Flash Fiction by Eva Eliav

Sal’s parents, especially her father, loved things that were beautiful and expensive. Sal accused him of having lousy values. She...

Ruth remembered the first time someone called her a cold fish. It was the day of the junior prom. She hadn’t felt like going, but...

“Oh, this is precious.” Silence. Joe’s nose is buried in a thick paperback history of Greece. I take a calming breath. “Joe.” Not...

“Look at the way that woman’s carrying her baby! No softness. No support. Her arm’s hooked around its middle. No wonder it’s bawling.”...

Michelle leans towards me across the table. “I obsess about death,” she confides. I sigh. I’m familiar with the problem. “How about...

Erica liked to have work done, nips and tucks. It was impossible to guess how old she was just from looking at her. You would have to...

The woman’s crushing a phone against her cheek shrieking her anguish. The entire street is listening. We pretend to be deeply engrossed...

The skeleton was immense. At first, the bones seemed part of the plateau, hewn from the stone, polished by primitive tools. They glowed...

“I have to tell you,” said Jess, “I’m really thrilled.” She was looking as she’d looked every day of the twenty years I’d known her: ...

“Last night, I dreamed about my mother. She was wearing a hat made of yellow flowers. It wasn’t sitting on her head, it was snug around...

“Remember the night that boy drowned?” said my mother. Well, I did. But I preferred to remember the gingerbread cake with lemon sauce...

“He only left a few,” my mother complained. George and Linda had come by for a visit, bringing a box of chocolates. My mother had...