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Flash Fiction

Best of Flash Fiction, June 2012

Photo: , License: N/A

So this story was written in a bar. A friend of my brother's handed it to me and shrugged. He said, "use it if you want, just don't put my name on it." There is a lot I like about this. The idea of writing for the sake of writing and not any kind of flash of fame (to see it in print, maybe, but more importantly to write it selflessly). But I also like that it was conceived, written and submitted in a bar. I was going to introduce it with something like, Questions, questions, questions — the effervescence of life. But I think I'll skip that part. — Lyle Rosdahl

by anonymous

In the liquor store, I was crouched down looking at the cheap rye on the bottom shelf when a bottle broke. I didn't hear anything else so I don't know why I began to army crawl across the floor to the beer coolers. Furthermore, I don't know what prompted me to grab a Stone IPA and put it down my pants. I stood up and walked calmly out of the doors. This has made me think about two things specifically: 1. Did I break the bottle so that I could do what I did? 2. If so, why did I get the Stone IPA instead of a bottle of rye? A subset of questions followed: If it had not been me, why did I think it might have been me? If it had not been me and I didn't wonder about it being me, who was it? Was maliciousness, mine having already been addressed in the first question, involved? If so why was I so unaware of anyone else in the business, a blindered mule? I mulled these over as I sat on a curb and drank the bottle of beer, beading up with humidity.

Lyle Rosdahl, a writer living in San Antonio, edits the flash fiction blog & best of in print for the Current. He created, facilitates and participates in Postcard Fiction Collaborative, a monthly flash fiction response to a photo. You can see more of his work, including photos, paintings and writing, at Send your flash to

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