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Flash Fiction 2021-22
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Untitled Flash Poem by Rose Maafu

please don’t cry, mama

i’m trying, oh i’m trying. the doctor has told you, haven’t they?

i’d never have anything like that on my mind. i promise, i promise.

failed escapes have proven to be deadly.

i didn’t know, i didn’t know.

i don’t know anything about that kind of stuff. and i shouldn’t.

i’m praying, mama. oh, i’m praying.

He still loves me, right ? does He still love me?

i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it.

selfish, so selfish. 

and yet i’m still here.


my stars are melting away as i cry for forgiveness

my chances of escape to Him have led me to this overwhelming torture

i don’t know what’s wrong with me, i don’t. 

you tell me i’m selfish. i don’t deserve anything He’s given to me.

the halo over my head becoming more unclear with each passing day

no confrontations with your church can save me now

what i’ve done to this body of yours is unforgivable. 


please don’t cry mama

there are excuses rushing out of my mouth for comfort and false reassurance.

peer pressure, i say. peer pressure!

please don’t waste your tears on what used to be your angel

i’m full of sin, full of sin.

Chase by Tony Prado-Rodriguez

This feeling. This calm and tranquility. The mindlessness. My body full of nothingness. All of this captured in a small metal box barreling down the asphalt. 160 mph. That’s what the speedometer said.

Constantly walking down life blindly/ foolishly hoping for purpose to come and find me…  

That's all I could hear. The stock speakers were on full blast. I didn’t feel like slowing down. The speed was my medication. This feeling of weightlessness was what I was chasing. Nothing in my mind but the lyrics of the song.

Deep in thought like Socrates/I am not your property/Treated like a mockery/Glad no one is stopping me…

And no one was stopping me. I rolled the window down. This car, being older than me, still had mechanical windows. One hand out the window the other loosely holding the only thing keeping me from hitting the guardrail to my left. 

I hear the sounds of the voices in my head/tellin me to go to bed/there isn’t much for you ahead/damn…

I think Paul Walker once said, “If one day speed kills me, don’t cry because I was smiling.” And that was always true for me too. 90, 112, 137, it didn’t matter, I always had a smile or had a smirk on my face. But today was different. I wasn’t smiling. I was chasing the happiness I felt while speeding. But the feeling I caught was one of dread and regret. And with that I pulled over my little metal box and sat on the hood. And Cried. Cried tears that were months too late. Tears that should've been cried alongside her. Instead now I’m crying on a Friday night on the side of the highway.

The Past by Hazel Gonzalez

As I was walking in Cardenas I heard my name be called. I look to my left, and I see nothing, and I look to my right and I see nothing. I began to ask myself, am I hearing things that are not real, Am I going crazy? Once again I heard my name, but this time I turned around as soon as I heard my name, and I saw this old lady wearing a long white dress that covered her feet. She asked me if I was Hazel, and well I said, “yeah.” Then she said, “good I’ve been calling your name since you came inside the store.” I asked her how did she know my name, but she said, “it doesn't matter, I don’t have enough time, I came here to ask you for a favor. I know you just moved to this area and your next door neighbor is my best friend. I passed away 5 years ago.” When I heard that I thought I had died I asked myself how am I talking to a ghost?  to someone that had passed away? I got the chills right away. She kept on talking and I listened, then she said, “me and my best friend were in a car accident. She survived, but I didn't.  And ever since that day she has never driven, but the worst thing is that she keeps on saying it’s her fault  I died, but it’s not true I told her to drive after she told me she didn’t feel good, because I didn’t know how to drive.” I was in shock,  I mean am I the only that can see this person? Why me? Why does she want me to do this favor?  What is the favor? Why did she pick me!?!? I asked her, “hey I’m sorry but what's the favor you want  me to do and why did you pick me?” She  then said, “ I just want you to go to my best friend, your next door neighbor and tell her I spoke to you and that i said that i’m okay and that i’m in a better place and to not worry about me, because it’s not her fault this happened, because this was an accident, and that everyone makes mistakes in life because no one is perfect in this world.” When she told me what she wanted me to do I felt sad for the trauma her best friend went through and is still going through. “And I picked you because you're the closest person that lives with her and I knew that you would understand and help me get to her.” And all of a sudden she’s gone... Like a light that flashed so bright that went up, and everything was normal again. 

Inside these walls, I met a tiny man by Jocelyn Guzman

Dim lights.  High walls.  Tiled floors.  Black and red, two contradicting colors mixed in the same room.  Tiny man.  In a striped suit.  He asks questions, how am I supposed to answer?  Sweat running down my face, he makes me feel nervous.  A horrifying grin from ear to ear.  Red.  His skin is red.  Like the curtains at the entrance.  Although tiny, a mischievous laugh.  Take control.  Sit on a chair.  I try to look away for his eyes reflect my sullen face.  The stretched out table full with food, a feast.  He offers the abundance to me, I stare at it blankly unsure where I am or where this is leading.  He offers a deal.  A deal that could make me stronger, the balance of insanity and strength.  He mentions black blood?  It seems he is confident in my answer, maybe he has done this before?  Maybe others have said yes?  I ignore him, unable to face that cocky grin of his.  

Words flood out of his mouth like an eternal waterfall.  He is insistent.  I wake up in another room.  A record player a few feet away from me.  A classic song is being played, no doubt I’ve heard it before.  One of those instrumental songs that everyone should know.  This time though, he is the one sitting on the high end chair.  Looking up at me with his black eyes.  I stand within his proximity.  He rants about the opportunity I’m ignoring will only benefit me, how I’ve always wanted to become stronger for a greater purpose, how I’m unlike other people.   This continues on and with every passing minute I get agitated.  Tired.  I unleash.  I sigh and walk towards him.  Once in front of him, I stare hard at this tiny red man that seems to have me as a target and grab his collar.  I let words spill and replicate his grin.  Uncontrollable hands swing.  Again and again.  My eyes narrow as I look down on his pitiful state and as I glance at my fist which drips of his color scheme of red.   Vermin, is what he was.  The red begins to spread.  I head for the curtains.  A tunnel of black.  With a striped suit.  I Grin.  

Just a memory now. By Luisa Soto

          I see you across the hallway. You look so carefree, laughing with your boys, standing in a circle 20 ft away from my locker. I look around and everyone is running  to their locker, wanting to go home, but the bright single rose catches my eye instantly when I turn your direction once again. You are holding the stem hard but no one notices, but me. I see your fingers pinch inward the hard stem, as your knee ticks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

          You seem nervous, but so am I. 

          Finally, after like 20 minutes you get the courage to turn my direction. I see you, and you see me. We both smile. You start to walk over and at the same time  you give me your crooked smile locking eyes. I instantly blush, rapidly getting afraid of what's going to happen next. I tuck my head in my locker pretending I’m looking for my books. Yet, in reality I’m trying to get my heart to slow down. I begin to feel uneasy. 

          You reach a stop. I can feel you next to me but you don't say anything, but stand there. I move backward, noticing the single rose up in front of me. You're standing there so happily just holding  the rose up to me in silence. I take a deep breath, grabbing the rose but I don't manage to say thank you either.  We just walk out of the school in silence. 

          Now, it's just a memory lingering over me, as our story came to an end.

Untitled by Stephanie Pinon 

She had a secret, she loved to write, it was her hobby but her mother forbade writing, to her it was a waste of time and materials. 

          Her mom was strict only allowing her to own pink things, have her room decorated with flowers and bake cake with her on the weekends. This wasn’t the life she wanted, she wanted to express herself but she was afraid of breaking the rules. 

          One day her mom left her home alone and she wanted to make a picture collage of them but she realized she didn’t have enough pictures of them together so she went to look in her mom’s room and in a box she found a list.

          “What was I looking at?” she wondered. That wasn't even half of the list. She was so confused.

          Who was she talking about? Is her mom a kidnapper? Is that why she was left home alone? She wanted to know more but she felt like she was breaking a rule, something she would never do. She wasn’t sure when her mom would come back but she wanted to keep looking because she had a feeling it had something to do with her. She looked through the box some more and found another list.

          This list had more personal information. Why would her mom have all this information written down? She kept looking through the box and found even more lists, she couldn’t understand the writing but she saw her name written multiple times. 

           She got carried away looking through the boxes when she heard her mom walking towards the room. She got scared and tried shuffling all the papers, pictures, and lists into the box but it was too late, her mom walked in.

Stephanie P Flash List 1.png
Stephanie P Flash List 2.png

The American Revolution: How the Americans unexpectedly beat the British by Jasmine Tostado


Unit 3 Assignments


Week 1


Goal of the Week:

Practice reading primary source documents to understand stories from multiple perspectives.

1. Letter from Hamilton to Washington telling him they’ve lost Battle of Quebec

a. He yells at me telling me he’s sick and tired of me. He says I’ll never be enough for him

2. Letter from Britain’s army general to the King

a. They ask for more ammunition and stronger men. I ask for your compassion and love. Maybe I ask for too much.

3. Native American’s diary entry during the war

a. She writes she’s scared. She doesn’t know what will happen to her family when the troops begin advancing. She knows she’s last on the priority list.

- Wore my high coverage concealer to cover the purple around my eyes. 

- Susan complimented my makeup today, she will be absent on Thursday

Week 2


Goal of the Week:

Compare and contrast the characteristics of each army general.

1. George Washington

a. Inspiring, gentle, resourceful, understanding, built harmony

2. Britain’s army general

a. Rude, stubborn, stingy, selfish, self-destructive

- We haven’t talked in days

- He has been ignoring since our last fight

- Hand out new textbooks

Week 3

Goal of the Week:

Analyze America’s tactics that led to their victory in the Battle of Yorktown

1. Assistance from the French:

a. The French provide the Americans with more resources, there was cake waiting for me on my desk

2. The Americans surround the harbor and trap the British 

a. The students surround my desk to wish me a happy birthday. They trap my sorrows and feel like I’ve won. You no longer rule me.

- It’s my birthday tomorrow, he won’t be there to sing me happy birthday in the morning

The Bride’s Interlude  by Indira Villeda

          There isn’t a more beautiful sight in the world than seeing blood splat on white roses. 

          When I went through my mail the morning of my wedding, I didn’t expect to see a ten-year-old love letter addressed to my sister from my soon-to-be-husband. 

          You see, John and I have been together for 17 years. On the right-hand side of the letter, he put the date. Exactly on our 7th anniversary of being together. I remember that anniversary in great detail because we did not spend that weekend together, he told me he had a funeral to attend. It was for his distant cousin. I also remember asking my sister if I could stop by her place that weekend to pick up a few glasses of champagne. She said no and gave me some bullshit response to keep me from asking any further questions. 

          I’m not sure that the person who sent me this letter realized this but I’ve had a history of…angry homicidal outbursts. I remember being five and killing our family dog because it bit off my barbie's head. I remember being 12 and killing the mailman for taking too long to deliver my Amazon package. I remember being 16 and killing my sister's boyfriend for eating my leftovers. 


See? At least I’m consistent. 


          And I’ll continue the cycle today while walking down the aisle in my white gown. 

          I put the letter in my pocket as I got up from the stool I was sitting on. I walk to my closet and turn on the lights, I stare at the mirror ahead of me, checking out my wedding dress…It’s gorgeous. As I struggle to zip it up, I feel a pair of hands take over and zip it up for me. I couldn’t miss those hands anywhere. Those are the hands that have held me in the most intimate ways humanly possible. Those are the hands that held my sister the same way. 

          “John! I thought you had already left with the others?”

          “Nope. I wanted to see you.”

          “You know, It’s bad luck to see the bride before she walks down the aisle” 

          He raises his shoulders up in defiance as he leans down and kisses me, 

          As I feel his kisses trail down my neck I start imagining all the ways I could kill him. I feel my blood run hot as I cross out ways in my mind. I could use a knife but stabbing went out with jack the ripper and I didn’t want to seem out of style. I could shoot him but that seems a little too insensitive seeing that he’s American-

          He suddenly stops the trails of kisses. 

          “I’m going to get a scotch to calm my nerves. Want something?” 

          “Can you get me my pack of cigarettes?” 

          As his footsteps echo through the closet and out to our kitchen, I start to think of the perfect plan while I walk down the aisle. I could wait until we are officially married. When he goes in for the kiss I could- 


          Hearing him say my name snapped me out of what I was thinking, He had this crazed look in his eyes and he was holding his hands out. 

          “What John? What?” I tell him, unsure of both what he wants and why he is looking at me like I killed his cat…Which I did but I don’t think he is bright enough to connect those 4 dots. 

          “Cleo?! What did you do??!” 

          He grabs me by my hand and takes me out to the kitchen where I once stood as I read the letter which now lives in my pocket. 

          To say that it was fucking everywhere is an understatement. 

          Blood filled our kitchen, it splattered on every piece of nice furniture that we had bought. On our floor lay the bodies of all 4 bridesmaids, the man of honor, the makeup lady who came to help, and most importantly, my sister. 

          By the will of 5 kitchen knives and the living room wall, hung my pretty older sister. The color drained completely from her body as a pool of blood collected under her. Her face forever stuck with the look of fear and pain she had as I crucified her to the wall. 

What did I tell you about being consistent? 

          I quickly grab my butcher knife and start to slowly make my way to John, I can see a panic rise in his face as I get closer and closer. I see no attempt to run from him. He knows I can outrun him. I ran a 15-mile marathon only a month ago. He knows I can outrun him. 

          Then he does something that I never thought he’d have the balls to do. He starts..laughing? 

          “Your sister always hated you,” He said between laughs. The look on his eyes was poisonous as cyanide.

          “Hated me? Why? I was her perfect little sister-”

          “Her sister that killed her high school sweetheart” He spits back at me, his gaze stuck on my sister's lifeless body.

          “He was a piece of shit anyway, you didn’t know Evelyn the way that I did-”

          “I knew her like the back of my palm, Cleo! I have loved her since we were both in Elementary School. I have loved her since she told me, under the benches at school, that she loved me!” 

          Under the benches? Elementary school? I thought I was his first love. He told me I was his first love.

          “That's not true!”

          “And I also loved her even when she told me that I should date her younger sister because she’s a fucking maniac who would kill me if I stayed with her. A selfish maniac who can’t stand the sight of anyone but herself being happy.” 

          I felt my head start to spin. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be getting my revenge. I was the one who was wronged here. So why? Why is he hurting me like this? 

“You loved me! 

Say it! 

Say that you loved me! Say it to me, John!

You loved me! You stayed, You were the only one who stayed!!”

          I scream out. I feel my throat scratch as I beg him to tell me that he’s lying. To tell me that he’s just angry and in shock. 

          “I loved your sister so much that I was willing to marry you for her happiness. Your sister loved you in ways no other could love such a monster; you’re just an animal walking on its hind legs.” He says as he walks away, turning from my sister to finally stare at me. Tears collect in his eyes but none roll down his face. 

Anger is an emotion that you feel the most in your body. 

You feel it in your mouth, the poison seeps into your lips. You feel it in your teeth as you grit them, holding back all the bad things which have ever existed in your throat. 

And the worst of all, the beating of your chest that takes you into overdrive. 

It’s all so much. 

Too much. 

So you stab. 

You stab anything that the blade goes into. 

You pull and you stab and you hurt. 

You can only see red and you are not even sure 

if it’s blood or if it’s your vision. 

But you yell and you yell and you cry. You cry because it hurts. 

You cry because you never liked killing. 

And you cry because you just wish someone 

Just someone

Would take pity on the monster standing in front of them. 

And take care of it. 

Because God knows it’s just rotten work. 

And then the anger fades, and then the tears dry and the heartbreak stops hurting and all that fades

And you are left, 

As alone as ever. 

A fate all monsters face. 



The moonlight came into our house window like a ghost coming to say its last goodbye. I stared at my plate as I reached for my fork and my knife. It’s almost perfect. I prepared this delicacy by breading it and serving it with rice, fried onion, and egg. My drink of choice was a red wine which I imported from Oregon. As I prepare the perfect first bite, I think of John. The way my heart skipped a beat when he looked up at me. The way his bed hair curled up making itself look like little ringlets. The way he would look to the floor and then back up when I would compliment him. All of that fosters in my mind as I take the first bite. 

It’s a lot harder and chewier than I expected a human heart to taste like but I eat the entire thing.

If his heart wasn’t mine when he was alive. It’s mine now that he’s taken his last breath.

“Home” by Sarai Wagner

          The smell of blood clenched to my nose. 

          “Please make your way to the dining room friends! Rooms and hallways will be locked in 45 seconds” 

          Panic hits and I start turning every door knob. I peek to see any signs of a dining table. I hear sobs and cries throughout the dim hallway, all of us desperately trying to find where we are supposed to go before our final punishment. 

          I opened up a door with a table and kitchen. 


          “WHERE ARE YOU” yelled an unfamiliar voice. 


          I continue to yell and yell random words over and over again like “HERE” “FOLLOW” “PLEASE”. I heard the cries come closer and closer. 

          “20 seconds” the intercom called out. 

          “FASTER YOU’RE SO CLOSE” I yell. 

          I hear footsteps come closer and closer 

          “10.. 9…. 8…” 2 men come crashing into the small room. 

          ‘IT’S TO THE LEFT” they yell out to the others. 

          “5...4...3…” another girl launches herself in. I see another woman approaching 

          “2...1… DONE” I watch the walls quickly close in and crush the human right before me. The walls separate and I see the horrifying sight of a flattened human with their guts completely splattered on the wall and bone punching out of her body. 

          I watch terrified. The door suddenly closes shut. 


          We all run to the four sides of the table and take a seat at each one. I can hear the terrifying taps of stilettos through the back room. The door opens and we listen as the stilettos move across the linoleum floor. 

          A woman we have all seen one to many times through the red tint of bloody eyes stands at the closest corner of the table to the backdoor. We’ve never seen her face before, it’s always covered by the terrifying black mesh veil. 

          “Good morning finalists! Congratulations! Thank you for your hardwood surviving through the night.” she said cheerfully. “You will have 45 minutes to finish breakfast, and after that those who choose to will return back to your bedrooms. Enjoy your meal.” 

          I think by now we all know that choosing to go back to your bedroom is basically suicide. 

          Men wearing suits and short black vests enter and set down four trays on the small table. They lift up the covers to unveil our breakfast. Bacon - completely black and charred. Pancakes - suspiciously a bright pink color. Toast - white as the moon and bright red jam. 

The nerdy looking man sitting parallel to me picked up the jam slowly. He took a  cautious  whiff of the jam and immediately gagged. 

          “That’s blood and intestines.” 

          “How would you know?” I asked. 

          “I’m a doctor.” 

          I sat silent - horrified. 

          There was a muscular man next to me who was eyeing the plate.

          “Is anything wrong with the bacon?” he took a hard swallow. “I haven’t eaten in 6 days.” 

          “I’m not sure… but I wouldn’t trust it,” said the doctor. 

          The frail girl sitting next to me picked up the bacon and smelled it. Her eyes went wide. 

          “It smells like my mom.” She threw the piece back down. 

          “What?”  said the muscular man. 

          She grabbed the tiny bottle of ashes on a chain around her neck. 

          “My mom,” she said, clutching the necklace. 

          We all understood. 

          The muscular man was now eyeing the toast. 

          “Wait a minute...that’s oh my god” 

          “What is it?” I said impatiently 

          “It’s this protein powder from Russia that's banned in like 50 countries. It clogs up your throat and you choke.” 

          “Wait, do all these breakfast items relate to us?” 

          The doctor man turns to me. “What’s the pink stuff” 

          I  close my eyes and try to think. It’s white for a while until I remember. “Oh my god it can’t be.” 

          “What? What? What is it?’ asked the doctor. 

          ‘When I was like 10 I went on this trip to the jungle in South America and there was this bright pink frog that’s like extremely poisonous. He kept following me the entire time I was there and it could’ve killed me at any time but never did. I never told anyone about it though. How would they know?” 

          We sat in silence for 10 minutes . Starving. Tired. And terrified.  

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