Backhand Stories is a creative writing blog that publishes new short stories, flash fiction, non-fiction and essays by new and unpublished writers. Submit your own short story!

Fiction: American Preparedness by Robert Stalker

I must be fucking cursed.

God’s punishing me. He always has. That’s why things come so easy to everybody else and why I have to fight like hell to just hold on to the little I got.

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” my mother says. She whispers it, like she’s afraid God might hear us. “You’re just on the pity pot,” she says. Oh fuck me. I hate when she talks like this. She started going to Al-anon years ago, when my dad was still alive. Now, she can hardly hold a slogan-free conversation. She sounds like she’s in a cult or some shit. “You know what you need?” she says. “A gratitude list.”
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Fiction: Blue-Eyed Girls by Kate LaDew

I watch my grandmother’s face, waiting for that faint spark of recognition that never comes, hasn’t for years. The same conversation over and over, do you know who I am?
She tells me I’m a pretty girl, “Oh look at your eyes.”
They told my parents all baby’s eyes are blue but mine never changed.
Her daughter has a little girl with the same name as mine.
“And what’s she like?” Read the rest of this story »

Fiction: love by Meagan Hayden

When my eyes first met yours I didn’t see the stars nor did I get lost in them like the sea. I didn’t fall in love or even have love at first sight. What I saw was pain. The pain of rejection. The pain of misery. I saw a part of a girl who was broken. I saw each individual pieces laid out inside your eyes. I saw a broke down girl so I smiled to tell you I would fix it.
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Fiction: The Forest by Gal Nachshon

I stand alone in a forest of people.

When a tree falls nobody hears it, for the foliage is in Connecticut, or Central Park, and I wake up in Brooklyn. I take the train to work, look at my cubical wall and the photographs from the vacation I took last summer, Read the rest of this story »

Fiction: Frustration by Francesca Curley

I tried to explain, but I couldn’t.

You looked at me.

A train careered through the cerebral station. The words, who until that point had been waiting patiently in line, were too close to the edge. Sucked into the air stream and crushed unceremoniously beneath the grinding, metallic wheels.
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Fiction: Cracked Shell by Sean Gallagher

The man took a slow drag on his cigarette. The ember winked life-red against the warm evening backdrop. He exhaled, thinking about what he had just heard, what she had just told him, breathing out in time with his thoughts. The smoke floated up towards the dim porch light.
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