Sep 122014
 

Since its inception five years ago, FewerThan500 has been a online literary journal, a place on the Internet where stories of fewer than 500 words were published. Following the launch of our re-designed site — a special shout out to editor Kevin Moriarity for the great new look! — we published our first link to a short story our editors enjoyed reading on another literary site.

In order to keep our content fresh for readers of flash fiction, we will be sharing more of the good work we find around the Internet here on FewerThan500. Sometimes we may provide reviews of stories or anthologies, occasionally some contest information, and now and then an article or two about the writing and publishing world.

Our commitment to providing a publishing forum for the writers of quality flash fiction remains at the forefront of our mission.

We are always open to new submissions and invite you to send yours to the editors at stories@fewerthan500.com. We invite you to leave your comments and suggestions for what you’d like to see on our new Contact Us / Submit Your Story page.

Sep 112014
 

by Brandon Fink

I am no Hemingway – standing at the typewriter writing the backbone vertebrae of novels transfused with the blood fire of drink.

I read “The Sun Also Rises” and thought: What the hell just happened?  Where was this supposed to be going?


Brandon Fink spends time drinking tea, developing eccentric habits, listening to records, and, yes, occasionally writing.  Two chapbooks of poetry are in progress: Absurd Aphorisms and Misadventures in Disco.

 

Sep 042014
 

by Diane Fitzsimmons

After his breakfast of shredded wheat, dry toast, black coffee and an Ensure chaser, Ned set his tray on the gray linoleum floor outside his door. At his feet a pink plastic baby rattle lay, like a tiny dog bone, on top of today’s schedule of activities.

He picked up the rattle and the flyer and shuffled back into his room. He placed the rattle on the heating register. The flyer read: Continue reading »

Aug 282014
 

by Diane Fitzsimmons

Winnie didn’t lift her head from the pillow or turn her gaze from the specks on the ceiling. If I hadn’t known better, I would think she was counting them.

“Happy birthday, Winnie!”

Winnie turned her head; the shock of her short, white bangs plastered to her forehead highlighted her fading gray eyes.

“I brought you something.” Continue reading »

Aug 112014
 

by Sabah Carrim

In night and light and the half-light, a snatch-theft, a robbery and a smashed window. That was two years ago. Now, blood splashed on my windscreen. PTSD.

Boulders on a truck, as I lag behind. Brakes screech. The world rolling onto my car bonnet and burying me alive. PTSD.

Motorbike zooms past and slashes my neck with a parang. Fresh cadaver in the green grass. Blood trickling onto asphalt like water from a hose. PTSD. Continue reading »