Flash Fiction by David

Stories

Microfiction Archive

Discover bite-sized stories where each line counts and every ending lingers longer than it should.

An antique manual typewriter in deep matte black occupies the center of a sturdy oak table, a single sheet of bright white paper rolled into the carriage. On the page, a perfectly formatted 100-word story ends abruptly mid-line, emphasizing the power of brevity. Surrounding the typewriter are scattered, rejected pages with sparse sentences and crossed-out phrases. A small brass desk lamp to the right casts a warm pool of focused light over the keys and paper, while the background recedes into dim, neutral shadow. Captured from a low, slightly angled perspective, the keys loom in crisp detail with a shallow depth of field. The mood is intense and contemplative, rendered in high-contrast photographic realism that feels both timeless and highly professional.

Latest Stories

Order Up | One-Hundred-Word Story

What happens when a former fast-talking line cook takes a job at a tranquil garden center? High speed meets slow growth.

Over the Top | Fifty-Word Story

A simple reminder of why we push hard to the top: for the pure, childlike thrill of coasting down.

So Big: One-Hundred-Word Story

She was six the first time. Eleanor gave all her dolls to a classmate whose family lost everything in a fire. At sixteen, she handed…

Welcome Home: One-Hundred-Word Story

It was on the ground outside my dentist’s office: an old toothbrush. Bringing it inside, I showed the receptionist. “Look what I found out front.”…

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