Author: B.G. Smith

I enjoy writing flash fiction, rooting for the Phillies and Eagles (Go Birds!), and spending time with my wife and four sons. My stories have appeared in Pocket Fiction, Microfiction Monday Magazine, The Drabble, 101 Words, and Scribes*MICRO*Fiction.

SMALL TREASURES

~ B.G. Smith

by B.G. Smith

He tucked his baby tooth under a tattered, sweat-stained pillow. His finger traced a hole in his pajamas, touching his knee as he dreamed of treasure.

Candy, toys, and maybe the diamond ring Dad was saving for before cancer took him.

His mother scrolled through job listings on the couch, rubbing her temples. Her boss called it “insubordination” after she refused to go to dinner.

Rent was due tomorrow.

She cracked open the bedroom door, the nightlight casting shadows across his peaceful sleep.

She kissed him goodnight and placed her last five-dollar bill under his tattered, sweat-stained pillow.

And smiled.

THE GORGE

~ B.G. Smith

by B.G. Smith

Death penalty protesters gathered at dawn when the state unveiled its answer to Seymour Graff’s botched execution. It had taken old Seymour an hour to die last month.

The Gorge – a 250-foot chasm with blood-darkened stone – would serve as both execution chamber and permanent tomb.

Convicted killer Rodney James Harris sneered as the mechanical arm positioned him over the terminal abyss. Clink. Clank. Through bulletproof glass, a small teddy bear clutched by the victim’s mother caught his eye.

“I’d do it again,” he spat.

His screams echoed off the walls for an hour until only the wind remained.

BLIND DATE

~ B.G. Smith

by B.G. Smith

It was the perfect first date until the second Margarita made her drowsy.

He was a blue-eyed hunk of muscle introduced through a friend of a friend.

“You’ll like him, trust me.” Darla’s red lipstick matched the Cabernet in her glass. “He’s a surgeon.”

The crack under the basement door welcomed sunrise and new beginnings.

A handcuff bit into her wrist where it met rusty pipe.

Approaching sirens lifted her spirit.

Fingers found her hidden tracker.

The door creaked. Heels clicked down wooden stairs.

Darla appeared, red smile intact. “You’ll like him, trust me.”

The sirens faded.

“Time for surgery.”

THREE SACKS

Black and white photograph of an abandoned frontier-era building with wooden walkway, benches, and distinctive peaked roof. The weathered structure features vertical plank construction and covered porch supported by wooden posts.
~ B.G. Smith

by B.G. Smith

In 1873, Amos Black owned The Lost Saddle Saloon, known for burning whiskey, high-stakes poker, and one hell of a good stew.

Trail-weary cowboys traded whispers over warm shots and cold hands of five-card stud. “Funny how Amos’s meat’s always freshest after a man goes missing,” drawled a rancher, twisting his handlebar mustache.

“Don’t much care,” his gaunt wrangler said between mouthfuls. “First real meal I’ve had since Texas.”

When they buried Otis McCoy in Boot Hill, his pine box crashed down, splintering.

Inside lay three burlap sacks of sand.

By then, Otis had already fed half the Chisholm Trail.

TUBA

~ B.G. Smith

by B.G. Smith

The tuba gleamed like molten gold as the young man trudged the sweltering beach.

 “Play us a note,” I called.

“No,” he replied, eyes fixed on waves.

“Come on, just one.”

“Only Grandma plays.”

Behind him, teenagers recorded with phones, their giggles scattering gulls into sunset.

“What’s going on?” I asked one.

He nodded towards another in red shorts. “That’s his cousin.”

“Our grandfather passed last week.” The boy in red shorts explained. “That was his tuba.”

“Does he play?”

“No.” The boy watched light fracture on water.

“Neither did our grandfather.”

He paused. “But our grandmother was a virtuosa.”

BRONZE MEMORIES

~ B.G. Smith

by B. G. Smith

Special thanks to Lisa F. for the inspiration.

Swish Swash. The tall man in corduroy pants walked past the bronze elephant sculpture.

Murph – the bronze gorilla – spoke first.

“You’re safe, Ndotto – he’s a regular.”

Ndotto breathed a sigh of relief through his bronze snout.

“As a small child, he came to this park with his mother.” Murph continued.

“What happened to her?” Ndotto asked.

Tatem Tiger roared, troubled by Ndotto’s inquiry.

“Easy, Tatem.” Murph’s voice softened.

“See those trees over there?” Murph asked. “The one with a hand around the other?”

Ndotto nodded.

“She’s still here,” Murph whispered, “her bronze fingers forever intertwined with the tree she loved.”

URBAN SKY

~ B.G. Smith

by B.G. Smith

Muzzle flashes lit up the twilight street. Kelvin never heard the shots.

The gunman wearing a red bandana disappeared into an alley like smoke into darkness.

A young boy in a blood-soaked “Be Humble” t-shirt stared at the urban sky with glassy eyes, his legs folded beneath him like a broken puppet. His new bicycle lay twisted beside him, clicking like a dying heartbeat.

Familiar screams echoed off the surrounding bungalows. Kelvin floated toward the sound. His mother’s anguished wails pierced the night as she cradled his body, and Kelvin whispered words she would never hear: “Please forgive me, Mama.”

ACES HIGH

~ B.G. Smith

by B. G. Smith

I removed my suitcase and backpack from the trunk and was greeted by the agent.

“Full tank?” the young man asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to receive a survey. If you could mention my buddy, Nate, I’d really appreciate it.”

My puzzled look was met with an explanation. “Nate lost his mother recently.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Ace.”

“I got you, Ace.” I said.

He smiled.

While waiting for the shuttle, I typed: Nate and Ace were extremely friendly…

I gave Ace a thumbs up across the lot.

He put his hands together in a prayer of thanks.

And smiled.

DOUBLE BIRD

~ B.G. Smith

by B. G. Smith

I stopped at the light, my tattooed arm out the window. A man in ragged clothes held a sign:

At least give me the middle finger

 “Clever sign.” I chuckled.

His broken eyes met mine. “Everyone else in my life’s already flipped me off. Thought I’d let the public have a turn.”

As I passed it though the gap between us, the five-dollar bill was as tattered as the relationship with my family before I got sober.

His fingers trembled as he took it.

“God bless,” he whispered.

And meant every word.

“Take care,” I replied.

And meant every word.

THE LAST VISIT

~ B.G. Smith

by B. G. Smith

The sounds in the veterinarian’s office come alive. A Schnauzer puppy whimpers in the lap of a young woman. A European shorthair hisses from a soft-sided carrier. I’ve been in a lot of pain lately—but my human family needs me—so I put on a brave face and wag my tail one last time. The entire pack is here with me today. The little one, Jenny, gives me a long hug, and I feel tiny tears fall on the back of my neck. The needle prick burns my leg momentarily before I fall asleep, staring into Jenny’s loving eyes.