My Flash Fiction Stories: 300 Words Max.

From my hotel room window, I could see an oversized billboard with his face on it: Jason, the Great Magician.

I absent-mindedly turned the pages of the phone book and came across a city map. Sipping my iced latté, I ran my fingers along the streets from the hotel to the opera hall. Not more than a half-hour walk, I thought.

I glanced at the clock. The show starts in one hour; plenty of time! I gulped the last three sips of my latté and hopped in the shower. Soon after, I was on my way to the show, carrying a fancy black handbag and a genuine smile.

The billboard looked even more impressive from outside. The Great Jason's eyes seemed to be glancing through me. I shivered and walked faster. I felt like a child about to open her birthday presents.

The hall was dark when I came in; the show was about to begin. I made my way backstage just as the great magician was putting on his top hat.

"Daddy, I'm so glad to see you," I said in a half-whisper. "I'm in town for the writer's workshop, but I just couldn't miss your show." I gave him a quick hug and went back into the seating area, leaving him with a startled smile. I settled down in the darkness, and the curtains opened.

Magically, that show remains the Great Jason's best performance to this day.

(239 words)

He really did look like a tourist, with a camera around his neck and a bottle of sunscreen sticking out of his tote bag.

The portly man was sitting on the terrace, sipping lemonade and pretending to look at a glossy cruise brochure. His sunglasses masked his eyes, but somehow I knew he wasn't looking at the brochure. I knew, because he hadn't turned a page for the last ten minutes.

As I brought him his clam chowder, he coughed up a "Thank you" and looked at me briefly. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help noticing the tiny scar across his left eyebrow.

I walked back inside with my empty tray, shaking my head. He did look familiar, but I couldn't quite place him.

Then it hit me. The car accident. The mysterious stranger who helped me out of my smashed car, just in time before it exploded. I rushed back to his table. He was gone. I moved his saucer and found his tip, along with a card:

"I am deeply indebted to you. The night of your car accident, I was on my way to rob a jewelry store. Saving your life brought things back in perspective. I now live an honest life, thanks to you. God bless you! Mr. D."

I shivered. The night of my car accident, I was heading for an interview in a shady dance club. Seeing human kindness through his heroic gesture turned my life around and brought faith back into my life.

I unfolded the tip he left. Among the singles was a grand with a pen mark underlining "In God We Trust." I said a silent prayer for him and got back to work, smiling.

(287 words)

I stepped outside into a gorgeous summer day. The sun made everything look bright and cheerful. It would have been an ideal day for a picnic - if I still had a special someone to picnic with.

Nobody would have suspected the thunderstorm going on inside my heart. Lightnings illuminated hidden emotions briefly, followed by a clasp of crushed hopes. Droplets of internal tears poured down, washing off what remained of my romantic dreams.

I sat at the bus stop reading a book - reading the same paragraph for the fifth time, and trying to look indifferent to my internal weather patterns. Sunglasses masked my puffy eyes, and returned the reflection of a nearby flower. I will never love again, I thought. Love is just an illusion leading nowhere.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I didn't notice the man taking a seat beside me.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I couldn't help noticing that you're reading O. Henry. He's my favorite author."

His deep voice startled me. His friendly smile warmed up my damp heart and blew away some of the storm clouds.

"He's my favorite as well," I answered, trying to return his smile.

We spent the next fifteen minutes talking about literature and its influence in today's culture. The bus came and went. We pretended not to notice.

"By the way, my name is Mark." As his warm hand shook mine, I felt an electric current go through me.

"Do you care to join me for lunch?" he added, ignoring my blushing cheeks. "Let's start all over again, shall we? I'm sorry about this morning."

A rainbow appeared, leading the way to a heart of gold. I followed it.

(282 words)

Isabella loved the county fair, with all the flashy colors, the sounds of music and laughter, and the cotton candy smell. After trying a few rides and earning a few prizes at the ring toss, she noticed a small crowd near the ferris wheel.

People were gathered so tightly she could hardly see what was happening. Isabella and her elder brother Michael made their way as close as possible and stretched their necks, trying to see. People were gasping and laughing, whispering and yelping.

Suddenly, Mr. Murphy, the school principal, burst out of the crowd, dripping wet. He was laughing too, wringing his soaked baseball cap and putting his glasses back on.

"How's the water, Mr. Murphy?" Mayor Johnson asked, casually holding a lemonade.

"Just fine, just fine!" the wet principal answered cheerfully. "You'll find out soon enough!"

Mayor Johnson's smile faded, and he looked worriedly around him, provoking another round of laughter. "I can't be next, I'm in charge of the tank. Now we need a new volunteer! Any volunteer?"

As people moved away from the dunk tank to mingle and talk, Isabella wondered who would be next. She was secretly hoping it would be her second grade teacher.

She looked at the tank and, to her surprise, a raccoon had climbed in and was standing on the chair. "Michael, look!" she said, louder than she intended.

"We have a volunteer!" the Mayor said with his loud voice overpowering the crowd's. "Three tickets give you five balls!"

Several people lined up to try their luck.

"How did it get in there?" Isabella whispered to Michael.

Before she could wonder any longer, she heard a big splash. A soaking wet raccoon dashed between her and Michael, holding Mr. Murphy's leftover candied apple in its mouth.

(295 words)

Marilou took off her pink sandals and ran on the sweltering sand. She tiptoed into the water, giggling as a wave washed her legs.

She looked back at the big, red and white umbrella and waved at her mother who was getting a much needed suntan. Her mother just smiled and waved with two fingers, holding a peach in one hand and a bottle of ice cold lemonade in the other.

Just then, a big wave came and swept Marilou's feet, making her fall into the water. She tried to scream, but swallowed a gulp of salty water instead. For a moment, she didn't know which way was up, and which was down. She swept with her hand and touched something with a tiny claw in the sand. She screamed bubbles and tried hard to swim.

The wave receded, dumping the startled girl upon the soft, wet beach. Marilou coughed and rubbed her eyes, struggling to get back up. She could feel grains of sand in her blue swimsuit.

She looked back towards her mother, who was now standing up with a worried frown partly covered by sunglasses.

Marilou ran back to the big umbrella, tiptoeing through the hot sand. She smelled of salt and seaweeds. She took her mother's big, warm hand with her cold, wet one.

"Come play with me in the waves, Mommy! This is the bestest vacation ever!"

(232 words)

"Are you sure you weren't followed?"

"Positive."

"Were you able to secure the equipment?"

Zeth glanced around, and pulled a black bandanna off a shiny red metal box. He opened it ceremoniously.

"With this under our power," Mauricio declared, "we will be able to annihilate the enemy before complete invasion."

Zeth carefully picked one of the silver elements from the box and examined it thoughtfully. Just as he laid the piece back in place, the ground shook, the room darkened, and a voice boomed from above:

"What are you two doing under the table with my toolbox?"

(97 words)

"Get well soon!" Martha said, handing Jason a purple balloon.

She was his third visitor. That's because she was the teacher's daughter, and her mother made her. The other two, John and Eric, weren't really his friends, although they often ganged up with him against other kids to get their lunch money.

Jason knew he wouldn't have long to live. He could feel it, deep inside. Seeing his grandmother crying after talking with the doctor confirmed it. His time had come. He didn't tell his visitors, though. They would either pity him, or be happy to get rid of him.

Once Martha left, he ripped a page off his notebook and wrote:

"Dear God, I know I messed up and nobody likes me. Please give me a second chance. I can show you what a good friend I can be."

He drew a map showing the way from the church to the hospital, walked shakily to the window, and let the balloon fly away, carrying his message towards God.

The balloon was heading straight to a telephone pole, but a gentle breeze blew it away just in time. It crossed path with a duck family and disappeared out of view.

The next day, a girl he had never met before came to visit him. "I find balloon," she said. "You are lonely?"

He just nodded, too startled to talk.

"I lonely too. My family come from Afghanistan and I no speak English good." She smiled. "I bring gift to you." She handed him a box of chocolates. "I pray for friend, and God give me friend."

Normally, he would have made fun of her broken English and her long, brown robe, but he knew better. He smiled and offered her the first chocolate.

(293 words)

I was in the middle of a sweet dream when a noise startled me. Bam! Bam! It sounded like a hammer pounding on a tough nail. Bam! Bam! BAM! Who could be hammering at three in the morning? I thought. It must be Charlie again, making another invention!

Just as I was putting on my slippers and bathrobe, the noise changed. I sat at the edge of my bed and listened. Tick! Tick! Tick! It reminded me of my first wristwatch. Its regular tempo had always helped me fall asleep.

I was starting to doze off, dangerously leaning to the left, when the ticking stopped. It was now replaced by a buzz, similar to the noise coming from a beehive in mid-summer, only louder. I shivered. I'm allergic to bees! Even just thinking about it or hearing a bee-like sound makes me swell.

"That's it!" I shouted, now wide awake. "I can't take it anymore!" I marched to the next apartment and knocked.

My neighbor immediately opened the door. His curly, brown hair was sticking up every which way. He was wearing puffy, lilac, striped pants and a loose raspberry shirt.

"Hi, there, Lucy!" he chimed. "What's up?"

"Do you know what time it is?" I said, pointing at my noiseless watch.

He looked surprised for a moment, grabbed my arm, and glanced at my timepiece.

"Oh, my! I didn't realize it was that late. I'm busy working on a machine that can cure insomnia. It's almost finished. You wanna see it?"

I should have known. His last invention was supposed to annihilate bad smells, only it was powered by rotten eggs.

(272 words)

Okay, I have to write something. My essay is due in an hour and I have no idea where to start.

I can hear the ticking of Mark's pencil, Josie's constant throat-clearing, and a bird. I look out the classroom window. The sky is heavy with clouds. What's a bird doing out in this weather? I see the sycamore's branches bend as if they were pulled down by invisible strings.

Still, the mocking bird is out on a limb - no, literally! - singing with his surprisingly loud voice. If I were him, I would be quieter, as to not draw attention to myself. I mean, his feathers are a dull-brown color, his beak doesn't look like anything, and he can't even come up with his own tune. If he was a human being, he would probably go to jail for plagiarism. Yet, he sings at the top of his tiny lungs, which are probably the size of a corn kernel - when full of air. How can he be so loud?

I try to look away from the window, but my gaze keeps coming back. Boy, will I be in trouble when the teacher collects the sheets and reads all this nonsense!

My thoughts wander for a while. What makes this bird special is that he's not. You cannot find a plainer, less interesting, more unattractive bird than that. But boy, he can sing, and he knows what he's capable of, and he invests all his heart in it, despite of what others may say.

Something just clicked. I know what my essay will be about. I crumple my paper and start a new sheet.

I write nonstop for a half hour and hand it in. I hope I get an A+ on my essay about Susan Boyle!

(299 words)

Our yard doesn't have trees, so Robert and I made our clubhouse under the butterfly bush.

"First we need a flag," Robert said.

I ran to the house and came back with a poster board and a box of crayons. I crawled under the lower branches and laid the material on our worm-proof tarp floor.

"Hand me Raspberry Red," I said.

Robert scanned through the sixty crayons, pulling red ones. "Cherry Pie... Bloody Nose... Raspberry Red!" He handed me a stub no longer than my pinky.

"Wow, you used it a lot!"

"It's my favorite," I said, tracing two crossed spoons, which was our secret signal. "Now I need Garbage Green."

"Whacky Khaki... Squished Toad... Baby Caterpillar... Garbage Green!"

I ripped the whole paper from it and used its whole length to color the flag's background.

"There! How does it look?" I said, holding the flag.

"Looks great! Now where will we find red spoons? You know, for the signal."

"They don't really have to be red. My dog chewed up my silver crayon. He looked like he had fillings."

Robert laughed. "Lucky he didn't chew on your Bloody Nose one. That would have been disgusting."

Just then, my little sister Nancy peeked in our club house.

"Why are you hiding under the bush? Eating cookies in secret?"

"Am not! Go play with your dolls and leave us alone."

She crawled right in, covering half the tarp with her fluffy skirt, and breaking one of my crayons in the process.

"Hey, watch it! You're sitting on my Tarantula Bl..."

I didn't have time to say "Black." Nancy scampered to the house, screeching and brushing her skirt frantically with both hands.

I winked at Robert. "I think I'll keep my crayon box here to protect against intruders."

(296 words)