#flash-fiction

#flash-fiction

If Mr. DeTinc continued to collapse, everything would be all right. The order for an anti-aircraft gun on his bungalow suggested that the crisis was imminent, but things remained under wraps, allowing Mr. DeTinc to continue his struggles in production.

Two people sitting with their backs to each other in a bistro - that was marriage. Chairs flung across the room; tables flipped; fingers idling on the switch of an electric carving knife: all these things were marriage, too.

"It's homeopathic," she explained. She had a sweet, faraway voice. She thrust her hand under the desk and came out with a fistful of long white tablets, pouring this treasure on the table.