Flash Fiction Friday :: The Light in Her Eyes

"The Light in Her Eyes" by Allen Butler

green eyed girl

Here in the darkness of the trees, faint shimmering moonbeams shining through the leaves, I need no light but her. She radiates, illuminating the entire world round her. My eyes fall upon her face, so fair, so beautiful under the glittering light of the crescent moon. She turns, ever so slightly, toward me, her eyes latching onto mine.

I am trapped, ensnared. Her eyes open wide, shining with…

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Thunder Lies

New on TOE :: Thunder Lies by Allen Butler #flashfiction

The light of day is all but gone. Wisps of blue sky are visible just barely through dim grey clouds on a silent march across the sky. The air is heavy with moisture, ready to burst. But there is no release, not yet. Not here, anyway. The storm is coming, flashes of light streak from the south, accompanied by gently rolling thunder. Somewhere out there the storm has come, but not here.

Its signs…

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New post on TOE :: Drift by @herocious via TheOpenEnd http://wp.me/ppfdc-5Ml

“You go girl!” says the girl not exercising to the girl exercising.

The girl exercising continues exercising without missing a beat.

The girl not exercising turns to her two girlfriends, also not exercising, the three of them just walking, and she gesticulates.

“She does,” says the girl not exercising, “look at her running fast up this hill,” as if she has to convince her girlfriends, who don’t…

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S A N C T U A R Y by Nicholas Olson

van gogh shoes

It was my tenth summer, July 22, and outside my window the rain was taking sides as the lightning had a turf battle with the willows. But the fight was one-sided and the trees wept as their name suggested, even as I tried my best not to join them. Dad’s shoes were still in my hand then–I didn’t know what to do with them. I knew he had other shoes and all, but something told me he wouldn’t leave…

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Larry Of Arabia

larry o

Insha’Allah is an Arabic phrase that translates into “If God wills it.” I once had a brief phone conversation with an oud builder from Aman, Jordan, who invoked it several dozen times in just a few seconds, a series of staccato bursts that left my ears ringing. Now the blood of journalist James Foley leaks into our comfort zone, flows across Iraq and seeps into the ground. Do you suppose God…

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Sunday Morning


I wake up then make our bed before doing anything else because I’m superstitious.
I go into the kitchen for my morning glass of ice water.
The first sip, more of a gulp, cools my esophagus in slow motion.
On the second sip this sensation doesn’t repeat itself.
What do I smell like on the inside?

I go into the living room then turn on the radio.
I stand there kind of thinking about what’s outside…

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Guilty of Sitting There & Other Poems


The sensitive person watched a little girl
As she gave a smaller boy a nice yellow flower
Park; sharing; kindness; innocence; summer; touching warmth
The sensitive person dully catalogued another treasure
Internalizing a sliver of existence
That fit with the program of what should be
But the subsequent event
When the little girl shoved the boy face first into the dirt
Touched on a nerve…

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The Damage Done


A leathery looking woman walks past my door early each morning. I’d guess she’s around forty years old, maybe a few more, and always walking a dog on a short leash. There’s a stiffness to her gait, and she radiates all the symptoms of Methedrine addiction, the rigidity, the angular direction of her pacing, and the hunched and freeze-dried profile of a woman surrendering her life to a few CC’s of…

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What Will You Remember? Thoughts on Memory and Time in Richard Linklater’s ‘Boyhood’


Writer-director Richard Linklater has made a career out of making films that span a single day. From his 1991 breakthrough, Slacker, to the beloved Dazed and Confused, to the seminal Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, he has consistently shown an interest in the minute details that compose his characters’ daily lives.

In some ways, his latest, the epic Boyhood, is the antithesis of these other…

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The Clip Joint

The Clip Joint :: Al Billings writes about his local barber in South Austin

sam happy

Sam the barber has been cutting my hair for a long time, usually a Marine boot-camp special. I’m always taken by how delicately balanced his operation is, moving constantly from one shop to another, currently trying to hold down his chair while the greedy Chinese woman who leases the building continues to give him less hours every week. We’re Sam’s people, and we cherish his presence. His expert…

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