Flash Fiction

Leticia is dressed in black with white pearls and low-heeled pumps. She’s at a funeral lunch after all. She’s relieved the long service is over, the dead woman, a distant relative of a friend, has been eulogized, blessed and buried. She can’t wait to quench her thirst with…

A short story

“I know I’m not the first woman to give birth to a kid who may as well have had skis strapped to his feet.”

Standing on the frozen shore surveying the ice shanties on the sun-glared lake before me, I think back to how my friend Eleanor shot out her three babies like a Pez dispenser while I labored through delivering one who might as well have had skis strapped to his feet.


Flash Fiction by Nancy Yuktonis Solak

Stirred toward wakefulness, Sarah’s dreams fracture into feathers, fluttering out of her head as swiftly as geese fly at the sound of a hunter’s shot. She strains to recapture them, sensing the loss of something important. As they scatter into space, one feather slowly drifts back to her. Relief. …

Nancy Solak

born tricked out with anxiety, a reluctant traveler (www.areluctanttraveler.net), writer of travel memoir, facilitates writing workshops, loves hearing stories

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