The Curve – Flash Fiction


Gwen looked at the clock on her dashboard.

5:49 p.m.

She pressed the accelerator and her Nissan surged faster.

Gwen could kick herself that she hadn’t left for her colleague’s wedding ten minutes earlier. She often did that to herself—got dressed to go somewhere too early and, with too much time on her hands before leaving, would engage in some small chore that made her late.

She tried to calm her nerves by inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. She approached the curve and held her breath.

Would it happen again?

True to her history, she swerved to miss the deer that always ran out into the road.

And, like every third Saturday in October at 5:50, her Nissan missed the same curve, sending her car airborne, and she died yet again.



Thank you,  Signmanjoe3688 , for allowing me to use your unique deer crossing sign for my photo! You can find Joe’s merchandise on eBay.



Note: I do not believe in ghosts like in the stories that I write about. Ghosts stories, however, are fun to write, so there you go.

Copyright 2016 by Stephanie L. Robertson

The Monster — Flash Fiction

Hello Everyone,

Here is a new flash fiction story, told in 100 words or less.

I hope you enjoy, and have a happy humpday!



Addison sat in her comfy chair, gazing at a book, feeling the warm drowsiness that follows a meal.

Before she could stifle a scream, she heard it from the hallway. Lunging! Horrifying! Puffing angrily into the living room where she sat.

She tried to force herself up.

Run! shouted her every pore. She could not run. She could only scream, awaiting the lashing beast to come and suck her down its hurlish throat.

Abruptly the monster stopped.


And then, comforting arms. “What’s wrong, baby? It’s just a vacuum cleaner. Here, come to Mommy.”

Losing Hope — Flash Fiction


She rubbed her sunken eyes with the heels of her withered hands.

Why, oh why wouldn’t they come?

She moaned out loud and sank down on the wrought iron bed.

How long had she been waiting? Hours?

It seemed like days.

Her hope was dwindling.

She ambled away from the bed over to the large plate-glass window where, unthinking, she pressed her forehead against the glass. At once, she quickly moved away and erased her makeup smudges from the glass with a rag that she kept in her cardigan.

There. Perfect, as usual.

“Come on, come on…” she urged as each headlight passed by on the busy highway. “Why won’t they come?”

It was cold on the inside. Too cold for her, but just right for her guests who would be coming in from the oppressive August heat.

But where were they? It was getting late, and no one had shown up all evening. She looked at her watch and sighed. It had been a long, lonely day, and she was so weary of waiting.

Finally, it was over. Her wait was over for the day. Maybe they would come tomorrow.

She went to the back and locked up the cash for the day. After switching off all of the lights, she locked the door behind her.

As she backed her car out of the lot, she glanced once more at the neon sign that indicated that her failing business, Mattress Emporium, was put to bed for another day.


Big shout out to Fiddle_stix_n_picks_945, an eBay seller who allowed me to us the bed picture. You can find their deals at . Thanks so much!

Cicada Night — A Flash Fiction Story

My friend at Short Tale Shrew has set up a community of flash fiction writers. According to her, flash fiction is a work of fiction that engages the reader in less than 1,000 words.

So here’s my first attempt at writing flash fiction. I hope you’ll enjoy reading “Cicada Night.”



Cicadas screeched in the trees. Dusk wrapped around her like fog. She tried to breathe through the dust that swirled around her as she creeped forward.

Forward, backward. She counted her paces and hoped it would be over soon.

The man behind her—was he getting closer to her? Too close? She made a fast turn to avoid him. She sighed. He was moving to her far right, and then out of her line of sight. Her breath came in rasps. She began coughing as dust collected in her lungs.

She circuited to the corner. Was he still behind her? Or had he come around the back way, cutting her off once again. She could not venture near him. She could not. It would be a danger to both him as well as herself.

And then, he was there! In front of her, wielding the device! No choice. She had no choice but to remove her key from the ignition.

He coughed before speaking as the dusk faded to dark.

“Honey, I’m done with the weed-eater. If you’re done mowing, how ‘bout we go in for lemonade and I’ll do the leaf-blower tomorrow?”