Tag Archive: flash fiction

New post-apocalyptic fiction by yours truly at 365 Tomorrows. Check it out

Post-apocalyptic flash fiction by me. Here’s a tease: By the time the sandstorm passed, the sun had fallen and the orange skies had faded to a bruised brown and purple. The towers still seemed unreachable, perched on a dream horizon. Faint whispers of yesterday clutching at sky that no longer wanted it. Read the rest here at 365 Tomorrows. It will only take you a minute or so and it will make your day the greatest day you’ve ever had, ever, because that’s what demon-infested cities will do.

FICTION: The Girl and the Gold Watch

This short piece sprang from a title an online acquaintance threw at me, one I thought he had made up. The title was so evocative, I immediately got a vision in my head of a little girl and … well, you can read it below. The problem? He hadn’t made it up. That was a poor assumption on my part. The title was The Girl, the Gold Watch, and Everything, and it belongs to a book I did not know existed. Regardless, it inspired this short piece of fiction that will maybe one day turn into a full-blown book. With a new title, of course… The Girl and the Gold Watch By Eric San Juan “You know I haven’t the money for that, Sissy. Put…
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FICTION: Storms

As I blogged previously, this story first appeared in Boston Literary Magazine. Now you can read it here. It’s called Storms, and like a piece I’ll be posting on Halloween called The Symphony, it’s about war. I don’t know why I have two flash fiction pieces about war, but I do. I had just got done reading Cormac McCarthy’s brilliant The Road, and wanted to see if I could steal elements of its style and make them my own, purely to challenge myself. This is the result. Enjoy. (This also appears in a previously mentioned but as yet unpublished collection of short fiction I’ve put together.) STORMS By Eric San Juan A week in a trench. Mud. Every little while a machine gun barked. Chattering…
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My life as a railroad hobo – part 1

The first time you taste possum you begin to question if this is what you really want to be doing with your time. It’s got a gritty taste, like lamb rubbed down with sandpaper, and the scent. Well, no amount of cheap whiskey or vomit will wash that out of your mouth. So needless to say, it makes you begin to question the choices you’ve made. Thing is, when the rails catch up to you, eventually you’ll eat whatever you can find. It was somewhere in Tennessee, I think — the details are still a little foggy — but it was the first bite I’d had since leaving Kentucky and besides, if you find someone on the tracks will to share his dinner you don’t…
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