"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Flash fiction is short short stories, only a few hundred (or fewer!) words in length. Perhaps the defining masterpiece of brevity is Hemingway's six-word story quoted above -- the reader fills in the details, and the handful of words pack an undiluted emotional punch. Below the fold, some examples of flash fiction, and an invitation to choose your favorite or write your own.

Hemingway's piece inspired Wired to run a contest asking famous writers to craft their own six-word stories, resulting in efforts such as:

Vacuum collision. Orbits diverge. Farewell, love.
      - David Brin

Epitaph: Foolish humans, never escaped Earth.
      - Vernor Vinge

I saw, darling, but do lie.
      - Orson Scott Card

Somewhat longer (more "traditional" if that can even be said to apply) flash fiction is guided by these principles :

Flash literature at its best "should flame out like shining from shook foil;" it should "fall, gall" itself, "gash gold vermilion." It should get to the inner heart of the thing, its inscape, in the words of the poet. And it should do so without wasting a word. [...] And when a piece flashes with white hot intensity, every word in well tuned harmony, there is an artistry, different in kind from the monumental epic, but no less significant. Besides if a piece of Flash Fiction doesn't work, it only cost you a few minutes, Remembrance of Things Past on the other hand...

Curious? Want to see some examples? Amazon has compilations (1 , 2 , etc) and here is an online magazine, now discontinued; for still shorter stories, there is this blog (among others) of 299 word pieces (example: Strays ).

Here's my own humble effort, posted in the hope of encouraging others to dash off a short short story to share in comments:

Hank watched the old man walk into the diner, aim for a booth in the corner and sit down. Hank was soon over with coffee, walking a bit stiffly as he always did when the weather was bad, but happy to see a new customer. Turns out the guy was from out of state, just passing through, wanted to stop while the storm blew over.

He asked Hank about the picture on the wall. Hank didn't bring it up himself anymore, his wife's jokes about living in the past had got under his skin more than he'd care to admit, but he was proud of what he'd accomplished that year. Still held some of the records. The old man asked if he'd gone pro, Hank explained about his knee blowing out in college. Just wasn't meant to be.

The old man finished his meal. He looked closely at the photo above Hank, this one a team portrait. Looked at all the young men gazing intently towards the camera, their futures bright. Looked at the coach, with his dark hair and mustache, and smiled slightly, and thought how things never quite go the way you expect they will. He paid, thanked Hank, and left. Didn't figure he'd be coming back through town anytime soon.

So, what do you think of the genre? Got any favorite short short stories? Try writing your own, it doesn't take long and is kind of fun =)

Previous installments in the weekend art series:
Feb 24: Madonna of the Yarnwinder and art theft
Mar 01: Pros and cons of digital cameras
Mar 08: Barber's Adagio and interpreting classical music
Mar 15: Romeo and Juliet re-imagined
Mar 22: None (Easter)
Mar 29: Paul Weller, one of the best Brit rockers
Apr 05: Waves in paint, verse, and song
Apr 13: Finlandia