Dumped: Four Stories by Molly Giles

By Molly Giles
It was a good divorce. They each took one of the cars and one of the labradoodles; they divided the silver, antiques, and paintings, put the house up for sale, agreed to split the proceeds, and were shaking hands goodbye when they heard a musical tinkle from the garden.

Molly Giles: The Art of Chasing Fireflies

Flash fiction goes by all sorts of names—everything from "short shorts" to "micro-fiction" to "postcard fiction"—but Molly Giles has come up with our favorite term so far: "fireflies." Her fireflies light up the hushes of a night sky, capturing those quick bursts of drama with a vivid lyricism that the form is designed for.

The Thought That Counts

Molly Giles
She sent him two dozen long-stemmed red roses for Valentine’s Day. Why? He was a guy. He didn’t own a vase.

Southern Discomforts

By Molly Giles
Dean’s wife was in one of her moods, she had a lot of moods, that girl, and she burst into the party baited for bear.

Playing House

By Molly Giles
He’s made a beautiful room for us here in his van, with a bench and a bed and a carpet of rags and rough towels. There’s a camp stove for our tea and a canvas curtain pulled shut to hide the steering wheel.


By Molly Giles
I slipped. All right? I made an ass of myself. I got drunk, shouted things, I don’t know what things, stupid things, next thing I know three cops bust in, pull me off the window ledge.

Frances Lefkowitz: The Energy and Surprise of Flash Fiction

In just a few spare sentences, Frances Lefkowitz can tell a life's story—of an aging ballplayer or of a mother's love.