Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts

Monday, February 2, 2026

Hideaway (a short story)

    The door is locked, bolted, boarded up.  They won’t think of looking for me here if I keep to myself.  In this dark room, I sit alone in the corner, quiet, silent as possible.  I barely want to breathe.

    I hear them out there, beyond the door.  Moving, always moving.  Sometimes with purpose, but sometimes they just can’t stop.  If not physically, then verbally.  Always the unbearable noise.  They can’t shut up or stay still, unlike me.  

    I can stay perfectly still, as far away from the door as I can get.  As far away from them.  They taught me to be afraid of them.  In little ways at first, but then I learned how truly damaging they can be.  This is why I must lock myself away from the pain and agony that is…

…other people. 
A black and white photo of a floor and open door with a shadow on the floor
~~~~~~~~~~~~
2026, John L. Harmon 

Freak Out, 
JLH

P.S.  click a pic for another short story…

A yellow background with green shadows in the foreground.

A shirtless man stares out a window, blood splattering his upper chest and shoulder.

A man wearing sunglasses, with stubble on his face and his hair sticking up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A totally biased list of books and a couple of short stories you should read in 2026…
📚 

Saturday, April 11, 2020

Whatever Happened to the Boy Next Door?

    He glances at the clock.  Its incessant ticking is a reminder of missed opportunities and wasted years.  He once seemed full of life, vibrating with potential.  Now he sits alone at the kitchen table, waiting.

    The rejection letters scattered before him draw his attention away from the pounding clock.  He finally tried, after lingering in a paralytic state of mind.  Now he wonders how long one should keep trying, which is why he waits.

    A swig from the vodka bottle clutched in his left hand should burn his throat, but physical pain has long since been muted.  All that remains is the emotional remnants of a failed life.  He takes another swig and looks at the deafening clock.  Now he knows the waiting is over, cocking the gun gripped in his right hand. 
____________________

(This piece of flash fiction was inspired by a recent selfie.)


Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words.

Freak Out, 
JLH 

P.S.  A recent poem...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~