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	<title>San Antonio Current — Blogs &#187; Flash Fiction</title>
	<atom:link href="http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/category/streetview/flashfiction/?feed=rss2" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
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		<title>Outside by Eli Tarin</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/outside-by-eli-tarin/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/outside-by-eli-tarin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Mar 2013 16:00:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[eli tarin]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[outside]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=26279</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[O.K., I’m a sucker for zombie stories. It’s the hopelessness of it all that speaks to me. The necessary humanity (or not) that must be the response. How to deal with such stress? The Walking Dead is sort of updated Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre. We are what we make ourselves, but there are definitely outside influences shaping us too. No question. And given the situation, what would you do? Really? Send in your hopelessness: flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl Outside by Eli Tarin January 11, 2013- I&#8217;ve been writing for what seems like an entire year in this book. I can&#8217;t believe it has really only been four months. The plan was always to go to Pecos. It&#8217;s such a small town and we would have had a better chance of surviving this there. I don&#8217;t blame her. I shouldn&#8217;t blame her. There were just too many variables to take into consideration. In reality, who knows if we would have even been able to make it there any way? The final live transmissions I caught on the radio before it started looping with emergency information said the highways were gridlocked and the roads were painted in red. That could have been [...]]]></description>
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		<title>New Reign by Sonya Barrera Eddy</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/new-reign-by-sonya-barrera-eddy/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/new-reign-by-sonya-barrera-eddy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 16 Feb 2013 16:00:01 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[new reign]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sonya barrera eddy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=25847</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Science fiction is a laudable genre (though I&#8217;m not one to make black and white assumptions about genre). And I think flash fiction lends itself well to it. All good flash creates a world, so why not make it one that is clearly not one we live in &#8212; socially, culturally, politically, economically, what have you. Sonya Eddy does so quite nicely in New Reign through the epistolary form of journal entry (epistolary as you will see). Send in your science-y fiction, your fantasy, your stone-cold reality: flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Enjoy with someone else&#8230; —Lyle Rosdahl New Reign by Sonya Barrera Eddy Journal Entry &#8211; Fifteen days until new reign. They have agreed to a wedding.  While I was throwing my temper tantrum outside, as our fathers delivered the news, Jailah was raging in our mind trying to shut me up.  I threw a few of our perfume bottles on the floor and Jailah tried soothing the servants who were whimpering and fretting.  She likes Mica the glamorous half, of course, of the binary our parents have arranged we marry.  Jailah is our beautiful half, but she is also our stupid half.  Mica is delicious and bookish.  I understand her attraction to [...]]]></description>
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		<title>New York Romance by Danny Herrera</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/new-york-romance-by-daniel-herrera/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/new-york-romance-by-daniel-herrera/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 08 Feb 2013 16:00:47 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[daniel herrera]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[new york romance]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[nonfiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=25576</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Flash nonfiction is a fascinating, short format, and I do not exclude it from the more general idea of “short work,” which I employ here. As I’m sure I’ve said before, what I love about flash fiction/prose poetry/nonfiction is it is an extraordinarily dynamic form (defined, for me, by brevity more than anything else). And I think that there is easily room for works of short nonfiction here on the flash fiction blog. After all, once you’ve read New York Romance by Danny Herrera, you’ll find yourself with much the same kind of reaction you would have had if it were fiction (or if I never even mentioned it was not fiction). Sure this might have happened, but it’s been formed into a polished piece &#8212; a slice of life &#8212; and the “I” of the piece is, at most, a masked aspect of the writer; 500 words is too short to definitively (as much as that is possible at all) reveal the author as we understand it in longer forms. Indeed it is the outline of a mask. Therein lies the challenge of and fascination with flash nonfiction. Obviously people will have different thoughts about it and I welcome [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Playing Chess in the Mosque by Mo H Saidi</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/playing-chess-in-the-mosque-by-mo-h-saidi/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/playing-chess-in-the-mosque-by-mo-h-saidi/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 01 Feb 2013 16:00:52 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mo h saidi]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[playing chess in the mosque]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=25354</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[We&#8217;re all good at something (maybe I shouldn&#8217;t be quite so casual about that or vague). Sometimes that something translates into another area, sometimes it doesn&#8217;t. To get a bit more specific: chess is a game of foresight, but so is soccer. Players and pieces move around the field to their objective. It&#8217;s all about focus. But then again no one ever broke a wrist playing chess. This story, which was published last year in the collection The Garden of Milk and Wine put out by Rhyme &#38; Reason, by Mo H Saidi explores the role of games in several different ways. Read his story, Blue Box, on the Current&#8217;s blog. Send in your flash about sports: flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Checkmate. &#8211;Lyle Rosdahl Playing Chess in the Mosque by Mo H Saidi &#8220;You don&#8217;t need to invent an excuse,&#8221; Mr. Zandi said, &#8220;your father told me it was okay for you to come with us.&#8221; I had joined the middle school sport teams to go to another city only as a member of the soccer team. Nobody had told my parents I was also the captain of our chess team. Mother would always say, &#8220;Chess is un-Islamic and frustrates a child&#8217;s mind.&#8221; [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Bearing by Nicole Provencher</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/bearing-by-nicole-provencher/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/bearing-by-nicole-provencher/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 18 Jan 2013 18:48:50 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[bearing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[nicole provencher]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=24809</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Relationships: horrifying and beautiful all at once. Nicole Provencher, whose excellent story Pop you can read here, explores the final event of such a relationship. The memories that are so specific to the people we have grown to love are ultimately painful reminders of what we all lose. Send in your woes of approximately 500 words: flashfiction@sacurrent.com —Lyle Rosdahl Bearing by Nicole Provencher I woke up to the sound of something trying to be silent in the next room over.  I could hear it as I lay in bed and listened for the tell-tale noises of things sliding against each other slowly, deliberately.  And I thought of you and the time we camped in Big Bend.  I wonder if you remember that trip and how useless we were in the wild.  We did everything wrong like when that bear brushed up against the tent and we could feel his breath through the thin nylon.  He kept pushing his nose in farther and farther towards us to smell what was left of the fish we fried for dinner.  You decided to scare him off with a flashlight but instead you frightened him and he jerked his head back and up so [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
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		<title>Life as One by Shreya Tripathy</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/life-as-one-by-shreya-tripathy/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/life-as-one-by-shreya-tripathy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 11 Jan 2013 16:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[life as one]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[shreya tripathy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=24262</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Twins share, they say, a bond stronger than most siblings. I can’t speak to the veracity, but this story certainly does a wonderful job of exploring that theme: “They’re not like puzzle pieces that always fit together; they’re the same shaped piece of different puzzles.” This is one of the most fantastically lovely lines I’ve read in quite some time. Send me your stories about siblings (you know you have some doozies): flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Read on: it’s worth it. —Lyle Rosdahl Life as One by Shreya Tripathy They are synchronized entities with feet pointed at an eighty-five degree angle. Each identity lifts her leg at the same pace as the other’s shadow. Their dark feathery skirts blend together as they continue to flow throughout the empty dance hall. The surroundings are desolate, and it reminds each of the repetitive lives they go through. Twin girls, born only seconds apart, are exact copies of each other. Since they are essentially the same, they believe there is no real purpose in their lives except to please others. Their black hairs have all been combed back into a tight bun. There are no stray hairs sticking out to be criticized. Their frail arms softly [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
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		<title>South Texas Town Tail by Don Mathis</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/south-texas-town-tail-by-don-mathis/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/south-texas-town-tail-by-don-mathis/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 04 Jan 2013 22:44:39 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[don mathis]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[southtexas town tail]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=24125</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[As some of you may know, I’m intrigued by constraint. I love poetry and prose that construct some kind of artificial or natural rules (or boundaries) and then play the game. Oulipo is a group of writers and mathematicians (and musicians and artists and on and on) who insist on constraint. Raymond Queneau, one of the founders of the group, defined Oulipians as rats who “build the labyrinth from which they will try to escape.” Yes. Beautiful. This week’s piece is one such work. And an excellent example of how such writing can be a worthwhile, fun challenge. Can you tell what the constraint is (it&#8217;s pretty specific)? Send in your own bounded works (it’s so freeing) to flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Enjoy: I know you will. —Lyle Rosdahl South Texas Town Tail by Don Mathis I fell in love with Marion, one of the daughters of Albert and Peggy Mendoza. We were on Welfare for a while but it was like Utopia. We were living on the Cheapside and didn’t mind the lack of Dinero. It only Cost a Nickel for Hamon eggs at the Mineral Café so we saved a little bit of Gruene. We enjoyed each other’s Comfort in our [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>5</slash:comments>
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		<title>Jello Surprise by Marie Hendry</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/jello-surprise-by-marie-hendry/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/jello-surprise-by-marie-hendry/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 21 Dec 2012 16:00:50 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[jello surprise]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[marie hendry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=23866</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Connections to the past are important (well, maybe not so much today, the last day of the world). Especially as you get older. But sometimes you prefer to have the connection, say a recipe, without the human interaction. Then it&#8217;s time to put your memory (a close relation to imagination) to the test. It turns out to be a complex web of truth and fiction and neither one knows what the other one is. Send in your complex webs. Flashfiction@sacurrent.com: looking for approximately 500 words or less. —Lyle Rosdahl Jello Surprise by Marie Hendry She didn’t know her Aunt well enough to call and ask for the recipe. She hadn’t been to Thanksgiving in years, not since she moved out of state. If she called, would she have to narrate seven years of history, or could she say: “Hi, how are you? I’m fine. Do you have the recipe for Grandma’s jello mould? Thanks you, goodbye. No, I don’t see my parents very often, but when I do, I will say hi, thanks again.” The one-sided conversation ran through her head with no return dialogue because all she wanted was the recipe and she had no idea what her Aunt [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
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		<title>Deadbeat by Arnulfo Talamantes</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/deadbeat-by-arnulfo-talamantes/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/deadbeat-by-arnulfo-talamantes/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 14 Dec 2012 16:00:18 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[arnulfo talamantes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[deadbeat]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[lorenzo salinas: the woman across the street]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[the great ernesto]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=23734</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Death is always difficult to deal with, but sometimes only because of the life that went along with it, dragging behind the specter of the dead like the drying slime of a snail. Or sometimes it’s because we don’t know how to sum things up after such a finality. What’s the point? Memory? That’s sometimes too hard to bear. Read Deadbeat by Arnulfo and inspire yourself to write a short short to submit to the flash fiction section of the Current. I’m looking for approximately 500 words (though I love those stories/prose poems that are even shorter). Submit: flashficiton@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl Deadbeat by Arnulfo Talamantes What did it matter if his shirt was ironed? This would last a few hours at most. And if his aunts and uncles were upset that he wasn’t going to wear black slacks and a white shirt like they asked, this was their problem, not his. At the very least he was going—even going to be a pall-bearer. They should be happy for that. And it’s not like he even cared for this man, this man that manhandled his mother, gave her the chip in her front teeth she still had now, the four kids [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
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		<title>Regis and Kelly by Todd Wright</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/regis-and-kelly-by-todd-wright/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/regis-and-kelly-by-todd-wright/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 07 Dec 2012 16:00:30 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[regis and kelly]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[todd wright]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=23424</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[What I like about this story is the temporal shift. The subtle change from past to present gives the story, Regis and Kelly, a taut depth. There is sadness here (and, in fact, abject horror &#8212; this cannot possibly end well), but also humor: what we talk about when we talk about love. Habit. Even the most disagreeable things can become necessary after a while. Like getting a job&#8230;. Send me your stories. I’m looking for short pieces of approximately 500 words or less. Flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl Regis and Kelly by Todd Wright It wasn’t her fault really, but yesterday my girlfriend hit me with her car. Really, it was my car she hit me with. She uses it all the time now, so we’ve gotten to where we call it her car, but it’s mine. I’m getting used to her going off to work and me making the bed and walking this dog we have. I’ve started drinking coffee just because it seems like the thing to do if you’re up in the morning. I’ve never been the type for coffee or mornings, but anyway. She hit me with the car. She’s really sorry about the whole thing. It’s [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>5</slash:comments>
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		<title>Seeking the Bubble Reputation by Gabriel Fernandez</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/seeking-the-bubble-reputation-by-gabriel-fernandez/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/seeking-the-bubble-reputation-by-gabriel-fernandez/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Nov 2012 16:00:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[gabriel fernandez]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[seeking the bubble reputation]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=22930</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Canícula and the Bard. Who would have thought they would make such wonderful bedfellows? Perhaps a touch uncomfortable with each other, hands awkwardly entwined, sweaty and slick. But that’s what makes for interesting reading (who wants to read about those two people sleeping perfectly wrapped up together and carefree?). Send your epiphanies and bedfellows to flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl Seeking the Bubble Reputation by Gabriel Fernandez It wasn’t a cold, dreary day when the epiphany hit him. In was in the Canícula, the hottest part of the year in Texas, when the sun, “with eyes severe,” is an inveterate critic of everything you do wrong, and demands that you sweat out his primitive form of justice. He was forty years old now, and there were only two things he knew: the knowledge his grandfather had left behind and the wisdom of Shakespeare. He stood at his grandfather’s burial mound until he was the only one left standing there, thinking about the things his grandfather had told him, thinking about his failed marriage, his kids who lived in another state. His grandfather had told him about the sites, the smells of the bodies, piled high upon each other, like some wretched [...]]]></description>
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		<title>The Test Tube by Dan Timoskevich</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/the-test-tube-by-dan-timoskevich/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/the-test-tube-by-dan-timoskevich/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 09 Nov 2012 16:31:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dan timoskevich]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[the test tube]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=22828</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Test tubes are wonderful things. So much possibility in such a small clear glass vial. But, as is the case here, so much disappointment too. What I find interesting &#8212; and this is the point &#8212; is the ending. Why does she say what she says? We can certainly understand her decision, though it is shocking, from her character, limned so nicely from such a few moments and thoughts. What’s your interpretation? Leave a comment with your thoughts. Send your test tube stories to flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl The Test Tube by Dan Timoskevich Hillary braced herself against the table as she pulled the stir rod from the beaker. Why bother looking? There’d be no reaction. Every test disproved her hypothesis, invalidated everything she had worked for since she had become a researcher. But she did look. She had to, just like how a couple weekends ago she had to look at the picture of Matt, her ex for four years now, just to remind herself that a possibility might have been there, as if that photo could conjure up the smells of his home, his hair, his sweat. While it reminded her of their shared existence in a world of [...]]]></description>
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		<title>The Man in the Brown Jacket by DF Salvador</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/the-man-in-the-brown-jacket-by-df-salvador/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/the-man-in-the-brown-jacket-by-df-salvador/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 19 Oct 2012 15:00:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[df salvador]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[the man in the brown jacket]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=22184</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[More of a slice of life than a story, per se, The Man in the Brown Jacket gives us a glimpse into a familial relationship. A little humor and a gnawing sense of something larger (why are they in the hospital anyway? What happened to Michelle?). Still the tension is clear and the characters are nicely and quickly filled out (the slumping mother!). Send in your snippets, your well-rounded stories or your modeled prose poetry. Flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Your keyhole awaits. —Lyle Rosdahl The Man in the Brown Jacket by DF Salvador “Is that him?” The man in the brown jacket Joan was referring to had just passed by for the second time, studying each of the three doors labeled HOSPITAL STAFF ONLY, trying to decide which he should attempt to enter. “It has to be,” Lucy said. “There’s no one else here.” On the television playing in the lobby, the late night talk shows were getting underway. Lucy stood and gave a half wave, which the man clearly saw but pretended not to see. “Sit down!” Joan said to her daughter. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” Lucy turned to her husband for support, but he was too immersed in watching Jay Leno try [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Time Upon Once: 3 Tales by Johanna DeBiase</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/time-upon-once-3-tales-by-johanna-debiase/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/time-upon-once-3-tales-by-johanna-debiase/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 15:00:42 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[johanna debiase]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[time upon once: 3 tales]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=21805</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The fairy tale is a timeless tale. But we love to update, rearrange, reconfigure the familiar to make it new and more applicable, but the beautiful sometimes horrifying center still quivers, groans and blushes (albeit what we consider to be the “center” shifts with time). Johanna DeBiase proves this with intelligence, humor and creative insight in her Time Upon Once: 3 Tales. Enjoy these gems, they are few and far between (though you can also always check out The Fairy Tale Review if you enjoy these &#8212; there’s even a free back issue). Send in your re-purposed fairy tales or your other flash: flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl Time Upon Once: 3 Tales by Johanna DeBiase First Date “Let down your hair,” and she let it down, just like that. The trellising weight of it bit by bit let loose along the tower wall. Watching the silken filament, color like copper and gold worn on the hand of a fairy queen, I turned my head away slightly from the glare. It continued to fall until I worried I may be buried alive. Too late. I could not leave her then. I wondered how many donkeys it would take to carry those tresses [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Two by William Owen</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/two-by-william-owen/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/two-by-william-owen/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 05 Oct 2012 15:00:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[william owen]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=21661</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This week we have two from author William Owen. Though they&#8217;re quite different on the face of it, the focus on the flow of the language brings them together. The first, Flower Sermons, captures the lilt of two characters while the second, For Gluons and Gravitons catches the musical language right out of composer&#8217;s head. Beautifully composed, beautifully captured. Enjoy these two excellent stories. Send your work to flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl Flower Sermons by William Owen “They say she lives alone out there.” “What, like out in the woods?” “Not like way back in a cabin or anything, but in a little house out there off the road. I’m not even sure she has a car.” “What does she walk in here every day. Seems a long way. And not really safe is it, or doesn’t seem safe. Anyone come along on someone looks like her, well if they ain’t a good sort that’d turn around pretty bad.” “They say she speaks in a funny tongue, some weird, old accent. Old Tamber said she spoke with all manner of things too. That when you’d go up by the place she’d be outside, out in back of the place or over [...]]]></description>
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		<title>No Tuesdays by Drew Jennings</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/no-tuesdays-by-drew-jennings/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/no-tuesdays-by-drew-jennings/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 07 Sep 2012 14:32:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[drew jennings]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[no tuesdays]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=20976</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Love: it’s just a fantasy. Of course I don’t believe that but so often we fall in love with fantasy and let life grind away at the difference until it opens up a hole. You’ve got to make sure you wall off that fantasy &#8212; wall it off with glass and go ahead and look at it but don’t let it out. That’s when you’re in trouble. Send your fantasy flash, your brilliant mindsprings to flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Enjoy (but not too much). —Lyle Rosdahl No Tuesdays by Drew Jennings I want a hipster girlfriend in tight black jeans named Tuesday. I want her legs thinner than her knotted swath of hair that’s browner than tree bark. Ann has frizzy blonde hair and swimmer’s shoulders but she doesn’t swim or exercise at all so her belly is round. If it’s too far to walk, Tuesday rides her bike. She’s so fit. My phone vibrates next to me, pulsing through the bed comforter. I know it’s Ann without looking. It’s nine and she just got off work from the pharmacy. I don’t pick up. She’s always in a shitty mood after work. She’s always in a shitty mood in the summer. She sweats [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>Short short shorts by Veronica Salinas &amp; Don Mathis</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/short-short-shorts-by-veronica-salinas-don-mathis/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/short-short-shorts-by-veronica-salinas-don-mathis/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 31 Aug 2012 15:00:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[don mathis]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[veronica salinas]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=20847</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I’ve been calling for six word stories for quite some time. Alas very few have heeded the call. So I’m going to publish the ones that I do have (one from Veronica Salinas and a whole slew from Don Mathis). I’ve included all of Don’s because I think they’re interesting to read together. Some are, of course, stronger than others. I found the fascination, not only for food, but for lettuce an interesting component. Any other threads you can see running throughout? Veronica’s, while not six words, is very short. It is the antithesis, in some ways, of the age old myth of Narcissus, a new story of a culture obsessed with body image advertising. There is so much one can write in so few words. Send in your flash (and your six-worders): flashfiction@sacurrent.com. Enjoy the thought-provoking brevity. —Lyle Rosdahl Vanity Strikes Again by Veronica Salinas The mirror witnessed all the pleasures the human eye could not. &#8212; Feast and Famine in Six Words by Don Mathis I&#8217;ve got champagne appetite, beer budget. Haven&#8217;t had caviar for so long. Don&#8217;t eat sushi at bait stand. All you can eat. He pays. Ten cent beer, can&#8217;t afford foam. Holiday hamburger, eat [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<title>The Memory of Sound by Matthew Guzman</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/the-memory-of-sound-by-matthew-guzman/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/the-memory-of-sound-by-matthew-guzman/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 17 Aug 2012 19:13:35 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=20556</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[What is it about insanity that make writers want to write about it? The challenge of not being able to really know what the insane are really going through, or maybe the fact that they do know? Edgar Allen Poe wrote “The Fall of the House of Usher” about the process of writing, which takes the writer to the brink of insanity and back, but there is always the danger of tipping into the abyss. What separates the writer from the insane is that ability to come back. But I’m not so sure that that’s true. Perhaps writing is simply a lucid moment in an otherwise befuddled existence. Or maybe I’m not making any sense. Send your sanities to flashfiction@sacurrent.com. I’m always looking for work of approximately 500 words or less. —Lyle Rosdahl The Memory of Sound by Matthew Guzman Trying to find the words, she carelessly fumbled through the worn pages of The Sound and the Fury. It was an object that gave her some reprieve from her own heart in conflict with itself. Just holding the book made her feel confident that the words would materialize into sound.  The voices hushed in mid-sentence, their erring irises ebbed in [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Tattle Tale by Amanda Rothbauer</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/tattle-tale-by-amanda-rothbauer/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/tattle-tale-by-amanda-rothbauer/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 10 Aug 2012 15:00:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[amanda rothbauer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[tattle tale]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=20240</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Who hasn’t ratted a sibling out at some point or another (you might not even know that you’ve done it)? You probably don’t even think about it. What’s the psychology behind it, really? To curry favor? Or do we just enjoy getting people in trouble? That feeling of control in a chaotic world. Anyway you look at it, it happens. Tattle Tale is a story about just such an event. It doesn’t have the answers but it’s a story not a Wikipedia entry. Did I just snitch a little? —Lyle Rosdahl Tattle Tale by Amanda Rothbauer We crept up the stairs, making sure not to walk on the creaky floorboards that would make some noise and lead Slate’s parents to believe that we were up to no good.  We weren’t going into Mary’s room with the purpose of messing things up or stealing anything; we were just two six-year-olds with the belief that anything Slate’s older sister touched was something we wanted to touch too. Slate led the way in shimmying by the chair where his nanny was snoring.  When he army crawled passed his dad’s bedroom, I did the same.  I let slip a little giggle when he pranced [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>16</slash:comments>
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		<title>To My Love by Alexandra Booth</title>
		<link>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/to-my-love-by-ali-booth/</link>
		<comments>http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/to-my-love-by-ali-booth/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 03 Aug 2012 14:00:24 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Flash Fiction</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Flash Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Streetview]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ali booth]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lyle rosdahl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[prose poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SA Current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sa current flash fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[sacurrent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[san antonio current]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[to my love]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blogs.sacurrent.com/?p=19995</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[History, like love, is mysterious. So much of it is about what you put into it yourself. We make up pasts, memories get fuzzy and out of alignment with time. Even pictures tell only a half-truth that can so easily be mislaid with the loss of human connection. And yet we still create stories, fill in histories, fall in love. Send in your love stories, your histories, your memories: flashfiction@sacurrent.com. —Lyle Rosdahl To My Love by Alexandra Booth It was like an ever pulling magnet, luring her to the window each day. Lydia walked home from school, passing by the small jewelry shop, cozily tucked between a butcher shop and an antique furniture store. The bronze pendent, with a long, worn out chain and cross hatched pattern never ceased to entice her. It would seduce her so evidently that her nose would push up against the glass, and the moisture from her breath would cloud her view, sticking to the transparent wall of the store front. The manager would smile in her direction, nodding his head and chuckling at the appearance of the stout child in her plaid jumper, leaning her palms against the window in attempts to get as close [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>6</slash:comments>
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