Saturday, September 21, 2013

The Geek (a 700-word flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir

Flash-fiction-horror-suspense-story-the-geekThey knew I didn’t do it because I was in Phoenix with my Dad that week and didn’t get back till the day after vacation ended. In other words, the day after the locker bomb went off, and Schuler and Davis were killed. But they think I’m the next geek who might get inspired and decide to blow up some jocks, or even worse, some cheerleaders. They knew what the jocks almost did to me, and after what I said at the assembly, they were all over me.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The Closed Door (a 400-word freaky flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir


A cloud covered the moon, and the room darkened. I’d been so busy trying to clean up before Mom got home that I hadn’t had time to reflect. But the adrenaline rush was completely gone now, and it seemed like it was someone else earlier and not me. Part of me wished Bob were still alive, and we could all be a family together. Part of me knew that was right, the way it was supposed to be. But I had an image of myself with my feet hanging over the edge of my bed listening to Mom and Bob behind her closed door. I sometimes thought I would explode – when that door was closed.  

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Murder for Breakfast (a 300 word flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir

Originally published in Dead by Dawn Vol 3, Edited by Adele Hartley

Ed crashes into his chair – waves of body fat jiggling from the jowls of his neck and arms down to his belly, thighs and calves – and demands coffee; Janet thumps a mug of the scolding liquid next to his plate.

Saturday, September 07, 2013

Nickie (a 500-word freaky flash fiction story)

”We have to eat the dog.”

Danny just stared at Hans like he wanted to kill him.

Finally he said, “I hate your fucking mustache.”

Wednesday, September 04, 2013

Dina's Smile (a 450-word freaky flash fiction story) by Oren Shafir


Later, after she was raped by Shechem, I was the one Dina sought out for comfort.

That first time I comforted her, though,  she was around four, and I was around 12. Simeon had accidently hit her with a rock above her left eye. The women stopped the bleeding with some shepherds-purse. Then they passed her around like a loaf of bread, each one trying her own trick to soothe her: something sweet, a rocking motion, a rattling noise, even a breast. But still she wailed her heartbreaking tones.

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