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Stories is a creative writing blog that publishes new short stories, flash fiction, non-fiction and essays by new and unpublished writers.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

Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

Vengeance by Dylan Jones

It’s dusk. Outside, I can see the sky burning a deep red above the wasteland. The slit they call a window is a good six feet above the cool stone beneath my feet. I’d be able to look straight out of it if I weren’t restricted by the chains. I’m sitting four feet away by an old steel bed, just thinking, watching the day’s light ebbing away. I wonder for a moment if I’ve made a mistake, that maybe it’s going to take longer than I have. The walls are three feet deep, judging by the window ledge. The door is solid iron, bolted from the outside, and there are long rusty chains binding both my legs to a bracket… Continue >>

She’s A Modern Woman, Now by Nick Ostdick

And she was. She was a modern woman, and you’re not sure how you felt about it. She didn’t come over anymore, early in the morning, her hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail on the back of her head, ready to play whatever silly games you and the rest of gang concocted. No, she didn’t even cross Kimball Street anymore, going through her backyard and out onto Haden Avenue when leaving the neighborhood. You would wave to her, sometimes, when she would be getting the mail or helping her mom in the garden, and she wouldn’t wave back. Her face would drop to the ground pretending not to see you, or she would hide behind her mom or even… Continue >>

Secrets Untold Within the Deep Heart by Jane Doe

Gaze at my eyes. What do you see? The sunny amounts of happiness will first warm your heart. But then, you’ll be able to tell. Because only time will tell, shedding layers of my fake life. The dark, deep midnight of the core of my soul can be seen from where I see. Every day, I speak closer and closer to my secret and past that I’ve tried so desperately to hide. Tossing away such events isn’t so easy. When someone asks me, “how was your day?”, I smile broadly — a fake smile — and state the lie, ‘fine.’ Fibbing through my teeth. A tear drops. Falling silently to the ground. The lost pictures stare at me, glaring through… Continue >>

Summer’s Lease by James Collins

The smell of frying bacon was coming from the kitchen, but Sam stayed where he was. He glanced at his face in the mirror over the fireplace as if seeing it for the first time. Then he looked at the rest of the room, over his reflection’s shoulder; the two old armchairs, the long dining table and the sideboard, upon which rested the big mahogany wireless. Sam liked everything about that wireless. He liked its solid chunkiness, the big wooden dials and the window with its red needle, which lit up when you turned the set on. He thought of the programmes he listened to in the evening, sometimes with Keith, sometimes with all the family. There was ‘Dick Barton,… Continue >>

Snippet of a Peace Among Fools by Sabrina Walls

Such a shame, a brilliant mind like that. So sad he’ll never talk again. What a grand life he led, full of promise – until the accident. Damn fools. All of them. Accident indeed! Had but one of them truly paid attention, he would have known that nothing I do is by chance, just as I choose my silence now. If only one of them proved worthy of my words, I would speak. But I have you loyal little fellas now. You listen, don’t judge, understand. Morning Jenkins, Orville, Maximus. The weathered gnomes – now almost completely shrouded by the onslaught of weeds – do not move. I stroke Orville’s once snow-white beard: top to bottom, gently, slowly, over and… Continue >>

Secrets of a Murdered Man by Sabrina Walls

Already the irritating fly that eluded my swatting earlier takes its vengeful residence amidst the rapidly-mounting pool of blood in which I lie; a sea of deepening red that this morning flowed warm and sustaining through my veins. Yet I do not shoo the fly away. My lifeless body is numb and unresponsive in spite of my active mind that buzzes with replays of the horror of this day, of flashbacks to the days that preceded it, and of visions of the days that would go on without me. Is this an eternal torture I am fated to endure, a perverse punishment for my supposed deceit; a fervent mind in a lifeless vessel? “This is not justice,” I scream in… Continue >>

Whisper of a River Nearby by Jeff Tannen

For the third night in a row she wakes up with stomach pains, her lower abdomen cramping up as if something were twisting her insides. She throws an arm over the side of the bed, feeling around in the darkness for the plastic wastebasket she put there before she lay down. Her hand gropes at the air, occasionally bouncing off the side of the mattress, searching for the wastebasket. She finds it lying on the floor, the contents-tissue, crumpled paper, snack wrappers and soda cans-are scattered over the carpet around the bed. One of the cats must have upset it while she was sleeping. By the time she brings it up to her mouth the pain has passed and she… Continue >>

Doves in Flight by Martin Bell

It would have been an overstatement to call it a front door. It certainly wasn’t the entrance to a home. A piece of plywood nailed on two-by-four and hung on some hinges that creaked the few times they opened all the way, with a clasp bolted on at the side that someone had hung a padlock on in a too-expectant moment of wishful thinking. There must have been a lock on the other side too because, for now, it was doing its job. Don’s right fist banged down on the cheap wood and the whole door vibrated like a broken drum, the sound echoing, booming over the cracked cement path that ran through the foot-high lawn, across the road with… Continue >>

The Little Brass Bowl by Vera Searles

North Street was lined with boutiques, rare book dealers, and antique shops. Laura walked along slowly, looking in each window, savoring the moment. It was like a street of dreams, filled with oddities and beautiful things from the past. The clock on the bank building across the street said 9 AM. When she saw the little brass bowl in the curio shop window, Laura knew immediately that she wanted it. Since James left her last month, she hadn’t treated herself to anything, and the shiny brass bowl would liven up the apartment. A small white card placed next to the bowl read: Circa l400.

Content continues after advertisement