David Anthony Brown

Flash Fiction Friday… on Saturday! Enjoy! <><><> The serrated knife edge touched the stubble on my throat, my pulse quickened under the sharp pointy edges. Putrid breath and rotten decayed teeth beside my ear, whispering how I need to be very careful. My finger frozen on the Braille text, my feet itching in their wool…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Blind Haste

Judgment begins on the staircase where the dried pool of blood had been. She stands at the base of the marble stairs looking up at the immense height, from where the crime began. Soft light descends on the place where the victim had laid, precisely on the stained red rose pattern on the carpet, illuminating…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Judgment

She cut the tender boiled turnip with her silver fork and steak knife, dipped it in honey mustard, and ignored the cat brushing himself against her hosiery. Orchids were scattered everywhere in the cramped dining room – hanging from the ceiling, sitting in the corners, on the hutch, in the window sill. Some were purple,…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Fortune and Change

Lew, semi-famous inventor of useless trinkets, stuck his hands in his pockets and shut his eyes tight, as was his habit when he encountered a problem he could not solve. All around the stink of filtered carbon fumes and smoke-stacks permeated the air and his lungs. Sounds he could only associate with street cars and…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Useless Trinket

Geraldine fought the urge to stab him with her pencil as she sipped her whiskey sour. Club Atomic was the worst place to pick up men, and down right horrible for new zombie parts. Geri figured she’d be lucky to get out of there with her dignity intact and maybe another drink, so she waved…… Continue reading Double Flash: Necromancer

She had been a nobody even by human standards – but the girl had also been a creature of stardust, so Pear slithered in the moonlit garden with the shroud grasped in one claw-fingered fist. The dragon – old enough to be a seer, still too young for wings – prayed to the White Moon…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Moonlight Shroud

A logical, though not precise statement – when floating over an world-sized ocean of fresh water, a human need not go thirsty. I sent the monkey-robot to the surface every few days to collect water, despite the sixty-five percent chance of it being shot down by sky-pirates. Probability was on our side so far, but…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Imprecise Logic

Penelope stood in the freezer of the Prescott Grand Hotel as she did every night, between the frozen juices and the pastries, and admired the other ice sculptures crowding the narrow concrete floor. They were all roughly the same – ladies in long flowing gowns, intricate flowers in their curly hair, latticed sashes around the…… Continue reading Flash Fiction Friday: Lady Ice