Flash Fiction – Sam Knight, Author

The Fate of a Telegraph Operator (Flash Fiction)

Boston – September 2, 1859

Frank Gooseland finished his dinner and donned a coat for the cool Boston night. The walk to his job at the telegraph office was liable to chill his narrow frame. Frank was halfway out the door when his neighbor, who was rushing into the house, knocked him flat on his backside.

Bright Was The Night (Flash Fiction)

Bright was the night I saw your bule hued dress swimming about your heels like a flock of fish about to swift swim their way through a painted pink reef all aglow with anemones. What dream was I thinking of just then? The painting on the wall stole my heart before I saw you on the other side of the gallery. I remember on the painting there was a brunette girl leaning on a rock over a grassy hill, Rome in the distance, perhaps Athens, and the telltale sunset beaming in the background. I was in love with that painting before I was in love with you.

A Victorian Debut (Flash Fiction)

William Bantock was a young, eligible gentleman from a highly esteemed family. His debut in Victorian society was second-to-none, and though nearly a disaster by virtue of his forgetting to don a handkerchief, William played off the absentmindedness of his manservant by expressing that he never had a runny nose in his life. It was a bold move, and it won him favor in his debut. He was dressed in a gold-buttoned coat of navy blue in the new style popular in London, along with striped pants and a gentleman’s top hat. The walking stick, a gift from his father, Sir Nathan Bantock, was spherical about the head and detailed with the likeness of a lion. The shaft was black—the boot, gold. Before the debut, his mother, Dame Louise Bantock, fussed greatly over his shoes, insisting they had not been adequately polished, yet conversely, she had been the one insisting that a man’s debut in society was less important than a lady’s debut. Having borne four sons, she was adamant on that fact.

What a Beautiful Day (Flash Fiction)

Pastor Ethan sat hunched over, hands clasped, head hanging, in the supply room of the church ten minutes before Sunday service. Two people had already mistaken him for being in the midst of prayer and, thankfully, left him alone. His foot tapped irregularly on the dirt-brushed floor. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Ten more minutes. He couldn’t do it.

“It was supposed to be flowers” (Flash Fiction)

It was James’s first anniversary and he had forgotten to get a gift for his wife. He was munching on his Cuban sandwich at the Big Island Bar when the realization came to him. It was 12:32pm; dinner was at 6 o’clock at the Rosario. James tossed a few bucks on the table and went for the door, eager to stop at the flower shop before lunch ended, but a man in uniform stopped him at the front.