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Kim McDougall Author

Flash Fiction

Flash fiction in cathartic for me. Sometimes, a story nags at me and demands to be written, but since I am focused on novel writing these days, I have little opportunity for other projects. Flash fiction sort of pops out of me unexpected, and it's a nice change of pace.

If you're unfamiliar with flash fiction, it is usually defined as a short story under 1000 words. Micro fiction can be really short, just a hundred words or less. Like Hemmingway's famous 6-word short story: For sale: baby shoes, never worn. I mean, wow. There's a whole world of sorrowful story in those few words. 

So in this section, I plan to post some of my previously published flash fiction and some new inspirations as well.

Love Out of Time

I seep, I jumped, will surge, have pummeled my way through that viscous membrane of time. It’s no barrier for love. I know you as a grayed, angelic crone. I laugh with you, plump in youth. You are hardened by loss, forgiving in motherhood, sentimental and prescient. All these breaths are only phases of the moon to you. They are my unending, ever beginning journey of us

I jump once more, arriving in your time naked and shivering. New lines curve around your familiar smile. Anchor me with your touch. Clamp your legs around my waist before I float away in the ether. I was home. Now I’m gone.


Note: This story was inspired by the book, The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. If you've never read it, I highly recommend it. It's like nothing you've ever read.

25 Prayers

Early one morning, as dawn broke the blackness in two, I was three sheets to the wind and the sky was four shades of pink. Five minutes later, my sixth sense warned me of the angels who flew in from seventh heaven. Eight of them, not enough to fit on the head of a pin, were bound for the nine circles of hell. 

“The ten commandments have been ignored,” said Zacheus, eleventh Malakim to God. “Twelve nights and thirteen days of darkness will be your punishment.”

He struck me fourteen times with his clawed hand and disappeared. Fifteen feathers floated to the ground in his wake. I took a sixteen-beat breath and counted my prayers--seventeen in all—before remembering where it all began.

I was eighteen the first time I knew with certainty that our dimension was nineteenth in an infinite number of realities. My ignorance killed twenty people that day, twenty-one if you counted the death of my own innocence. Twenty-two years later, I still could not shake the angels. 

My case of Coors had twenty-three empty cans. I popped the top on the twenty-fourth, thinking that I would need more beer to get through the next twenty-five days.


This story was in response to a writing prompt. Can you guess what the prompt was?

My Trip to Amish Country, PA

We zoomed through Virginville, barely glancing at the quaint Victorian houses. Lunch time found us at Bird-in-Hand. We whetted our appetites, skirted Fertility and went straight for Intercourse and some vigorous shopping. Exhausted, we stopped in Smoketown for cappuccino lattes. On our way home, we drove back through Virginville. I didn’t know that was possible.


This one was originally published in Pen Pricks Microfiction in a response to their call for stories under 100 words.