Of the many stories I’ve written, this is one of my favorites. First published in October 2016 by Page & Spine (no longer available), it is dedicated to my friend Dianne McGill who has her own apple orchard.

Tasting Apples at the Edge of Epidemic

by DL Shirey

Fresh picked they are almost too tart, if that’s possible. The flavor becomes quite rich and complex when stored two weeks. Dark red skin with a stripe of pale yellow. Crisp and juicy. Would make excellent apple butter.

Phee would have loved this. The first sharp bite, the skin as it folds with a snap, a shock of sweet-sour before the subtle flavors reveal themselves. Not that I dare get caught eating them straight off the tree, though I wish I could. No question a ten-minute soak in G4 affects the first taste of the apple, but the memories of fruit are still so vivid, even I can forgive the brief, metallic tang.

Continue reading →

Published in November 2016
by Flash Fiction Press (no longer available). Given the name of the journal, you will be fooled into believing that this story is made-up, when in fact it happened to me. So in reality, these 350 words are non-fiction, and having admitted it, the flash fiction police will soon be on their way.

Please read it anyway and pretend it happened to a fictional character. That’s what I did.

Perfect Square of Sky

by DL Shirey

No way did I think I would end my day gazing up at tropical sky. It’s hard to accept the image above me; am I really lying in a hammock, staring up through half-closed lids at palm trees? I want to believe it. I try to convince myself that the soothing warmth is from sun and equatorial air, but it still feels like the placidity isn’t real. Must be because the day didn’t start out anywhere close to this.

Continue reading →

Published June 2016 by Fewer Than 500. Unfortunately the publication is no longer available. But you can still enjoy the story in all its sad glory:

Spat

by DL Shirey

Every day, the same thing for breakfast: cold, tasteless ridicule from a woman who owned everything but happiness, served to the husband she surely blamed for it. She couldn’t start her day without cupping her displeasure in venomous words. It didn’t matter if the man or the cat or the kitchen wallpaper sat before her, the room received invectives. Most days, more than he cared to count, the husband was there to receive them.

Continue reading →

ZeroFlash features stand-alone flash fiction on their site. Today they published my “Forget-Me-Pops” piece. Probably the most fun I ever had on a job was writing radio spots for an ad agency in Santa Barbara, California. F-M-P is a throwback to those days.

Update: as of 12/9/16, the piece is nearly a mile of screen-scroll down the page. For your convenience, for your enjoyment:

Forget-Me-Pops

by DL Shirey

The pulse of electronica ends in a diaphanous swirl, the last reverberating echo lingers and fades. The radio voice has a too-cool-for-this-gig delivery and he starts his post-out with a growl, elongating the word to match the musical dregs:

“Weeeeeeee’re spinning more of club scene’s favorite synthsongs on KRDO. Another ten in a row, after this word from our sponsor.”

Continue reading →

Published June 23, 2016
in Pound of Flash (no longer available). This flash piece is a study of two characters, the monocle and the man who wears it. The story is the result of a writing class assignment: choose an article of clothing and make it central to the tale.

Monocle is for M

by DL Shirey

The little bell tinkles a half-tone brighter when Maximilian walks in. He dresses like an English gent, but he is not English. Nor is he wearing the monocle when he enters the tea shop. As if flourishing a cape, he strolls with dramatic, elongated arm swings aside his lengthy strides. He has no cape, but the finely-tailored suit would look so-much-the-better if he had. His crisp shirts are monogrammed on the pocket, an M bookended by fleurs-de-lis. There’s even a special pocket in the pocket for the monocle.

Ask him his name and he’ll answer it fully, neither Max or Maxi. Friends may call him M, yet he’s never brought a friend to the tea shop. He leaves with one quite often.

Continue reading →

Published November, 2015 in
Literary Hatchet, Issue 13
Small publishers help many writers to appear in print, often without turning a profit. Please support this publisher and purchase this volume. Since the first rights have now expired, the story is also printed below.

There was no true inspiration for this piece other than the length some people will go to maintain their appearance. This is a story about a man who truly enjoys his work.

 

The Middle Box

by DL Shirey

A trick of light. The wafer-thin disk spins, a mirror dangling from a silver chain, reflecting the chocolate-brown iris back into her pretty, pretty eyes. The left one, now the right.

“Concentrate on the color,” I say to the woman, none of that your-eyes-are-heavy or you’re-getting-sleepy nonsense.

The spinning pendant does not make her mind relax, nor the pendulum from one eye to the other. It’s the mirror and the vanity of seeing oneself, even for a brief moment. Appearing for an instant, then spinning away; reflected again, and gone; there, not there.

Her lids flicker and fall, breath evens out. She is asleep at the hands of a perfect stranger.

Continue reading →