Worthing Flash

Who Is That Stranger on Our Zoom Meeting? “It’s time to let people in. I’ll take down the welcome sign and hit the buzzer,” Lorna says. “And, Virginia, you are co-hosting tonight so give everyone a nice Flash Fiction hello,” “Welcome people. It’s a good evening for stories. Hi Alma, hello Rick, hi Julia, hey Merle, good to see you. Does anyone know this I ♥ Katz person?” Virginia asks. “It’s just a sign so maybe it’s an ad for Katz’s Deli.” “Don’t you wish, Bernie.” “Maybe it’s a Feline Rescue Home.” “We have a dozen guests so far. Irma, do you know this I ♥ Katz person?” Lorna asks. “No maybe she's here just to listen and not to read,” Virginia asks again. “Look I ♥ Katz is a woman she took down her sign. Doesn't she know we can see her putting on her makeup?” Annie says. “She probably wants to look her best for the reading,” Virginia says. “Well then,” Annie says, “she should wipe her bright red lipstick off her bright red teeth. I had a teacher in junior...

It’s Not That Hard Now form a line. Now you know the line’s rules. Now move to the right line. Now you are all in a line on the right. Now move to the correct line. Now Tim, move over to the left line. Now all friends of Tim’s line up behind Tim. Now Al, are you really a friend of Tim? Now Al, move over to the other line where your friends are. Now Betty Jean, what are you doing? Now we don’t need another line Betty Jean, Now Tim, why does everyone want to be in your line? Now Betty Jean, why do you insist on having your own line. Now does anyone want to be in Betty Jean’s line. Now Betty Jean turns around and looks behind to see no one else in her line. Now Tim, where are you going. Now Betty Jean see what you started. Now Tim, why did you move. Now Tim, you might like her, but you should ask her out on your own time. Now Tim, why are you holding Betty Jean’s hand? Now Betty Jean, why are you making that face and saying oohh? Now Harry, what is it? Now ...

She said come to bed and he said not yet. He told her hurry up or they’d be late to the party and she said we don’t have to be the first ones there. She felt loving and tried to sit on his lap. He said he’d get a charley horse. He went to bed and tried to spoon. She shrugged him off, feigning sleep. She left the house before he got up. He came home late from his card game after she’d gone to bed. Sunday they went out for brunch and then had sex. Monday it began anew.   by Paul Beckman

  Today I walked across my back yard and fell into a sink hole. I had no desire for this experience Or many other experiences like flipping my car over Or being cornered by a bob cat Or my Uncle Yossel who loved giving Hungarian Peaches (noogies) And feeling up the nieces Until I lay in wait for him when he came to my house one night And I trussed him up like the pig he was and tossed him into the sink hole. And Began shoveling   Paul Beckman’s latest flash collection, Kiss Kiss (Truth Serum Press) was a finalist for the 2019/2020 Indie Book Awards. Some of his stories appeared in Spelk, Connotation Press, Necessary Fiction, Litro, Pank, Playboy, WINK, Jellyfish Review, and The Lost Balloon. He had a story selected for the 2020 National Flash Fiction Day Anthology Lineup and was short listed in the Strands International Flash Fiction Competition. Paul curates the FBomb NY flash fiction reading series monthly in KGB’s Red Room (Currently Virtual).

I had finally gotten settled into first grade when the principal walked in with her hand on a girl’s shoulder and announced, “Boys and girls, this is Constance. She just moved to town and will be in this class. Constance, there are six empty seats, chose one.”  The Principal turned the expressionless Constance towards the class. She looked like a cartoon figure—a skinny girl with stringy brown hair, wearing a dress made from rice sacks and lace. Her socks had slid down her legs to lie on her mud-streaked shoes. Without looking around she walked down the aisle and sat in the empty seat next to me I nodded but I wanted to hold my nose. She smelled. I knew what sweat smelled like, but she didn’t smell of sweat, she smelled a strange soap or perfume smell that I feared was going to leap off her and onto me. We stayed at our seats for lunch and the teacher passed out little cartons of white or chocolate milk and a straw. I had a system. I took chocolate if I had meat ...

by Paul Beckman SG She’s got a button nose. I’ve always been turned on by a button nose. Of course, I’ve been known to get attached to a hook nose or an upturned nose or even a nose with Miss Piggy-like wide nostrils. What can I say? I like noses. FD He wears braces. I like that word better than suspenders. I’ve always had a thing for braces. My father and his brothers all wore them, and they looked dignified and would hook their thumbs underneath and snap them. Sometimes they’d do it together when they got up from the dinner table on the count of three and they’d always pick me to count. I guess I really should call his suspenders because they didn’t button onto his pants but are held by little alligator clips. He also wears a belt. A take-no-chances kind of guy. SG Her button nose matches the buttons on her overcoat. I like that. I’m not sure I like her haircut though. Her severe bangs cut across her face mid-way into her eyebrows. I’d like to tell her to move those b...

I had finally gotten settled into first grade when the principal walked in with her hand on a girl’s shoulder and announced, “Boys and girls this is Constance. She just moved to town and will be in this class. Constance, there are six empty seats, chose one.”  The Principal turned the expressionless Constance towards the class. She looked like a cartoon figure—a skinny girl with stringy brown hair, wearing a dress made from rice sacks and lace. Her socks must’ve slid down her legs to lie on her mud-streaked shoes. Without looking around she walked down the aisle and she sat in the empty seat next to me I nodded but I wanted to hold my nose. She smelled. I knew what sweat smelled like, but she didn’t smell of sweat, she smelled a strange soap or perfume smell that I feared was going to leap off her and onto me. We stayed at our seats for lunch and the teacher passed out little cartons of white or chocolate milk and a straw. I had a system. I took chocolate if I had meat and white ...

When my wife, Debbie, was four her father crept out of the family house not to be heard from again until she was sixty-two and they ended up in the same Alzheimer’s unit anonymously watching I Love Lucy reruns while sitting next to each other on the loveseat in the TV room. Bio: Paul Beckman is an award-winning author. His latest flash collection, Kiss Kiss (Truth Serum Press) was a finalist for the Indie Book Awards. Some of his publications are in Spelk, Necessary Fiction, Litro, Pank, Playboy, Thrice Fiction, The Lost Balloon, and The Raleigh Review.

I was going for it today. Hiking in the National Park away from the marked paths we were passing a two-person untended gravesite when my watch alarmed.  I knelt down, opened the ring box, sun shining off the sparkler. Tiff, mesmerized by the two graves, kept inspecting them and asking questions not hearing a word I said. Disheartened, I packed up and led her back to the car. As we were driving she asked what I was saying at the graves and I told her to look in my backpack. “This is how you propose?” she asked, tears falling. Paul Beckman was one of the winners in The Best Small Fictions 2016!  And has been nominated for 2018. His latest collection of flash stories, "Kiss Kiss" available at Amazon http://bit.ly/pbKiss paperback  http://bit.ly/KisseP e book  Some places his stories have been published: Literary Orphans, Matter Press, Spelk, The Lost Balloon, Playboy, Gravel, and Pank. He curates the monthly FBomb NY flash fiction reading serie...