Blurring the lines between fact and fiction since 1979.

A deep affection for good storytelling has influenced my flash fiction that explores universal truths with curiosity and objectivity and light-hearted essays that find humor in the everyday.

Flash Fiction is an extremely brief piece of fiction (under 1,000 words). It challenges your mind to create a complete story that entertains and engages without the long, meandering path of words we writers usually like to set out for our readers. Instead, it’s a short-cut…an adventure in its own right. Enjoy!

“Either”
By Brandi Wills

Beth lost her keys. She lost them or put them down. She put them down because her hands were full or because her life was empty. Her life was empty because she was marrying Matt or because she wasn’t marrying Michael. She was marrying Matt because she loves him or because Michael moved away. He moved away for a better life or for better money. She put down her bags and searched for her keys or called her best friend. She didn’t call Matt because he was working or because he’d stopped caring. He’d stopped caring because the problems were always contrived or because they were too real. The problems were about what was happening now or what happened to her then. Her problems started with her family or they started with her. She went looking for the keys or she went looking for a drink. She drank with friends or she drank by herself. She had one or a few. She drank to relax or to worry her friends. Her friends had stopped trying to help her because she never changed or because they never cared in the first place. She never changed because they were overreacting or because she didn’t want them to stop overreacting. She answered Matt’s texts and her mother’s calls or she ignored them all. When the bar closed, she walked away or she stumbled. She went home and found the keys lying in the driveway or she didn’t.

“Field Trip”
By Brandi Wills

So I’m staring right at a penis. I’m trying really hard not to look at it, but it’s right there. I avert my eyes, but they end up right back on that penis. I turn my body away so I won’t be tempted to look, but I eventually toss my hair and steal a glance in its direction. I pretend to whisper something to my friend Mandy, but really I’m just blabbering in her ear while I stare over her shoulder at the penis. What’s more shocking to me in this moment than the barenaked penis on display in the room, is the fact that none of my fellow 10-year-olds are looking at it. I’m the only one squirming and fidgeting and trying to simultaneously look away and look directly at it. I can’t figure out whether it’s more mature to barely notice it or to look at it like it was normal. As though you had enormous naked male sculptures with their enormous naked male penises all over your house. I want to have the right reaction, I just don’t know what the right reaction is. Somewhere inside me I know I’m not supposed to be looking. And this knowledge is waging war with a very strong instinct to gawk, open-mouthed at it while pointing and blushing. That’s what my mother would want me to do, I’m sure of it. And while this battle rages on inside me, on the outside I’m acting like a twitchy maniac. I can’t sit still. My eyes are darting back and forth. My hands and feet are shaking like Jerry Lee Lewis. The tour guide has taken a seat and I can see we’re not leaving the room anytime soon. Some of my fellow students have stopped paying attention to her and started paying attention to my bizarre behavior. I have got to get out of here. The way I see it, I only have two options: fake a stomachache, or pee my pants. It’s really only one option; I never was a very good actor.