Flash Fiction

The Last Run

It was almost 4 o’clock and the sun was low in the west. The mountain blocked most of the last run featured imagethe direct sun and caused the flat, shadowless light, the bane of downhill skiers. I knew it would be like that this late in the day. I also knew most accidents happen then, when you are tired, and the flat gray light hid most of the moguls. It was almost like skiing by touch, the subtle changes in pressure on your skis indicated the up and down of the mounds and troughs. If you take it easy, it’s not so bad.

I made one critical mistake. When I skied off the chair lift, I forgot to tell myself I would take one more run that day. Most accidents happen on the last run, not the next to last. Usually, I lie to myself, saying the current run is the next to last, then at the bottom of the mountain, change my mind and decide not to go up again, thereby avoiding that dangerous last run. Read More ->

The Cell Phone

Preface: I saw a young (to me anyway) woman sitting at one of those cell phone charging counters in the airport this morning. Dressed pretty much as described here, she was Cell Phonealone, but apparently waiting for someone. She was charging an iPhone X, I think. Thus ends reality.

It sat there, on the counter, silent, waiting for the exact time, and it new the time, exactly.
The woman picked it up, checked the time and set it back face down on the counter. She wore a bamboo colored blouse and contrasting pleated skirt. A tartan Kerry jacket mocked the plainness of the blouse and skirt. Her short blond hair was cut in a Mary Poppins bob and a scarf of one of the tartan colors circled her neck while sensible heels of a second tartan color adorned her feet. Read More ->

The Corn Field

The corn was tall, even for this late in the season. It must be eight or nine feet, well Painted in Waterlogueabove my head. It was that light, dead, dried brown and would normally have been harvested a month ago, but for some reason, was left standing, cut in a precise straight line along the field.

I stepped between rows of corn, like a ghost, making no noise, rustling no stalks. Beyond the rows ahead, I could see the lush green field of short cropped grass and farm house up on the hill beyond. Feeling, awkward, unsure of my steps and movements, I stopped just short of the edge, remaining hidden in the corn. It was quiet. As often said in the thrillers I used to read, it was too quiet. There should be more farm bustle now, at the end of the season. I wondered where the farmers were. I wondered why they left this corn standing, yet grateful for the refuge. Read More ->

Havana Rose

“It’s 100 degrees out Rose. Do you really want to go for a walk?”img_4968
“It’s NOT a choice, Dad. I gotta go outside,” Rosie said with a strong sense of urgency. “Anyway, it’s a dry heat. Not like back home.”
I snuck a quick look out of the side of my eye at her, like a husband in a Hooters, and said, “It’s humid in San Jose, Rosie? California, that is.”
As I open the drawer on the end of the drop leaf table in the front hallway and remove her bright pink leash, Rosie started running around my legs, dancing and prancing.
“Let’s get a move on Dad. I really gotta go!” Read More ->


The few wispy clouds reflect pale orange as the sun lay just below horizon. The sky over the city was gray and the buildings, still black silhouettes, were scattered with yellow lantern-brightened windows.
Fine silks drape him from the waist down as he lay on his side gazing out the door leading to his bedroom terrace. A wife, snoring softly, lay next him, naked, having no doubt kicked the covering off during the typically warm night.  Read More ->

The Pleasure Machine

She is a small, dark complexioned woman, not five feet tall, but of course, she is sitting now, one hand resting next to the button on the pleasure panel in front of her and the other holding both a now cold coffee between her forefinger and thumb and a dead cigarette dangling between her ring and little fingers. After one drag some of the ash fell into the coffee, but she is oblivious. Read More ->

Rosie, You Turkey

We left for our morning walk at 5:45 AM as usual, and, as usual, walked Photo Aug 06, 6 29 25 AMup the driveway before turning left up Scenic Drive toward Newsome Heights. The hedges lost their beautiful spring red flowers, or leaves, I could never be sure which they were. We turned right, past the yellow fire hydrant. Rosie has no interest in the fire hydrant. Maybe because she squats to pee and doesn’t lift her leg, or maybe because none of her friends frequent it either. We passed John’s house on the right then Harry and Kathrine’s house on the corner, next to the second yellow fire hydrant. Then we saw them, or rather they saw us. There were a lot of them this morning, not the three or four we often see. Read More ->

Rosie’s Secret Garden

“Garden, Rose. Garden!”Apricots Watercolor 3

She looked up from her designated spot on the sofa, cuddled up against Mom, then put her head back down on her front paws, oops I meant feet, not paws. She had corrected me about that often enough. I didn’t want to re-litigate that discussion.

“Hey! Let’s go to the garden, Rosie. Come on. Get up!”

Rosie lifted her head again, glanced in my direction, then back at Mom. Slowly she stood up, stretched her front end, legs out straight and low and butt high in the air before she leaned forward and stretched her hind end until her legs started to shake. Read More ->

Rosie We Are Home

Fran texted Jen when we were in Loomis to let her know we were five minutes away. We turned right, just past the Snoopy mailbox and drove up the dirt driveway continuing the big right turn, up and around the corner, through the open sliding gate. Rosie was leashed with her bright pink leash to the “waiting for pick up spot” as we entered the parking area. When she saw me open my door and start to climb out of the car she jumped up, spun 180 degrees and promptly slipped out of her collar. That was a cute trick she picked up when we first adopted her. I can never tighten her collar so that it isn’t too tight, but such that she cannot slip out of it. Excited, she ran over to me jumping up and down and spinning in circles. Read More ->

Nosy Rosie

Following our normal morning pee and poop routine I walked Rosie around 5:45 am last nosy rosieTuesday. As usual, she was a good girl, marking all her normal lawns and pooping on her favorite. Rosie likes to strafe poop, spreading the wealth across the lawn and ending up on the sidewalk. During daylight hours this makes dooty duty easy as you can just follow the path back to the first bomb. When its dark and you are using a flashlight, not so much. Even though her business was complete before we were half way around the block we decided it would be a grand adventure to continue on, rather than retrace our steps (and smells.) Read More ->

Rosie at the Lazy Dog

The steps leading to the entrance of the Lazy Dog Restaurant and Bar were sandstone tan

LazyDogand edged with dark brown, no doubt painted to help patrons better see each step and not trip. Too bad the architect thought adding one extra dark brown line on the tan sidewalk spaced one step width from the first real step would be attractive. All it really did was to create a fake step which caused me to trip before I reached the real step. Rosie thought that was amusing. Read More ->

Rosie and the Bitch

Just before dawn, the sun still hidden behind the trees, hills and homes to the east, and the sky paling to light blue, orange and white. The crescent moon and one star, actually it was probably the planet Venus, were barely visible in the western sky. We turned right a couple of minutes earlier and were now approaching the next right turn. Rosie pranced along the sidewalk while I followed keeping up with long strides. I am shorter that I was a couple of decades before but luckily still have long legs. She likes to keep the leash taught to be sure I am still there. I always try to keep the leash slack so she will look back and up at me every few steps, just to be sure. She is so damn cute. Read More ->

Run Rosie Run

“Dad! DAD! Can we go outside now? Please!”
“OK, Rosie. Let me get my raincoat.”
“Oh no! Is the sky crying again, Dad?”
“Not yet, but it looks like it will be soon. This is a perfect time to go for your walk.”
I put on my raincoat and clicked Rosie’s bright pink leash to her bright pink collar.

As usual, she spins around in several circles, tail wagging and a big smile on her face. I open the door and step out of the way as she prances out the front door, first again, as usual. We are nothing if not two creatures of habit, and Rosalita always goes out first.

Just outside, she stops.
“Dad, the grass is peeing up.”

A Lucky Dog

“Don’t leave me here, Dad! I’ll be good! Please!!”

“We’ll be back next week, Rosie,” I said, rubbing her head one last time. “Have fun with the other dogs.”

Fran and I were dropping Rosie off at her boarding home while we vacationed in Southern California. Read More ->


The sun hovered just below the horizon, blankets of gray/white fog slept in the valleys below, nestled between small rolling hillocks, reaching up with slowly undulating arms to the tall maples and pines. Unable to see anything but the tops of the tallest trees, everything will depend on only feel and sound until the fog burned off. The grass underfoot was wet. Slippery. The flat shelf of ground cut deeply into the steep hillside overlooked what, in a few hours, would be a beautiful landscape.

Tauntingly, “Go ahead, Einstein. Hit me. I️ dare you.”
Snidely, but a little flustered, “Is that all you got? What a wimp. “
Angrily, “Shut up. “
“Next time, swing like you mean it. “
Sarcastically, “Ha, ha, ha, ha. You almost missed.”
More angrily, “I️ said shut up.”
Sneering, “Yeah, but you did almost miss, and besides, it didn’t hurt a bit. “
Defiantly, “I️ said, be quiet. I️ am not listening to you anymore. “

Swing. Bam!  

Walking with a Notebook

I woke early this morning, before the sun, before the dog, and finished my normal morning routine, including breakfast and newspaper. I am nothing if Walking with a Notebook Watercolornot a creature of habit. Rosie, our rescued Havanese mix, came slowly stretching, one end at a time, around the corner for her morning belly rub. Another creature of habit.

“Time for our walk,” she said.
“Yes, Rosalita. Let me unplug my phone and turn on POTUS and we can go.”
“Speaking of going, Dad, let’s get a move on.”  Read More ->

What A Good Poopy Dog

I just finished adding the bread ingredients to my larger mixer. (Fran bought me a 7-quart KitchenAid mixer last summer as my little one was tired from heavy use.) Before I could attach the dough-hook and start the initial mixing, I heard,
“Daaaaaad! Gotta go!!”
“Just a minute Rosie. Let me start mixing this then we can go.”
“No Dad. I don’t mean I have to go soon, I mean I have to go now. Like, right now!”
Sigh. “Fine. Let me get my coat with the hood and your leash and a poop bag. Then we can go.” Read More ->

Warm Fire

It’s warm in front of the fire. The rug is soft, so soft. I am glad they bought that thicker rug pad. In a few minutes the blower will come on, then… pure heaven! You know, I could pull my bed over right in the hot air stream, but that may be too much comfort and definitely too much bother. I would probably doze off and not be able to just lay here and enjoy myself, watching them.

The big talking electric window is turned off and Dad is sleeping in his chair. Mom is using her little electric window, reading. It’s quiet. Perfect.  Read More ->


About Dave Oney

Dave Oney was born mid last century in Middlebury, Vermont. He received his BS in Chemistry and worked as a polymer chemist in Massachusetts and New Jersey. He became a microscopist (someone who studies little bitty things using a microscope) and photomicrographer (someone who photographs little bitty things) before settling into a 35-year career in technical sales of scientific imaging equipment (the science of digitally recording itty bitty things, sending the image to a computer for analysis.) He designed and created a number of products contributing to this field. He is (was) proficient in several computer languages and is currently working on mastering English. After making a few more paradigm shift career changes Dave and his wife, Fran, retired and moved closer to their children and granddaughters and now live in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.
This entry was posted in fiction, Flash Fiction, Lyric Alternative Backstory, short story. Bookmark the permalink.

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