My life as a cautionary tale.
Sean D. Layton’s flash fiction, including drabbles.
Mike rolls into L.A. His hatchback, his hermit crab shell, is packed roof high. Later, drinking a beer, he admires Lars’ Emmy for Sound Editing sitting on the shabby coffee table. “Look, there’s been a development,” says Lars casually. “The financing fell through last week.” Gut-punched, Mike suspects his new job has just evaporated. “Turns …
Trembling over her, afraid to touch, Marcus never saw her face. Her chestnut hair is what he’ll remember. And the crimson nimbus of blood spreading across the asphalt. She had barely squeezed into the last space ahead of him. The tail car of the accelerating trolley, snapping around the corner, flung her carelessly from the …
“Make love to me,” she murmurs clinging desperately to his fragile stability amongst the raging chaos. She’s in the best shape of her life. Better than when they were madly in love. Body fat down to nothing, long legs toned from daily ten-mile walks trying to escape herself, breasts like rare fruit enticingly within reach. …
You took my hand, and we slipped away from Karen’s party like we’d known each other forever. Later, I scribbled down my number, then a lingering, predawn kiss at your front door. All week I lived on memories. Brown, pliable curves and wine-dark nipples stiffening under the brush of my fingertips. My phone sat stubbornly …
“Thanks,” he croaks. His unnatural gyrations are freaking me out. I ease the car into traffic. He babbles about hiding from the police. I’m brimming with a host of different emotions. His right elbow bangs sharply against the passenger window. “Stop thrashing around.” “Sorry,” he mumbles. But he can’t stop, limbs flailing with the frantic …