bed frame and the pink and yellow wallpaper she picked out when she was eleven, caused her to choke up.

'Go slower,' she said.

Escape

Jake and Emily look at each other dreadfully as they realize their apartment is on fire. Jake yells to Emily, “Grab Sarah out of her bed and I’ll get May out of her bedroom!” The fire is spreading quickly around the house so they have to think of a plan to get out. They end up thinking of a plan to get out. They use a crowbar to break the window. It shatters in the dead of night as pieces of glass go all over. Eventually, they reach a beach in Tampa Bay, Florida. Everyone is alive, safe, and happy.

From Guest Contributor Mikayla Wikoff

Pizza

Bill picked mushroom slices off the boxed pizza, grimacing, stacking them.

Sadie watched. “What’s wrong, Honeybun?”

“Mushrooms. They don’t belong on pizza. My ex-wife knew that. They’re like human ears.” Bill shuddered.

“Sorry!” Sadie sniffled, blue eyes pooling on her freckled face.

“Don’t be a baby.”

She was 20. Their infant son lay in the bedroom, drooling on Bill’s pillow, fitful with eczema. His ex Patsy, thinner now, lived in her own divorce trailer, screwing her burly handyman. Grown kids, not speaking to Bill. Everyone, broken. Bill sighed at the pile of ears. “Growing you up, it takes time, Sadie.”

From Guest Contributor Nicole Brogdon

Nicole is a trauma therapist in Austin TX, interested in strugglers and stories everywhere. Her flash fiction appears in Flash Frontier, Bending Genres, 101Words, Bright Flash, Dribble Drabble Review, Centifictionist, and elsewhere.